CHAPTER XVII.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 237, 14 January 1888, Page 6

CHAPTER XVII.

In theso days of strict governance one would hardly expect to find in Kensington High-street a well-conducted young lady vainly endeavouring to repress her sobs, and occasionally and furtively wiping a 'tear-drop away from her wet eye-lashes. Yet such was Janie Wygram's condition on this July morning ; and she had not quite recovered her self-control even when she had got up to Netting Hill. But she had •grown reckless in this sudden grief that "had come upon her ; and she longed for consolation— which is sometimes to be found in the imparting of news to a faithful friend ; and it was with no hesitation at all that she rang the bell of Walter Lindsays house, and asked if he was at home. He was at home. He was in the studio, she was informed. Was he alone ? Only a model with him. But Janie had lived much among painters ; she knew that models form the telephonic system of the art world ; and this communication she | had to make to Walter Lindsay was not meant for alien ears. So 'sho sent a message to him and awaited him in the-draw-ing-room. Presently she heard a step, and her heart sank within her. She knew not how to meet him. And even as he came forward to greet her— a little surprised he was, bub j certainly pleased by this unexpected visit — she could not help thinking, with a j heavy heart, that it was this man, so dis-tinguished-looking, so generous of nature, so courteous and gentle in all ways, that Sabina had thrown over— for whom ? She stole another glance at him, and essayed to speak, but in vain. Then he noticed that she had been crying, and instantly he took her hand again, and his face was full of quick concern. " What is it ? What has happened ?" he said. "I— l came to tell you," said Janie, striving not to give way. " Sabie — Sabie is engaged to be married." ir ,, . Quite involuntarily he dropped her*'hand. She did not dare to look at his face. Indeed, her eyes were all wet and blind-; she had enough to do with her own trouble. As for him— They say that a drowning man sees all the backward years at a glance. Ho seemed to see all his future years— 1 stretching on and on— grey, barren, hopeless, solitary. That was but for a moment. "I suppose it is— to' that Mr Foster?" he said, in a voice that was apparently quite calm. " Oh, yes," said Janie, in a half hysterical! fashion. " And I have been afraid of it all along ! They were together always at Brighton— l heard it from mother — and Sabie is so strange— sho lets herself be balked over — especially if you ask anything j from her — and I suppose that— that con- | temptible horse jockey has appealed to her , sympathy, and she has taken pity on , him." j "Janie," Walter Lindsay said, gravely, ! "don't you think it would be wiser if] you tried to make the best of what has happened ?" " But it was you I wanted her to marry, if ever she married anyone," Janie broke out afresh. "We all wanted it. If Sabie had only done that " "But what is the use of speaking of it ?" lie gently remonstrated— and she was so much occupied with her own sorrow that she did not notice how grey his face had ! become all this while, how haunted and j absent his eyes. "3fou know that was never possible." " No, I suppose it was .not," she said, in a kind of de3pah\ " I suppose ifc was never possible. "You were too well off; too happy ; and — and — and everyone making much of you. She used always to talk of you as being so fortunate, having such a great career before you. It was always work she thought of ; she never let sentiment, affection, come in — unless it j was about poor people. Yes," added ! Janie, bitterly, ' c you were always too well off for Sabie. But if you had been a miserable, insignificant, conceited, con- j temptible creature, like this horse jockey " " Janie,*' he said, with a touch of authority, " you are acting very foolishly. You aro letting your disappointment become a craze ; and it will be all the more difficult for you to remain on good terms with Mr Foster if you nurse this silly anger against him." "On good terms with him ?" she said, I scornfully. " For Sabina's— for Miss Zembra'a sake." "But Sabie has gone away from me now !" Janie cried. "Sabie, who was my ] friend ' "She is your friend,' he said quietly. " Now, sit down and tell me how all this came about, and how you heard of ifc." Janie sat down obediently ; but how was she to tell him of the arguments and persuasions that Fred Foster had used in winning ever Sabina ? Janie knew nothing* of all these; but she had formed her own theoi'ies and guesses, and it was these that she now placed before him» Walter Lindsay in vain endeavouring to mitigate the malice , of her insinuations. And as for Foster's motives in seeking to make Sabina his wife, she could make them out too. Sabina was a very pretty woman ; and, for a year or. two, until he got tired of her, she would .do him credit when he drove her to a racecourse. Then there was her, .£3OO a year. Sabina, Janie explained, was . very frank in discussing her financial position, when charitable projects were being considered ; of course, Mr Foster must have learned what her allowance from her father was. And would not the £300 be a handy addition to his income, and enable him to bet a little more on horses and greyhounds t Besides that (Janie contended) he was expecting a rich man like Sir Anthony Zembra to give his daughter a handsome marriage portion. Where would that go? In gambling, of course, And *then ? Poor Sabie 1 . m . " No, no, no I' he said,. " I will not hear anything of the kind. , These aroonly casSandra prophecies. , J>epe,jid .upon, ifc,, » woman liko -Mjss Zeinbra,cquld not make fetich a mistake in her-, choice,; r thero must be someth|ng finer and better; .than that, in him ; remember, she knows 1 so 'much more About him- than you do. , And you; are going to be reconciled to him^tjhat is,wb,at youi have j got , fcj> do^/apd, bpth j you, and I, whatever will remain Mips Zernbr&'a Jasfc, /4ends,; |and J ix foj", one,^ Jt wishhora veryJjapßXjnijnriagfrJ"^b^ > - She raised hejr .pyes bja i Jfacf Aiyjkppp waVriofc muc# 'mfcfc fof& t s2k£JWtom wiatfulness, rafchor ; and bis look, which v^as directed to the window, wa# thoughtful and

absent. s And for fche life of her—regarding him thus — she could not help repeating what she had said before as. to what she had sketched out as Sabina's future. "No, I think none of us wore anxious that Sabio should marry ; she was so good, and perfect, and beautiful, that we all wished to have a share in her and to have a lifctlo of her kindness and attention ; but if she was to marry it should have been you ; indeed, indeed, that would have reconciled us all to it." " But it is of no use talking of that now," | said he, gently putting away the subject. "Wo, dear Miss Janie, what you have to do now is to think of what is best for her. As for me, I don't pity myself overmuch. Surely no harm can come to anyone through having known a good woman. Anything more than her friendship was never possible, but I had that for a time, and I will remember it all my life, I hope. Now, give me your promise." "What?" " That you will do everything you can for Miss Zembra ; and, as the first thing, that you will receive her future husband as she would Jike to have him received.' "No, I can't promise that," she said stubbornly. "And what is the value, then, of your affection for your Sabie, as you call her ?" '• You ask too much, you ask too much !" she exclaimed ; and the tears were like to come into her eyes again ; but she rose, as if to go away. And then she said, reluctantly : " Well, I— l know what you say is right. It isn't everybody who is so unselfish as you. Perhaps, some time later on, I will try ; and I tiope that what you say will come true, and that there is a chance of Sabie'a being happy. But I should have been happier if she had made another choice." " Remember," ho said to her at the door, and as she turned to him for a moment she thought there was something in the grave, sad face she had, never seen there before, an inexpressible gentleness and tenderness, as it were— "llomember," he said, as his last word to her, " that you are Miss Zenibra'a friend, and may be of great help to her. There are some who would bo proud to be in that position." Well, if Sabina, at this crisis of her life, was to have the goodwill and aid and sympathy ot her friends, it was more than^ she was likely to receive from her relatives. Of course, she said to Fred Foster, she must go and toll her father of her engagement. '♦As for that," remarked Mr Foster, in his cheerful manner, "if there's going to be any kind of a row, you'd better let me do it. Oh, I don't mind. I have an impression that your father isn't very fond of me ; and if he wants to say so, or to say anything nasty about our engagement, I am willing to stand the racket. Bless you, • it's wonderful how little words can hurt yog, if you look at them the right way. They're only air ; air can't hurt you. I've seen a woman's lips turn white because of a little remark addressed to her. It would need some particularly penetrating patent gastight remarks to make my lips turn white. Oh, I shouldn't mind it the least: " "I hope there won't be any trouble," Sabina said. " They've always left me to act for myself. But if there should be any objection— or— or misapprehension— l am, •sure that I shall be able to talk more gently than you would." " Oh, I don't believe in gentle speaking.' aaid he, cheerfully. " Plain speaking is ever so much better. Besides, there may be a few little business arrangements to talk over ; you'd better let me go." Sabina laughed. " Are we to have a quarrel already ?" she asked. "It is true I have been living separate from my family for some time ; and they let me go my own way ; but don't you think it would look a little bit queer if I were to send a third person to tell my, father that his daughter was going to be married ?" "Do as you like then, Sabie," said he in his off-hand way. " But I think I should have mado a better job of it." That same afternoon Sabina went along to the Waldegrave Club. It was with her father alone, she considered — not with the other members Of the family— that she had to deal; and she knew when she would most likely find him at his Club— a little before question-time at the House. The hall-porter at the Waldegravo recognised her at once, for she had often called there ; he asked her to step within and take a seat, while he sent a page boy for Sir Anthony ; and so it was that Sabina found herself awaiting her father in this great hall, that looked so quiet and clean and cool after the din and dust of the hot London streets. Sir Anthony came along in his most majestic manner, Berene, complacent, looking all round the hall for some one to favour with a distant nod. When he reached Sabina, he plumped himself down beside her on the flof tly-cushioned seat. " Well, Small-pox," ho aaid (for he was a . desperate witty person on occasion), " what do you want now ?" " Do you remember Mr Foster, papa ?" • * ' Foster," he said, with a sudden coldness. "Do you mean the young man who was good enough to confer hia society on us for a considerable period — a very considerable period?" ■ \ " But it was through no .fault or wish of his own, papa," she pleaded. " Why do you speak of him like {hat? It is such a pity you should have formed a prejudice againsthim." " We're rid of him now. anyway ; and I wish to hear no more about him," ho said, shortly. " But it is about him I came to Bee you," she said. " Oh. He is in the hospital still, 1 suppose ; and you want to riise a subscription for him when he comes, out.' Is that it ? Well, you needn't come to me— l will not give you a shilling— no, nor a penny." " Papa, he is a gentleman I" she said, rather incoherently. "And please don't talk of him like that. I— l am engaged to be married to him." He stared at her in, dumb surprise. Was j the girl mad ? And then, when he had become convinced of the truth of, the few words she had justepoken, ho broke into no violent explosion (how could he, in the hall of the Waldegrave Club ?), rather he affected to treat the news with much respect. " Really, Sabina, I am very much obliged to you,'! «aid (though the look in his eyes was scarcely in consonance with the extreme suavity of his voice). "Your consideration for, us all is most kind. , You can't' imagine ><rhat a relief will be felt ftfc home. For, of course, knowing ,your ways, we Had been expecting youjjo t choose at. the highest ft cos^ermonger for your husband : and we had been, looking forward to a visit from you all-^the chap woman, . l^fo-mother j his v brQther,ihe'pr^e»figh 7 ter^ an 4 b&si?* tor.- well r( any thing ,/andf we^jghguftl have ; had; altogether a"-ni& .family, goi'ty, -.But \ thisifl amijeh better arrangement T( quifcd ft bound up, ihe sopial l la t dder-t,let's see, whatia ] hisprofepipn?*',.; \ / ," ; /_[ t '\ t ... \ „r, _ * AlVpipyott aremofe very; kind t6 me" she e*i& faith a slight quiver,jof .fche;Hpa.^ •''Buiftatf fcliis'moffie&t Sir'!£hth6ny/Zeri« bWFf&eibecamVali bea^B^MrfesY^A Very-^isting«UH'ed^alid'f^mo^^t^^ah; had just come oW %t"tw r vs%lhß>TQomp and> as he passed, he nodded, and said ;— - ' . ?' How are you, Sir Anthony!"

Bub mind, I never do anything out of anger. I make you a certain allowance, so that you shall not have to fear starvation. I think that is my duty. What the amount will be I will consider later on." " Papa, I did not come here fco ask you for money !" "No ? Then I suppose you came merely to impart the agreeable news. Well, having done so, is there anything more to be said ? I must be off to the House." She knew not what to say. She had expected that he would be annoyed, and that she might have some trouble in talking him over ; she had nofc expected to be confronted with this stony and stolid indifference. " Won't you come to the wedding?" she said, in desperation. He lifted his eyebrows, in affected surprise. "Gome to the wedding.? No, I think not. What could put tKat into your head ? Of course you are quite aware that if you aro really bent on this folly— if you are determined to throw yourself away on this man — then I must decline to have either him or you come near' my house. t I don't wish to make any fuss. Ydu are a grown woman ; youare abie to judge toe yourself,; I only wish to let you know. clearly what will bo the consequences of this freak of yours." , She rose ; her lips were proud and firrci. " Yes, I understand," sne riaid ; hrid ,Bhe bade good-bye to him without offering her hand, and went away, and got into a cab { that was awaiting her, and drove home.And how eagerly and impatiently sKo waited for Fred roster, who was to come fco< see her that evening. "Oh, Fred, she said, piteously (Jante had retired from the drawing-room), "it was dreadful 1" ( " I knew it would be," he said, laughing. "All the fat in the fire.no doubt. You'd much better have iet me manage the business." ' "1 suppose a girl should never say anything against her father," poor Sabie continued (rather clinging tonim a Jittle, as if for sympathy), " but he was like a stone— if it had been mere anger, I shouldn't have minded so much." , "It will blow over," he said, carelessly. " They're often like that, those inconvenient papas. But they always come round in the end, especially if there's — " " If there's a baby," he*was on the point of saying, but luokily stopped in time. " And about the- mousy— he aeemed to think I had come to ask him for money ? she continued. : . ' " Yes, I toldiyou you'd better have left me to manage it,' r he answered, coolly. " But it's all right, Sabie, it will.be fell right in the end, never you. fear. . ' ',:''' i .' : •* But will you do;this for meT'.aheaaid at once timidly. and eagerly. . fl-You.knowf 1 - You. know toy fat&err said he would } make line ton allowance -but yon can't" tell .how it was offered— well, now,, if I could».©niy say^6 him, 'No, fch»nk;you, mVhusbtodAjpatuautij potfcmei*. donft yottis^ihbwptqwif jshouia , b©?; 1 dbnft srtmfc to^do it-btftkofVjigera.oi revenge-^bvifc to justjfy: you> ajidtto jhote him thai the,orueLthmgSvh»Biiid< were quite yncalledifor. Ddyou.thin,k-.w»tfotild f »ttord losrefuue th»tfiUlawanc*?L*fcndw»ft' wduld make *r«n^4iffifee&ttfc xfamtor&mMxt tit would b« «o fmuoh .morb difficult to look after i aiiyi 6tiMpie\ poor : tJedple :^but might pinch a r litfcle-T-l» couldji Jriolota of t things jsEyfbuldst^hferd^ , J Mmi W^Jxi* ** you're •urferingf rbpa a fit oT heroic#. ■ Your^

And Sir Anthony* wi h the most winning expression, made haste to answer : "• i ' " How do you do, I How.do you?do !" for who knows when one may wish tohaye the favour of a disponser of office ? ,'; , ' However, at the same moment) . the remarkably keen eyes of the great man had caught sight of Sabina, and ]be stopped j for lie was known to Ije very partial to* pretty young ladies, whom he treated with an old-world courtesy that was very pleas^ ant to look upon. - > ,lt "JVlissZembra, I think?" , Sabina rose, as in duty bound. " We don't meet, very often," said the old gentleman, and ne'bowqd over the hand that Sabina timidly extended to him, " but I hear of you from time to time, through Mrs Tremenheere. Yes, I hear of your goodness. But mind you take care of yourself, my dear j we can't afford to loso any such as you." "He patted her hand, and said " Goodbye," and went on his way. Sabina sat down again ; Sir Anthony's face instantly resumed its former expression of perfeotly implacable coldness and firmness. * f Well, now that you have given me the information, what more ?" he said. "Have you nothing to say to me, papa ?", she answered with an appealing look. " Oh, I wish you joy, if that is what you mean," he said, calmly. " I wish you joy — without any sarcasm. Marrying a man you don't know — " " But I do know him— every thing about him," she said. " And I know his people— and his mother has promised to be very kind to me. " " More than my own relatives seom likely to be," she might have added ; but she did not want to make mischief. •* Oh, his mother has promised to be very kind to you,. Has s&e offered to' support you? M " I hardly know what you mean," she said, rather bewildered. " Only that I don't see that, I am called upon to support anofefae> 'man's wife," he continued. "You take this step without t the slightest consultation with your family. j You did not consult probably because you I knew it would be against their wishes. ! Very well. It's a fr«e country. You may ;go your own way. But as you make your bed you must lie on it. You don't suppose that I am going to support you and this man who has no claim upon me whatever, ; unless unbounded impuaence be a claim." "My husband will bb able to support me," said Sabina, proudly— but imprudently ; for his eyes darkened a little. " Very well," he said, in the same impassive way. " We'll see how it burns out.

you' flnd ft could live on my income; With prudence and a frugal and contented mittd ; but most assuredly you-would Have ho margin M your tribe df dependents. No, no, Sable, don't be angry with your pdor father. 'He'll come 1 round: He did not mean the half of what he said^-they never do ;' but it sbunds well, and gives them mv porfcanco for the moment." '"It 1 was ior your sake," she said hesitatingly. ' Tl „ ... ' " But, you see, I haven't a sensitivo soul; We couldn't afford to run two in the same establishment. I care as little what the godd papa thinks of me as he does of what I think of him. No, no ; the wise thing to do is to take what we can get, and to hope for more ; and I daresay we shall do very well somehow or other. And don't be too down-hearted about the Herr Papa. I tell you it's wonderful how much more people say than they mean." There was a tapping at the door; a maid-servant announced to them that the rest of the household were awaiting them at supper ; and Sabina's proud project of renunciation was at an end.