CHAPTER XXV.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 241, 11 February 1888, Page 6 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXV.

ALTKUED PLANS. On their return to town, Sabina gave j lier husband £80 out of the £100 she had received from the old lady, and this came in handy -, for, if there was no racing just then, ho was busy enough with pigeonshooting and billiards, and also there was a little going on about the Waterloo Cup. But it must not be imagined that he was in any wise grateful for the gift. He knew very well that, had Sabina not been in the case, lie would have had the wholo of that sum ; and he knew that the twonty pounds would bo frittered Away on objects of which he wholly and sulkily disapproved. For he had come to grumble not a little about her work in the slums, and her attendance upon charitable societies. It was a mere waste of time and money, he said. A married woman ought lo devote herself to her own homo. On the rare occasions on which he had returned to their rooms at midday, he had found her almost invariably absent; and there was a difficulty about luncheon, for the landlady was unprepared for such contingencies. To be sure, Sabina had offered to be home every day at one, if he wished it ; but this again was absurd ; for how could ho bind himself by any such hard and fast rule? As regards the money, were they in a position to indulge in indiscriminate charity? Moreover, her rigid economy (which he declared to be poifeetly ridiculous) was, in a kind of way, a standing reproach to him. It seemed to accuse him of extravagance, whereas he was merely living as always he had lived. It made him look^foolish in the eyes of his friends when they passed Sabina and himself in a re3taurant, that he should be drinking wine, and she only water. Why should she not drink wine? She would be ready enough to prescribe it for sick people down xxx Hammersmith : why shouldn't she prescribe it for herself, seeing that she was looking none too well ? He saw no virtue in self-sacrifice ; it was a poor delusion ; t,he best thing for everybodj 1 was for each to do the best for himself. In the meanwhile these representations look no practical shape ; for now came the hurdle-racing at Kompton and Sandown uVd Croydon to engage his attention — with the Lincoln Spring Meeting looming in the near future ; and he was absent from town a good deal ; and Sabina was l«fe to the freedom of her own solitary ways. But when he came back he said to her one evening : — " Look here, I've been thinking things qver ; and I don't see that we geb value for our money out of these rooms." ike did not, at any rate. They are expensive ; and it's an expensive way of living as ycu say—dining at restaurants and all that ; when we started them, of course, I expected we should have n wider margin ; but I suppose that is all over now. Well, now, didn't I understand from the Mater, when we were down in Buckinghamshire, that you were willing to live in the country ?" "It was a kind of fancy," she said, absently. •' But either you did say you were willing or you didn't," he retorted, with a touch of impatience. "Yes, I saidl thought it might be better," she answered, witW a little hesitation. "They were very kind to me down there. I liked the quiet life. If I were only thinking of myself " " Well, then, I take ib you are willing Jo live in the country," he said, interrupting her. "And I think you are quite right. It will bft much healthier, and cheaper, too, if it is properly managed. I will look out fsr a convenient little place nob too far from town " She looked up, in some bewilderment. 1( But don't you mean Crookfield ?" " Crookfield !" he said, with a laugh. " Crookfield ! I should think nob ! Ten miles away from the nearest railway-station? Ho, thank you ; I don'c want to play Robinson Crusoe." " But it was about Crookfield your mother was thinking when she spoke of Our going to live in the country," Sabina 8<1 jrl_no& seeing how she had been entrapped. " Oh, yes, I know. She said so. But I don't propose to turn farmer; it's the worsb-paying game there is nowadays; my father will do much better to take whatever rent he can geb for the place. I want quarters much more convenient than that— near bo Epsom, perhaps — Bansteadis handy— or Leabherhead — anyway we must not get beyond the pale of civilisation altogether. "' And so Sabina had pledged herself — without too closely asking herself why — to forsake all thoso pursuibs and occupabionsbhab hadb^en the solace ofasomewhablonely life, leave her friends behind her, and bo go away into the country, she knew nob whither. Of course, when she announced this startling intelligence bo Janie Wygram, she had bo adduce reasons. They had found thoir means a little straightened ; th'sy would be able to livemoreeconomically. Then her husband had complained of her spending so much of her time away from home j perhaps they would be moro together, in the course of a country life. These and several other reasons she placed befqre Janie ; she did nob add— perhaps she would nob have confessed to herself — that she was sick and sore ab heart, and that she had welcomed this change, as she would have welcomed any change, in a kind of despair. Now this is what Janie Wygram instantly said to herself :—: — "The contemptible brute !~he grudges her every farthing that she pinches and saves out of her own income ; and he is carrying her off to the country so that he may have every penny to himself." Bub this was what) Janie Wygram (who was a loyal lass, and had nofc forgotten Walter Lindsays parting injunctions) said to Sabina : -— "Ah, well, Sabie, I dare say he is a litble bit jealous of the bime you give to pther people. It's only natural, isn't it? And then he is quite righb aboub the healthier, .air ; and you haven/t be.en look % ing yotir best of labe, you know. Dear me, I wonder what; Kensington will be like without you. There was always the chance of meeting you in the street somewhere. I never wenb oufe of the house without thinking * Well, now, perhaps Sabie is just coming round the corner. ' And there's many and many ft home will miss you, Sftbi©." Sabina was standing at the window; looking out on the wintry trees and bushes of Kensington Square, and her back was

turned to her friend. When Janio went to her, and put her arm within her arm, she was greatly surprised to find that the girl's eyes were filled with tears. " Sabie, you are not glad about going !" she exclaimed breathlessly. "It vexes you ? You are not happy about it ?" Sabina dried her eyes quickly. " Oh, it will bo all right," she said. "I dare say it will be all right When there are so many real troubles in the world it is no use bothering about sentimental ones." " But you don't want to go ?" "I suppose the whole of life is more or less of an experiment," Sabina said, "and you can't tell how any part of it may turn out. I hope this will be for the better." Janie looked at her, wondering whether she was going to speak more plainly, and yet almost afraid. But the calm and beautiful face was quite passive ; and the hazel eyes — that used to bo so clear, and shining with mirth, or filled with a soft and benignant kindness — wore now almost apathetic, not to say hopeless. " You will have to be very good to my poor people, Janie," she said, with an effort at cheerfulness, " You know thoir ways. And you will bo more patient with them than I was. " u Me?" said Janio. "And you think I could ever take your place ? It's little you know what you have been to them, Sabie. It isn't money, mind ; as tar far as that goes there would bo no great difficulty. For do you know what Philip has done ?—? — he is such a noblo fellow ! You remember 1 told you that Walter Lindsay had written over to say that it would be a groat favour to him if we would occupy his house after we got married. And you know, Sabio, Philip is pretty well oft ; his people are very woll off indeed ; and ho himself has been very lucky in getting commissions — he is very popular in Liverpool and Birkenhoad, where they've plenty of monoy to spend on pictures — so that when I. told nim of Mr Lindsays offer, he laughed at first, and didn't like the notion of having a house rent-free. But it happens that the studio is the very thing he wants ; and he is so very busy that he can't bother about building one for himself at present ; so he came to mo the day before yesterday and said that as soon as we were married we should settle down there, only that he would prefer paying rent. And whero was the rent to go to ? Walter Lindsay would not take it. Well, it was to bo handed over to you and me, to help deserviny people. Wasn't that kind ? So you see it, isn't the money. But when you talk about my taking your place it's little you know. It wasn't the money so much as courage you brought thorn. They did whatever you asked them to do. Will you come and bid them good-bye before you go, Sabio ?" Tho girl's lips quivered for an instant. " No," she answered. " What would be the use ? That would be mere sentiment, What is the use of sentiment?" 11 It would be kindness, Sabie. And you nover refused them that. " There was no answer. Sabina had got into the habit of late of leaving conversations unended ; her mind seemed much preoccupied. On the morning after Fred Foster's return from the Lincoln and Liverpool Meetings, ho was standing at the window of their sitting-room looking down into the Strand. It was rather a cheerful sort of mornipg for March ; and there was a Spring-like feeling in the air. After a while he turned to Sabina. " I have to run down to Epsom— to Witstead, rather,''said he, "to see some friends of mine there about a little bit of business. Would you care to go for the day ? I dare say they would give us some lunch ; and we could come back in the afternoon." Novr this was a most unexpected proposal ; for never once, since the unlucky episode of the music-hall and Captain Raby, had he offered to introduce her to any of his associates, just as never once had he brought either friend or acquaintance home to these lodgings. But Sabina, assented forthwith, and cheerfully ; and she went away to make herself as neat and smart as possible ; and was resolved to show herself grateful for his consideration, and as amiable as might be. In the hansom going down to Victoria-station he said, rather apologetically : — " You know they're not very distinguished people, those Deanes we are going to soe. But they're good enough kind of folk ; and the world's made up of all sorts ; we've got to take them as they are." Tho apology was unnecessary ; Sabina was resolved, not upon taking them as as they were, but upon making the best of them, whoever they might be. And indeed the little trip promised to be rory pleasant. Once away from London, the clear country light was a cheerful thing to look at ; and the air that blew in nt the carriage-window was mild and sweet ; and she could not but think that along the hedgerows there — in the sheltered places — or on the warm sunny banks— or in the clearances of the woods— the firstlings of the year must bo appearing now : the red deadnettle, the ground ivy, here and there a patch of pale primroses, a sweet violeb half-hidden among the withered grass. She would like to have ! brought a dozen or so of the children she knew, and turned them loose into these wooded lanes. Fred Foster was reading a newspaper, and she had leisure to picture them straying through the dryer glades or chasing each other over the wild commons. She could almost hear them laughing. It was a spring day, fit for children, and children 'B delights. I They were received at Witsbead-stabion | by Mr Deane himself, who seemed to have ! dressed himself in a gay fashion for the occasion. He was distinctly a horsey-look-ing man, of about five-and-thirty, with a thin, dried, good • humoured face, smaH, clear eyes, and neatly-cut whiskers. Towards Sabina he was particularly civil, not to say obsequious ; told her that he had that very morning been reading a speech of her father's ; and— though they differed in politics — he considered it a remarkably able speech, remarkably able. And might ho have the pleasure of introducing Tub wife, who was waiting outside the station with the pony-chaiae ? Mrs Deane turned out to be a buxom and rather pretty little person of about eight-and-twenty, with cheeks like the rote, merry blue eyes, and a manner that was chirrupy and cheerful to the verge of audacity. And as the gentlemen preferred to walk, Mrs Deane would have Sabina take a seat beside her in the pony-chaise; and then they drove away together — towards the little straggling Tillage of Wifcstcad, that is dotted in a staccato fashion along a bit of the Guildford road. The distance from the station to the village is barely over three-quarters of a mile ; but Fred Foster, and his companions would appear to have walked rather slowly —no doubt>. talking oven their • business affairs ; for before they arrived at Wayside Cottage, the mis trass of that small establishment had had time to introduce Sabina to her family, as sho called her miscellaneous collection of pets. Other -family had she none ; but these afforded her sufficient interest and occupation, what with her cockatoos, and white mice, and love-birds, and marmosets, and squirrels, and kittens, and canaries. Indeed, by the time that the voluble and roseate little woman had expatiated on the merits arid virtues and tricks and failings of this host of. favourites,

and by the time that Fred Foster and his I companion had finished their talk in the little bit of front garden overlooking the front rood, Mrs Dane begged to be excused, for that now she had to be off to getlunchedn hurried up. Well, Sabina was not rnuoh interested in these good people, but she was in no wise offended by them, and during this little banquet sho tried to be as amiable and responsive to all their kindness as she, well could be. Of course, Mrs Deane monopolised most of her attention ; for Fred Foster and his friend were discussing the recent University Boat-race, and also certain wrestling contests then going on at Lillie Bridge. And soon it appeared that this gay and rubicund little lady had a most | astonishing acquaintance with what was to the fore in the way of amusements in London. She knew all the pieces at the theatres ; she had heard all the new music ; from Muswellhill and its racing to the Crystal Falaco ami its fireworks, she and her husband seemed to have been everywhere and to have seen everything. "I should have thought," Sabina said, in some surprise, " that you would have found it difficult to get much to the theatre — living in a remote place like this — " "Bless you," said the other, cheerfully, " that is the advantage of living anywhere within a reasonable driving-distance of Epsom ; the late trains make it so easy. Did you think wo were buried alive down here? Oh, 1 think we know a little of what's coing on in town." "So it would seem," Sabina said, smiling. On the other hand, whenever the conversation was gonoral, Mr Doano's manner towards Sabina was most deferential j and he warmly expressed concurrence with whatever she said ; and was pleased to grin when there happened to be something cheerful. Nor, when luncheon was over, could he be induced to light a cigar in that room, though everybody else was willing that he should do so ; ho refused flatly ; and said that he and Foster would smoke on their way over to the stables of a great house near by, which they had promised to visit. Then, again, instead of at once following Fred Foster out to tha front gate, ho found a chance of calling his wife aside, and said quickly :—: — "Mind this, Susie, if you're singing any songs now, bo a little careful. Don't have any of the ' a libtle-later-on-in-the-evoning ' kind, there's a good girl." " Don't be alarmed," said Mrs Deane, with a cheerful little giggle, "I'm not going to sing any songs. I'm going to take her for a drive to Boxhill. I think she's an awfully nice girl. Whatever made her marry Fred Foster ?" " Women do strange things," her husband said. " I suppose it was the accident that brought it about." " Then there's another thing, Jim," she said. "I wish you wouldn't allow Fred Foster to jump on you. What right has ho to patronise you ?" Ain't you as good as he is ?— well, I should think ho ! Just you check him a bit- it'll do him all the good in the world. You keep him in his place, Jim. His wife's worth a dozen of him — set him up !*' When the two husbands were gone, their wives got into tho ponychaiso, Mrs Deano taking the reins ; and presently they were driving away along the Surrey highway, on a spring day that was pleasant enough, with its purple clouds, and silver light, and warm, humid air. And somehow Sabina preferred Mrs Deane in the pony-chaise to Mis Deane at table ; form the pony-chaise she looked so trim and neat and jolly ; whereas at table she had a trick of trying to eat and speak at onee — a practice which saves time, to be sure, but is not otherwise to be admired. They drove away down by Micklehani and Juniper Hill and Burford Bridge ; then they struck off the main highway to make the ascent of Boxhill ; and here Mrs Deane surrendered the reins to Sabina, to let tho patient and stout little cob take the long zig-zags at his ease, while she took a bee-line up the hill with a lightness of foot that showed she was used to the neighbourhood. She got in again at the top ; and they made away for Headley Heath and Walton Downs — making no haste of the drive, indeed, for they had plenty of time, and the day was mild for March. The blithe little Mrs Deane seemed rather curious to learn in what measure Sabina was acquainted with, or interested in her husband's pursuits ; though here Sabina was reticent enough and also she wanted to know how a mere bicycle-accident should have led to acquintanceship, and then friendship, and then marriage. " I wonder w hether he will b© quite up to his old form next week," she said. " But how ?" Sabina asked. "In the steeplechase." " What steeplechase ?" " Why, don't you know ? The Spring Steeplechase at Manchester. I fancy that this is the first one he has ridden in since that accident j that's a long time fora man to be kept away from what used to be his favourite hobby. The loss of money, too ; a hundred to nothing is a nice little bet when one is ham up." " Do you go much to races ?" Sabina ventured to inquire. "I? Not 1 ! Tho ordinary race-meet-ings are no use for women at all ; the men are after business — not after lunches and swell gowns and glovoa. But when your own set have pulled off a good thing, and the men are back In town, then you may have a very nice time ; they're free-handed then ; easy come, easy go ; there are a good many little presents about. But the bookie wins in the end— yes, and along the way, too : it's no good the clever ones thinking they can stand against the market odds ; though they may nave a stroke of luck now and again. Your husband was awful luck> last year." " Was ho?" Sabina said, and then, as that sounded as if she were strangely ignorant of her husband's affairs, she instantly added : " Yes, I believe he was. They say he is a very good judge of horses— and— -and the one he has a share in did very well last year, I believe. But I don't understand much about it." " The less you know the better," said Mrs Deane, curtly. " I've heard a good deal too much." In course of time they got back to Wayside Cottage, and found that the two husbands had returned ; and as there was a train due in about halfan-kour, they did not take the pony out : they merely stopped for a cup of tea, and then Mrs Deane drove Sabina to tho station. Fred Foster arrived there a faw minutes afterwards ; and presently they were on their way back to town. "A nice little cottage, that?" said he, inquiringly. *• Oh, yea," she answered. *' I should think the garden would look pretty in the summer," " Yes ; and they have a good deal of fritit, M*s De^ne says'." " What kind 6! a trap w.aa that-^com-fortable?" ' "Very." "And the cob?— it seemed to me a; , nicish- looking beast?" ; "It is very quiot," Sabina answered. 1 " And very willing at the hill work." "Ah," said fye, "I'm glad you approve of the place, for I've jus* taken it over from my worthy friend Deane," , > "Do you mean ire are to live there?" Sabina said, somewhat aghast. "If you are to Uy* anywhere at all ta

the'country, I don't see where you could get a prettier place, or more convenient," c saia, cheerfully. " And we can get it at dnce. They're removing to Newmarket. Mrs Deane doesn't know as yet, though j guess she'll tear her hair— and his too— when she's told ; for she is rather fond of a 'little fling, in tovyn. I've taken over the cob and pony-chaise, too, though it's needless to say I haven't paid for them yeb ; if the beast is quiet, you'll have no tiouble about driving him ; it will be quite an occupation for you," And thus came to an end Sabina's missionwork in London ; she was no longer an " angel in the house," or, rather, in many, many houses ; she was now merely Mrs Foster, of Wayside Cottage, Witstead.