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Joseph Liddon was deaf, and one day, when he was having a holiday in thecountry, he crossed a curving railway line, and a train, sweeping roundthe corner when he was looking another way, swept him out of existence.On his shoulder he was carrying the infrequent and delightfulgun—reminiscent of happy days in English coverts and stubblefields—and in his hand he held a dangling hare, about the cooking ofwhich he was dreaming pleasantly, wondering whether his wife would haveit jugged or baked. When they stopped the train and gathered him up, hewas as dead as the hare, dissolved into mere formless tatters, and hiswomen-folk were not allowed to see him afterwards. They came up fromtown to the inquest and funeral—wife and two daughters, escorted by adowny-lipped son—all dazed and bewildered in their suddenly transformedworld; and a gun and a broken watch and a few studs, that had beencarefully washed and polished, were the only "remains" on which theycould expend the valedictory kiss and tear. Their last memory of him wasfull of the gay bustle of farewell at Spencer Street when he set forthupon his trip. It was such an event for him to have a holiday, and to goaway by himself, that the whole family had to see him off. Even youngJoe was on the platform to carry his father's bag, and buy him theevening papers, his train being the Sydney express, which did not leavetill after office hours. When they knew how the holiday had ended, theirbitter regrets for not having accompanied him further were greatlysoothed by the knowledge that they had gone with him so far—had closedtheir life together with an act of love that had made him happy.

He had been born a gentleman in the technical sense, and had lived atrue man in every sense. In spite of this—to a great extent, probably,because of it—he had not been very successful in the world; that is tosay, he had not made himself important or rich. Money had not come tohim with his gentle blood, and he had not had the art to command it, norever would have had. It is a pursuit that requires the whole energies ofone's mind, and his mind had been distributed a good deal. He was fondof books, which was a fatal weakness; he was fond of little scientificexperiments, which was worse; he was indifferent to the sovereign ruleof public opinion and the advantages enjoyed by those who can cut adash, which was worst of all. And, besides, he was deaf. He had begun togrow deaf when quite a young man, after having a fever, and by the timehe was fifty one had to shout at him.

So, when at fifty-six he met his untimely end, because he could not hearthe train behind him, he was in the position of a clerk in a merchant'soffice, highly valued and trusted indeed, but worth no more than £370per annum, which salary he had received for sixteen years. The £70 hadpaid the rent of the little house in which he had dwelt with his familyfor the greater part of that time, and on the remainder they had livedquite comfortably, in a small way, by dint of good management, withoutowing a penny to anybody. Mrs. Liddon, otherwise a comparativelyuncultured person, was an accomplished cook and domestic administrator;Jenny, the eldest daughter, in whom the qualities of both parentsblended, got up early in the morning to buy provisions at the market,and did all the dressmaking for the family; Joe, a junior in hisfather's office, paid something for his board, and otherwise kept andclothed himself; and Sarah, the youngest, who had a bent spine, wasliterary, like her father, in whose intellectual pursuits she had hadthe largest share, and morally indispensable, though not practicallysupporting, in the economy of the household.

When the father was gone, the income was gone too, and the home as ithad been. Mother and children found themselves possessed of £500, paidby an insurance office, and their little family belongings, and a fewpounds that had been kept in store for the casual rainy day. To this thefirm who had employed him would have added a gift of £100 had the prideof these humble folks allowed it; and their relatives were alsoprepared to "do something" in the way of what seemed necessary help. Butthe first resolution come to by the bereaved ones, when resolutions hadto be taken, was to decline all such help and depend upon themselves.That being settled, they sat down to consult together as to how theymight invest their capital to the best advantage, so as to make it thefoundation of their future livelihood. Jenny called the meeting a fewdays after their return from the funeral, and insisted that all shouldrouse themselves to a sense of the extreme seriousness of the situation.

"We must at once set to work," she said impressively; "and we must notshilly-shally about it either. Make your suggestions first, and then, ifI don't like them, I will make mine. What is your notion, mother?"

"Oh, my dear, I'm sure I don't know," quavered Mrs. Liddon, as she drewforth the constant handkerchief; "I have no heart to think of anythingyet." She sobbed. "I suppose a boarding-house—that's the usual thing.Wemust have our own house and keep together; I could never bear topart with any of you—all I've got now!" The handkerchief went to hereyes, "Certainly we will all keep together," the children declared,extending arms towards her. "That's understood, of course. That's whatwe are planning for, first of all."

"And seeing that I cancook," whimpered the widow, "if I can't doanything else——"

"Yes, dear," Jenny broke in. "But I don't think a boarding-house woulddo, somehow. We haven't enough to make a good one, and to make it safe.You see Melbourne simply swarms with them already."

"And you'd have to take men—women are no good, and, besides, therearen't any—and I won't have all sorts of clerks and cads making free inthe house with my sisters," said young Joe severely.

"And I don't think there's a boarding-house in the town that would havea table like mine for the money," said his mother, with spirit, and withthe air of having considered the subject.

Jenny thought for a minute or two, rapidly; then she shook her head."Too much outlay," she objected, "and the result too uncertain."

"Everything is uncertain in this world," sighed Mrs. Liddon,disappointed and discouraged. "Then what do you propose yourself, mydear? A school?"

Jenny shook her head again. "The place is literallystiff with them,"she replied. "And, even if there were room for us, we are notqualified."

"Let us have a four-roomed cottage," said Sarah, "and keep ourselves toourselves; have no servant, and take in sewing or type-writing."

"We should be insolvent in a couple of years or so," her sister replied,"and we should cripple Joey."

"As to that," said Joey, "I'm not afraid. Iwant to take care of you,and Iought. I am the only man in the family, and women have nobusiness to work and slave while they have a man to do for them."

He squared his arms on the table and looked at her. Her mother andsister also looked at her, for it was evident that she was about tobring forth her scheme, and that she expected it to impress them.

"What I should haveliked," she began, "if there had been money enoughfor a fair start—which there isn't—is a—quite a peculiar andparticular—not in any way a conventional—shop."

"You needn't all look so shocked. A shop such asI should have wouldbe a different kind of thing from the common, I assure you. I have oftenthought of it. I have always felt"—with a smile of confidence—"that Ihad it in me to conduct a good business—that I could give thetraditional shopkeeper 'points,' as Joey would say. However, like theboarding-house, it would swallow up all the money at one gulp, so itcan't be done."

"Don't say that without thinking," rejoined the girl, whose intelligentface had brightened with the mention of her scheme. "I daresay you wouldrather be a millionaire—so would I; but you must remember we have toearn our bread, without much choice as to ways of doing it. It wouldhave been nice, after a day's work"—she looked persuadingly atSarah—"to have had tea in our own back parlour, all alone by ourselves,free and comfortable; and in the evening to have totted up our takingsfor the day—all cash, of course—and seen them getting steadily biggerand bigger; and by-and-by—because Iknow that, with a good start, Ishould have succeeded—to have become well enough off to sell out, andgo to travel in Europe, and do things."

"Ah—that!" sighed Sarah, who had a thin, large-eyed, eager face thatbetokened romantic aspirations.

"If I had only myself to consider, I would do it now," said Jenny. "Butthere are you three—your money must not be risked."

Joey thought of an elegant little cousin up country, the daughter of abank manager, who naturally turned up her nose at retail trade; and hesaid that, as the present head of the family—he was afraid Jenny wasover-looking the fact that he held this position by divine right ofsex—he should certainly withhold his sanction from any such absurdproject, risk or no risk. "Thank the Lord," he blustered angrily, "wehave not come down tothat—not yet!"

She laughed in his face. "You talked about cads just now," she said;"take care you don't get tainted with their ideas yourself. And don'tforget that you are only nineteen, while I am twenty-four, and mother isjust twice as old as that; and that what little we have is hers; andthat women in these days are as good as men, and much better than boys;and that you are expected to allow us to know what is best for a fewyears more."

She was a diminutive creature, barely five feet high; but she had themoral powers of a giantess, and was really a remarkable little person,though her family was not aware of it. Joey loved her dearly in aneasy-going brotherly way, but maintained that she "bossed the show"unduly at times, and on such occasions he was apt to kick against herpretensions. Lest he should do so now, and an unseemly squabble ensue,Mrs. Liddon interposed with the remark that it was useless to discusswhat was impracticable, and begged her daughter to come to business.

"Well," said Jenny then, fixing her bright eyes on the boy's sulky butotherwise handsome face, "this is my proposal—that we open atea-room—a sort of refined little restaurant for quiet people, don'tyou know; a kind of——"

"I'm not going to sit down and listen to a lot of tommy-rot," was Joey'sscornful reply.

"Very well—go away, then; we can talk a great deal better without you.Take a walk. And when you come back we will tell you what we havedecided on."

This advice had its natural effect. Joey sat down again, stretched outhis legs, and thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets. Jennyproceeded to unfold her plan to her mother and sister, taking no noticeof his sarcastic criticisms.

"Now, dears," she said earnestly, "you know wemust do something tokeep ourselves, and at the same time to keep a home; don't you?"

"And that isn't playwork—we don't expect it to be all pleasure; and wecan't afford to have fine-lady fancies, can we?"

"Well, then, if we can't do what we would like, we must do what we can.And I can't think of anything more promising than this. I would havequite a small place to begin with—one room, and some sort of kitchen toprepare things in—because rent is the only serious matter, and we mustmake the thing self-supporting from the first; that is the attraction ofmy plan, if it has an attraction—the thing I have been speciallyscheming for. Because, you see, then, if we fail, there won't be anygreat harm done."

"The publicity!" murmured Mrs. Liddon; and Joey took up the word, anddrew offensive pictures of rowdy men invading the establishment, callingfor food and drink, and addressing these born ladies as "my dear."

"There will be nothing of that sort," said Jenny calmly. "The placewill have no attractions for that class. We must not prohibit men, forthat would discourage general custom——"

"But it will be a woman's place, that men would not think of coming toexcept to bring women. Just a quiet room, mother; not all rows of chairsand tables, like a common restaurant—the best of our own furniture,with some wicker chairs added, and a few small tables, like acomfortable private sitting-room, only not so crowded; and floored withlinoleum, so that we can wash it easily. Then just tea and coffee andscones—perhaps some little cakes—nothing perishable or messy; perhapssome delicate sandwiches, so that ladies can make a lunch. Only thesesimple things, butthey as perfectly good as it is possible to makethem. Mother,your scones——"

Mrs. Liddon smiled. She saw at once that her scones alone would make thetea-room famous.

"We must do everything ourselves," said Jenny, "everything; noout-goings except for rent and our few superfine groceries.Consequently we must not undertake too much. Say we open at eleveno'clock and close at eight—no, at seven. That will give us time toprepare in the morning, and our evenings for rest. Mother, dear, youmust cook. I will wait. We cannot accommodate more than twenty or so atfirst, and I can manage that. Sarah can get ready the tea and coffee,and perhaps take the money when we are busy. A few dozen of nice whitecups and saucers and a lot of plates—I could get them wholesale. I wishwe could afford nice table covers, but I am afraid they, and thewashing, would cost too much; we must have American cloth, I suppose.And butter—we must be very careful what arrangements we make forbutter, to be sure of having it new every morning; and we must keep itcold—that, above all things. Though we only give tea and scones, leteverybody say that they never bought such tea and scones before. Eh,mother?"

"They won't buy better, if I have anything to do with it," said Mrs.Liddon, putting her handkerchief in her pocket.

Thus Jenny unfolded her scheme, and gradually talked her family into aconditional agreement with it. Only Joey was persistently hostile, andhe, when she begged him to suggest a better, was fain to acknowledgethat no better occurred to him. All he hoped and trusted was that hissister would not drag the family name into the mire—that was to say,not more so than the wretched state of things necessitated. "TheLiddons," said the boy, as he rose from the interview, "have never beenin trade before."

"And wouldn't you rather be a proprietor in Churchill & Son's than ajunior clerk?" was Jenny's quick retort, as he left the room.

CHAPTER II

HER FIRST FRIEND

The chief of Churchill & Son suffered no social disadvantage from beingin trade, and enjoyed many satisfactions that are unknown to the wealthywho have nothing to do. His mind was alert and keen, his large,wholesome-looking body a picture of well-being and contentment, hisattitude towards the world and things in general one of consistentself-respect. He was one of that numerous band of perfectly-dressed andexquisitely clean old gentlemen who pervade the city-wending tram-carsof a morning between 9 and 10 o'clock, and are a delight to the eyes ofall true lovers of their country, as comprising the solid base of itsmaterial prosperity. Solid in every sense was Mr. Nicholas Churchill, asound, just man, whose word was his bond, and whose signature was goodfor six figures at the bank; a man who had succeeded in life andcommerce without cheating anybody, and was esteemed according to hisdeserts, as we all are—though we don't always think so.

He walked into the breakfast-room of his little palace at Toorak, on acertain spring morning, and, having kissed his children and shaken handswith the governess, sat down to table and propped his newspaper beforehim. His wife, a smart young lady in a long-tailed lace-frilled gown,poured out his coffee, and his married daughter helped him to fish; forit was a rule of the house to save him all trouble of helping himself orothers at this end of the day. The married daughter, Mrs. Oxenham, wasrather older than his wife, and was not now a member of the household,but a visitor from a large station in the north-eastern hills; she hadcome down to meet the mail which was bringing out her brother, Mr.Churchill's eldest son, from home, and the arrival of which atAdelaide had been telegraphed the day before. She was a tall,distinguished-looking woman, a source of great pride and enjoyment toher father, who addressed to her the most of what little conversation hehad time for.

"This is curious," he remarked, between two mouthfuls of butteredtoast. "Look here, Mary—poor old Liddon's wife, I'll bet you anything.Read this."

She leaned over to him, and looked at the newspaper where he had fixedit to the table with a broad thumb. After a short silence sheejaculated, "Oh,poor things!" It was her comment upon the followingadvertisement:—

"Well," said Mr. Churchill, "it is not our fault. We were ready andwilling to assist them."

"As was only right," Mrs. Oxenham murmured, "seeing how long he was withthe firm."

"And as good a servant as it ever had. Yes, I felt that it was our dutyto do something for the widow and children, and I sent them a littlesum—a cheque for a hundred it was—thinking it might be acceptable.You'd have thought so, wouldn't you? I've done it before, dozens oftimes, and always found 'em grateful. But here—well, they just sent itback by return of post."

"Oh!" A faint flush overspread his daughter's face. "Did you put itnicely, do you think?"

"I didn't put it at all, but it was a very proper letter—I read itbefore I signed it—speaking most highly of the old fellow's characterand services, and all that sort of thing. In fact, they thanked us forwhat we said of him, and didn't seem to feel insulted—it was a nicelittle note enough——"

"Janet Liddon was the name—his daughter, writing on her mother'sbehalf. But the money they wouldn't touch with a pair of tongs. Tooproud, of course."

"Of course. Oh, I do like to hear of that kind of pride! I was afraid ithad died right out in these sordid times."

"So was I. I can tell you it struck me uncommonly; I thought about it agood deal; it was so unusual. I spoke to the young fellow, and he saidit was his mother and sister—his sister chiefly—who wouldn't have it.And now they've opened this little place—it is they, I am convinced—tokeep themselves. I'll tell you what it is, Mary, they're fine women,that mother and daughter—fine women, my dear. I'd like to look themup—sort of apologise for offering alms, as it were—eh? They'll wantcustom for their tea-room. Maude—I say, Maude"—the young lady of thehouse was so deep in talk with the governess about house decorations fora party that it was difficult to gain her ear—"Maude, my child, can'tyou take some of your friends to tea there, and give them a start?"

Mrs. Churchill's vague eye roamed for a moment, and she said,"What—where—I wasn't listening," like one in a dream.

"Never mind," said Mrs. Oxenham, "I will. I am to have some dressesfitted this morning——"

"Oh, are you going to Mrs. Earl?" cried her stepmother, suddenly alertand glowing. "Oh, Mary, dear,would you take a message for me? Tellher I must, I simplymust have my pink gown to-morrow." To look ather, one would have imagined it a matter of life and death.

Half an hour later her husband and stepdaughter, two highly-finished,perfectly-tailored figures, sober and stately, severely unpretentious,yet breathing wealth and consequence at every point, set forth togetherthrough spacious gardens to the road and the tram—which appeared to theminute, as it always does for men of the Churchill stamp, who are nevertoo soon or too late for anything. They rode together to Collins Street,and there separated and went east and west, the daughter to have her Cupdresses tried on at one end of that thoroughfare, and the father toresume command of his commercial kingdom at the other.

He had not been in his office many minutes before he sent for JosephLiddon. When the young man appeared, neat and spruce, as became a clerkof the great house, Mr. Churchill held out theArgus, folded, andpointed to the advertisement of the tea-room.

"I wanted to ask you, Liddon, if this is your mother?" he said, in hisquick, business way.

Joey did not need to look, but dropped his eyes to the paper, andcrimsoned to the roots of his hair. For a dreadful moment he was indanger of saying, "No, sir," but was mercifully spared from theperpetration of what would have been to him and his a most disastrouslie. Then he was on the point of saying he didn't know, but had thesense to perceive that such an evasion would but make the inevitabledisclosure worse; and finally braced himself to the agony of confession.He had implored the relentless Jenny not to allow their name to appearin connection with her undertaking, and lo, here it was, published tothe world of supercilious fellow-clerks and magnificent proprietors. Hewas ready to sink into the ground with shame.

"I'm sorry to say it is, sir," he mumbled, cringing and quivering."Quite against my wishes—I've had nothing to do with it. It's mysister—she would do it—she's a very odd girl——"

"It was your sister who insisted on returning our cheque, was it not? Iremember she wrote the note that enclosed it."

"Sheis odd," said the merchant, keenly smiling. "And I should likevery much to have the honour of her acquaintance."

Joey stared, doubtful whether this was joke or earnest. And the clerkwho now occupied his father's place coming in with papers, the chiefbade him good-morning, and he retired, much puzzled as to how thatpotentate had really taken the news of his (Joey's) social downfall. Andhis mind resumed its effort to concoct suitable explanations for hisoffice colleagues, when they should come and ask him whether that Mrs.Liddon was his mother—from which the summons of "the boss" haddisturbed him.

Mr. Churchill's mind, bent, as it supposed, upon business, did not turnout Miss Liddon as easily as it had dismissed her brother. It was takenwith the idea of a girl who would not receive money, and dared to riskher little conventional title to be a lady for the sake of making anhonest living; his own business rectitude and high-mindedness qualifiedhim to appreciate a woman of that sort—so different from the swarm ofidle damsels with whom he was in daily contact, who lived for nothingbut their own pleasures, and on anybody who would keep them, with nosense whatever of any responsibility in life, whose frivolities he wasalways denouncing, more or less, in a good-natured way, though his owndear wife was one of them. So greatly was he interested in thisexception to the rule that he presently conceived the wish to go andsee her, to see what she was like. He looked at the advertisement again;the place was quite close by. He looked at his watch; it was eleveno'clock. Tea and scones were about the last things he could desire atthat hour, but he might try them. She had announced that they would begood, and he did not think she was the person to make a vain boast. AndMary would probably be there, to keep him in countenance. The invitationwas addressed to "ladies shopping," but gentlemen were not prohibited;if there should be any difficulty on the ground of his sex he could sayhe had called for his daughter. No, he would tell Miss Liddon and hermother who he was, and give them the encouragement of his good wishes intheir plucky enterprise. Taking down his smart brown hat, which matchedhis smart heather-brown suit, he stole across to Little Collins Streetin search of the tea-room.

CHAPTER III

AFLOAT

It was discovered over a basket-maker's shop at the top of a rather darkstaircase; a deterring approach, as Mr. Churchill reflected, but herightly supposed they had not had much choice of premises. On reachingthe room, however, he was surprised to see how nice it looked, and howvery unlike a restaurant. It had been used to warehouse thebasket-maker's stock, and had a spacious floor, though a rather lowceiling, and, like the staircase, was ill lighted for its presentpurpose. But Jenny and her mother had papered it with a yellow paper,and draped yellow muslin around, not over, the dim windows; by whichmeans they had put light and brightness into it, as well as an air ofelegance not to be expected in such a place. It was the day of artmuslins, and this was very pretty art muslin, with a brownish patternmeandering through the yellow; and it had little frills at the edges,and brown bands to draw the curtains to the wall, which had a culturedlook. And, although these decorations were comparatively perishable andsoilable, they had cost little, and would last a considerable time, ifnot for ever. The floor was covered with plain brown linoleum, thatlooked like brown paint, and scattered in inviting groups about it werea number of low chairs and tables in brown wickerwork, supplied by thebasket-maker downstairs, who had been glad to deal reasonably in thismatter as in other arrangements, with a view to mutual benefits from theamalgamation of the new enterprise with his own struggling trade,hitherto crushed by the weight of central city rents. The chair bottomswere cushioned in various pretty chintzes of æsthetic hue, and eachtable-top furnished with a Japanese tray, containing cups and saucersand a little glass sugar-basin and milk-jug, protected by a square ofmuslin from the wandering fly. Heavier chairs and more solid tables,furniture from the old home, were mixed with these, and a capaciousfamily sideboard bore a multitude of brown earthen teapots of differentsizes. The whole effect of these inexpensive arrangements was soothingto the cultivated eye and the instructed mind.

"I wish I had known," said Mr. Churchill to himself, as he calculatedthe rough cost in one comprehensive glance. "I would have supplied themwith all they wanted at first cost."

He looked for his daughter, but she was still detained by Mrs. Earl, alady more rushed by clients than a fashionable doctor, and he found thathe was the only customer of the tea-room, and the first. His heavy stepstumbling on the staircase had announced his approach, and two of theproprietors received him with an anxious air. One of these, abent-backed, immature girl with a sharp-featured face, retired to atable in a corner, where she began to sew, watching him the while; theother came forward to play the hostess with a charming dignity of mien.He did not know her, but she knew him—Joey had pointed out "the boss"to her in a hundred crowds; Mrs. Liddon, peeping from behind the screenthat masked the passage to her kitchen, nervous at the approach of alone man, knew him also, and pardonably remained in ambush to learnwhat he had to say. She did hope he was not one of those gay oldgentlemen who were worse than the young ones in their pursuit ofdefenceless girls.

Jenny was looking very sweet at that moment, with the flush ofexcitement in her small, bright face. She had clear, straight-browedeyes, and a slightly tilted nose, and an assertive chin, which somehowcombined to make a whole that nobody said was beautiful and yeteverybody was attracted by; it was piquant and spirited, finely finishedand full of life. Her small figure was as refined as her face, and theplain black gown and bibbed holland apron that she wore became itperfectly. She was a picture of neatness and capability as she steppedforward to receive her unexpected guest, and his business-like soulwarmed towards her. Though he was not the philanderer so much dreaded byMrs. Liddon, he admired her as a mere woman with that part of his soulwhich was not business-like. She looked so sincere and wholesome.

"Hm—ha—I must introduce myself—Mr. Churchill, my dear—excuse myfreedom—I am not exactly a stranger——"

She was violently crimson, thinking of the returned cheque; so was he,from the same cause.

"I—I—I was reading my paper this morning—I wasn't sure if it was thesame—I thought it might be—and—and I owe much to your good father, mydear—his long and faithful services—a heavy loss to the firm—there,there! I beg your pardon for mentioning it—all I meant to say was thatwe take a great interest in his family, and I thought—I fanciedperhaps—in short, my dear, I have come to congratulate you on yourcourage and energy. I see it all—I understand—I am a business manmyself—I should have done the same in your place, though it grieved meto have it come back—it did, indeed; I was so anxious to do something.Anyway, I thought you wouldn't mind my coming to see how you weregetting on—your father's old friend—and to offer you my good wishes,and whatever assistance you will honour me by accepting. Oh, notmoney—I know you won't have that—but advice as to buying goods, andso on—matters in which my experience might be of help to you. It wouldbe a pleasure to me, my dear, I do assure you."

Jenny listened with heaving breast and drooping head, and tears began towell up, overflow, and fall; seeing which, the old man took her littlehand and paternally patted it. Whereupon Mrs. Liddon rushed out frombehind her screen.

Jenny received her with emotion—a swift whisk of a handkerchief acrossher eyes and an impassioned smile.

"This, mother, is Mr. Churchill. He is so good as to take an interest inour experiment. He has come to wish us success."

"Madam," said the old gentleman, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, "Iam proud and happy to make your acquaintance. And let me say thatsuccess is assured to an enterprise undertaken in such a spirit and withso much good sense. I don't know when I have been so interested as inseeing this young lady—this delicate young creature"—indicating Jenny,who was as tough as perfect health and an active life could makeher—"turning to, and setting her shoulder to the wheel, in this—thisgallant fashion. Your husband, ma'am, was one of the best of men andgentlemen—I always knew that; but I did not know that he was so blessedin his family. I did not, indeed."

"You know his son, sir," murmured the widow, who was very proud of herhandsome boy.

"Your son," said Mr. Churchill, "is very well—a very good son, I makeno doubt; but he's not half the man that your daughter is. My dear, Imean that for a compliment, though it may not sound like one." He gazedat Jenny's now smiling face, and added abruptly, "It was you whowouldn't be beholden to us for a trumpery hundred pounds, wasn't it?"

"Oh, no, no," the mother eagerly interposed. "Pray don't think that. Wewere all most grateful—indeed, we were. But Jenny said——"

"Yes, I understand. Her name is Jenny, is it? I think I can guess whatMiss Jenny said. She's as proud as Lucifer—I can see that; but Ihonour her for it. I honour you for it, my dear. It's the sort of pridethat a good many would be the better for. You are a born lady, my dear,and that's the short and the long of it."

Then he asked to be shown the premises, and the happy women took himover them, and displayed all their economical contrivances, which quitebore out his preconceptions of Jenny's excellence as a business managerand a woman. He attributed it all to Jenny, and indeed it was her handswhich had made the frilled curtains and the restful chair cushions, anddevised whatever was original in the commissariat arrangements. Mrs.Liddon's kitchen was her own great pride, and also her store of new-madescones, which were as light as feathers.

"You must give me some tea and scones," said Mr. Churchill, "that I maytaste what they are like. I must do that, you know, before I recommendthem to my friends."

"Of course," said Jenny; and she quickly arranged a table, with twoscones on a plate and a tiny pat of iced butter; and her mother handedher a small, hot teapot from behind the screen.

"Earthen pots seemed sweeter than metal, for so much use," she said,placing it before him; "and we thought these trays nicer to eat fromthan anything else we could afford. Both are liable to break, but theywere cheap."

"They would have been cheaper," he said, "if you had come to me. Mindyou come to me when you want some more."

Then he ate and drank and smacked his lips, gravely, as if judging winefor experts. The women hung upon the verdict with trembling anxiety.

"Excellent," he exclaimed, "excellent! Never tasted better tea in mylife—nor scones either. And butter delicious. Keep it up at this, mydear, and you'll do. I'll send everybody I know to have tea with you, ifyou'll only promise to keep it up. All depends on that, you know."

"I know," said Jenny. "And that we may do it, we have undertaken nothingbut tea and scones at present. By-and-by we will have coffee, and,perhaps, cakes and other things. But at present, doing everythingourselves, we have to be careful not to get muddled—not to try morethan we can do well. We can't run out of tea and scones, nor need wewaste any. Mothercan make a batch in a quarter of an hour, ifnecessary."

"Good," said the merchant, to whom the smallest details were importantin matters of business; and he began to fumble in his pocket. "Who's thecashier?" he asked.

"I am," replied Sarah, from behind her little table, on which stood twowooden bowls and neat piles of paper tickets.

"Sixpence," he repeated, with a meditative air, "sixpence; yes, thatwill do. Neither too much nor too little—though that's expensive tea.When you want a fresh stock of tea, Miss Jenny, let me know, will you?Come, you needn't hesitate; I'm not offering to give it to you. I'm asmuch a business man as you are."

He took change for the shilling, which was his smallest coin; and thenhe began to think it time to return to his office, from which he hadbeen absent nearly an hour. As he was stumbling downstairs, after warmlyshaking hands with the family, he met his daughter coming up.

"What! you, father?" she responded. "Are you here before me? That iskind of you. Oh, I'm so tired! Two frocks in one morning! But I supposeI ought to be thankful that she'll do them. Is the tea really good,father? If it is, I think I'll make my lunch here, instead of goinghome, and Maude can pick me up at the office when she comes in thisafternoon. Telephone to her when you go back, and say so, will you,dear?"

"I will," said Mr. Churchill. "And the tea and scones are all that theyprofess to be. A charming little place, and people too. Come, I willintroduce you before I go."

He took her in, introduced her, and left her. She stayed till nearly oneo'clock, talking much as her father had done, with all his kindness andher own more dignified reserve, and rejoined him at the office, aftersome shopping, much impressed with Jenny. Later, Mrs. Churchill,resplendent, drove into town, and her big carriage got itself intoLittle Collins Street, and she was made to take tea and scones in herturn, and found them so excellent that she spent the rest of theafternoon in talking about them to her friends, and about the pretty,poky place that was so sensationally opposed to all one's ideas of arestaurant. It was the amusement of the day, and resulted in making thetea-room fashionable.

CHAPTER IV

THE HERO

The junior Churchill partner returned home next day from a six months'trip, and the house at Toorak was much excited by the event, for he wasa great man in its eyes. He lived an independent life at the club and ina suite of sumptuous chambers in East Melbourne, when on this side ofthe world, but was received by his father and stepmother on his firstarrival, and entertained until his own establishment was ready for him.His stepmother, before she was his stepmother, had badly wanted to behis wife, and it was a source of extreme satisfaction to her that hestill remained unmarried and disengaged, though thirty-five lastbirthday, and one of the greatest catches in the colony. She never wouldhave a pretty governess in the house, lest Anthony should be tempted;and she kept a sharp eye upon the girls who sought and sighed forhim—their name was legion—when able to do so, and systematicallycircumvented them. He was too good, she said, to be thrown away. Inother words, it would be too dreadful not to have him at dinner onSundays, and in and out of the house all the week through, petting her(in a strictly filial manner), and escorting her about when his fatherwas busy.

"People talk of the troubles of stepmothers," she used to say, with hermost maternal air. "I have never had any trouble. My stepchildrennever objected to me for a moment, and they are just the comfort of mylife."

Of the two, Anthony was her greatest comfort; he was always there—whenhe was not in England. Mary Oxenham was a dear woman, but she seldomcame to town.

Mary and her father went to meet the ship that brought Anthony back.Mrs. Churchill stayed at home, to put flowers into his bedroom, and beready to welcome him on the doorstep in a twenty-guinea tea-gown,designed on purpose. The boat, they had been informed by telephone fromthe office, was expected at five o'clock, but when Mrs. Oxenham calledfor her father at half-past three, he told her it would not be in beforesix at the earliest; and he was in rather a state of mind lestAnthony's dinner should be spoiled. He sent a message to his wife topostpone it to half-past eight, and Mrs. Oxenham said she would killtime by going to the tea-room.

She drove thither in Maude's carriage, which had brought her in, becauseshe thought that its appearance at the door would be good for custom.She was much interested in Miss Liddon and her praiseworthy efforts, andanxious to assist them; and she and Maude had agreed that it would bevery nice if they could keep the tea-room select—a place where theycould meet their friends in comfort. They thought this might be managedif they made a little effort at the start, and that, once established onthose lines, the coming season would provide as much custom of the rightsort as the Liddons could manage. Mrs. Oxenham desired it rather forJenny's sake than their own; she did not like to think of that lady-likegirl having to wait on rough people.

On entering the yellow room, it was evident to her that all was well, sofar. Several people were taking tea and scones, and the newcomer wasmore or less acquainted with them all. A frisky matron whom Maude hadintroduced there yesterday had come again, and she had a frisky manalong with her—having promptly recognised the possibilities of the newestablishment as a place for meeting one's friends. She was lounging atgreat ease in one of the low, cushioned chairs, with her feet crossedand her gloves in her lap, and he was sitting in another, with his armson his knees, which touched her pretty gown; they both sat up verysuddenly when Mrs. Oxenham appeared. Two other ladies, with two othergentlemen, made a group at the furthest possible distance from them; andthree smart girls in another corner were letting their tea grow coldwhile they chaffed and were chaffed by a couple of high-collared youths,who certainly had no business to be with them in their unchaperonedcondition.

"So this is the first result," said Mrs. Oxenham to herself, as shebowed slightly in response to unnecessarily cordial smiles. "Oh, well,it don't matter to her, I suppose."

"Her" was Jenny Liddon, who came forward with a glowing face, anddirected her patroness to a particularly nice chair in Sarah'sneighbourhood. Mrs. Oxenham sat down, and made kind inquiries of herprotégée as to how she was getting on.

"Beautifully," Jenny replied with fervour, "thanks to you and Mr.Churchill. We have had quite a number of customers already—we arepaying our way, even now—and they all say that the tea and scones aregood."

Jenny flitted round the screen, and came back with the fragrant teapotand the pat of sweet butter that she was so careful to keep cool; andMrs. Oxenham ate and drank with the enjoyment of a dainty womanaccustomed to the best, and not always finding it where it should be.She talked to her young hostess as the girl passed to and fro, with theobject of making her feel that she was still recognised as a lady aswell as a restaurant-keeper; for Mrs. Oxenham had ideas as to the statusof women, and what determined it, which were much in advance of thosepopularly held.

"I am on my way to meet the mail steamer," she said, rising when she hadfinished her tea, and looking at her watch.

"Yes," said Jenny. "My brother told me Mr. Anthony Churchill wasexpected." She added with a little sigh, "The sea will be looking lovelynow."

"You ought to get down to it when you can," said Mrs. Oxenham. "The airin this street is not very wholesome. You should have a blow on the St.Kilda pier of a night, when work is over."

"By-and-by," said Jenny, "when we can afford it, we will have a littlehome there, and come in and out by tram. At present we do not spend apenny more than is quite necessary. We walk to the house where we sleep,and back. We just keep a room to sleep in; our landlady at this place isa fixture, and takes charge in our absence. But we live here."

"Take my advice, and don't grudge sixpence for a blow on the pier; itwill be the most paying investment of all, you'll find. Where's yourbrother? What does he do for you?"

Jenny blushed slightly. "There's nothing he wouldn't do for us if wewould let him," she said. "But we won't allow him to cripple himself."

Jenny blushed a deeper hue. "He is only a boy," she murmuredindulgently. "He doesn't understand. He will some day."

She saw some of her customers make a movement to rise, and Mrs. Oxenhamsmiled farewell and departed, glad to be blocked on the dark staircaseby new people coming up.

"Brave little creature!" was her inward ejaculation, as she stepped intoher carriage, which seemed to block the narrow street. "I see what shehas had to fight against. Ah, well, women are not all talking dolls, asTony calls them. I wonder what Tony will say to her?" She paused toconsider, and thought it would be as well not to take Tony there. "Ihate to see all those men lounging about on her little chairs," she saidto herself. "They are not meant for men. I do hope and trust they won'tany of them take it into their empty heads to make love to her. She isnot exactly pretty, but she is very attractive—dreadfully attractive,for such a place. She doesn't know it in the least, but she has a facethat one can hardly take one's eyes off."

The carriage clattered up to the door of the palatial business premisesof Churchill & Son, and the chief stepped out with the alertness of ayoung man.

"It's early," he said, "but we may as well catch the 4.30. Better be toosoon than too late."

Mrs. Oxenham agreed, and they were driven to the neighbouring station,where they bade the coachman return to meet the special, and took trainfor Williamstown. Arrived there, the old gentleman buttoned hisgreat-coat and helped his daughter into a sealskin mantle; and theyprepared for a long pacing up and down the breezy pier, between therails and trucks, while they waited for Tony. But in half an hour theship appeared, and for another half hour, while she was being warpedinto her place, they had the bliss of seeing the dear fellow, thoughthey could not reach him, and of hearing the beloved voice shoutinggreetings and questions at them. Amongst the swarm of passengers hangingover the rails, Anthony Churchill, with his red beard on a level withthe hats of ordinary men, was easily distinguishable. He was a fine man,and a handsome one, as well as amiable and rich; so it was no wonderthat the girls, of whom there seem such a terrible number in proportionto their possible suitors, ran after him.

"How well he looks!" exclaimed Mrs. Oxenham—meaning how beautiful anddistinguished, compared with other women's brothers.

Then the gangways were fixed, and he came hurling down through theascending and descending crowd, and the majestic woman put her armsround his neck and kissed him.

They climbed into the special, and sat there and talked till it filledup and was ready to start. They wanted to know what was doing, and howeverybody was. Anthony inquired after "Mother," as he facetiously calledher, and his father and sister after that young lady for whom he hadbeen searching so long. For they had a desire to see him settled with anice wife, and bringing up sons and daughters, though Maude had not.

"I have not found her yet," the young man confessed. "I suppose I amhard to please, but I don't seem to have met anybody with enough in herto make it worth while to go so far as matrimony."

"What you have in you, Polly," he replied. "Some sense. Some ideasbeyond dressing and smirking at men."

"Oh, well, you had better put yourself in my hands," said she. "As Iknow there are plenty of such women, I'll undertake to find you one."

"A man never finds a woman of that sort. He doesn't know her when hesees her. He doesn't knowany woman when he sees her. You leave it tome, Tony. Time is getting on, and we can't allow you to degenerate intoa selfish old club bachelor, thinking of nothing but your dinner. Ishall begin at once. I know what would suit you far better than you canknow yourself."

The wild idea that Jenny Liddon would suit him never crossed her mindfor a moment, as a matter of course.

It was not quite seven o'clock when they reached town, and they got hometo Toorak before it was time to dress for dinner. As the carriage rolledup to the door, Mrs. Churchill swam into the hall, with her fine lacesfoaming about her, and cast herself into her stepson's arms, as she waslawfully privileged to do.

"Well, mother," he cried gaily, as he kissed her curly-fringed brow—athing he never did unless she made him—"and how's your little self? Andhow are the brats?"

The brats came headlong downstairs, and flung themselves upon him fromall sides at once.

"Oh, Tony! Tony! We are so glad you are back, dear Tony! What have youbrought us, Tony?"

CHAPTER V

HE MEETS THE HEROINE

"Polly, come and have a look round, and give me your advice, will you?My fellow says he's got all the luggage up, and he wants to know whereto put some of the new things."

Mr. Anthony Churchill would have felt himself insulted if you had calledhis "fellow" a valet. Australian gentlemen don't keep valets. The personin question had certainly filled that office in England, where hismaster had picked him up, but was now merely a sort of private malehousemaid of superior quality, who waited on his employer in the EastMelbourne chambers, and made him more comfortable than anybody elsecould have done. When he was away travelling, Maude took on his servantas an extra footman, in order to guard him against the seductions ofother wealthy bachelors who were known to covet him; but when Tony wasat home, Jarvis was his indispensable attendant. Mary Oxenham used tosay that Jarvis was the main cause of that celibacy which she could notbut deplore in a man of thirty-five, who could so well afford a wife andfamily.

"Yes, dear," she said, in response to his proposal; "I shall bedelighted." She rose from the Toorak luncheon-table to dress for theexpedition.

"Oh, Tony, you arenot going away?" cried Mrs. Churchill,prettily aghast. "When I have hardly had a word with you! And when youknow it is my day at home, and I can't come with you! Mary, it's verynasty and selfish of you, to carry him off and keep him all toyourself—especially when he has been in town the whole morning."

"I'll come back to dinner," he said soothingly. "And we'll have a gameof billiards together in the evening, if you like."

"But I want younow, Tony! All the world is coming this afternoon,just on purpose to see you, and I did so want to show you off."

"But you know what I mean, Tony—you can do exactly what you like—goaway and smoke, or anything. And there are several new girls—prettygirls—whom you haven't seen before."

"Pretty girls have ceased to interest me very much. I've seen such a lotof them."

"You are a nasty, horrid, disagreeable boy! I supposeI have ceased tointerest you—that's what you'd like to say if you weren't too polite."

He smiled down upon her, strong, calm, amused, indifferent, as if shewere a kitten frisking. He was always interested in her, if only becausehe had to be always on his guard to keep her from making a fool ofherself. She looked up at him, with a pout and a laugh, and proceeded tomake hay while the sun shone—to make the most of the little time thatMary gave her for the enjoyment of his company.

Brother and sister departed as soon as the latter was ready, preferringthe homely tram to the carriage that Mrs. Churchill desired to order forthem; and spent a quiet hour together in Tony's chambers, where Jarvishad left nothing to find fault with. There were pictures for Mrs.Oxenham to see, and a multitude of pretty things that Tony had broughtout to adorn his rooms, or as presents for his friends; and these werevery interesting to a lady of modern culture, as she was, secretly proudof and confident in her discriminating artistic sense. And she muchenjoyed an uninterrupted gossip with her brother, he and she having beenclose comrades for many years before Maude was heard of. They had agreat deal to say that they didn't care to say when she was present.

Jarvis offered tea, but it was declined. "No, thank you," said Mary."There's a little place where I make a point of having tea whenever I amin town—kept by some people whom I am interested in. And it isn't goodfor me to drink too much. I think, Tony, I'll be going, as I have acommission to do for Maude."

"I'll go with you," said Tony, "if you'll just let me finish my pipe.It's the sweetest pipe I have had for a long time. After all"—with aluxurious sigh—"there's no place like home."

He cast a complacent eye around the handsome room, which had witnessedso many masculine symposiums. "I might go further and fare worse," hesaid, with a comfortable laugh. "Do you remember the man inPunch whodidn't marry because he was so domesticated? I think I am like him. Ilove a quiet life. I like my armchair and my fireside of an evening." Hepuffed meditatively, while Mary drew on her gloves. "What's your errandfor Maude?" he asked abruptly.

"I could have sworn it. Now, if I had a wife who thought of nothing buther clothes——"

"Whowants you to have a wife who thinks of nothing but her clothes?Do you suppose they are all Maudes? Come along, and don't aggravate me."

He heaved himself out of his deep chair, retired to take off hissmoking-jacket, and escorted her to the tram and to Collins Street.

"If you are going to be long," he said, at Mrs. Earl's door, "I'll lookinto the club for a few minutes."

"I'm not going to be a second, but don't wait for me," she answered, "Goto your club, old fogey, but be home in good time for dinner."

However, when she had done her errand, which was only to deliver anurgent message concerning the trimming of a Cup gown—to which Mrs. Earlwas not likely to pay the least attention, knowing her business betterthan any lady could teach her—there was Tony on the pavement, still indevoted attendance.

"What an extraordinary place to have one's tea in!" He signalled for ahansom. "I'll go with you."

He took her to the door, and the outside of the basket-maker's premisesmade him curious to see the inside, and he begged to be allowed toescort her upstairs. "If only to see that you are not robbed andmurdered," he said.

"No fear of that," she returned, laughing. "You go and amuse yourself atthe club. This is a ladies' place."

He went to his club, and she to her tea and scones (the room wassatisfactorily full, and Jenny too busy to be talked to); and they metagain at Toorak in time to entertain Maude for half an hour before shehad to dress.

Next day Maude was determined to have her stepson forherself—especially as there was a dark rumour that he was going todesert her the day after for the superior attractions of Jarvis and hisbachelor abode; and Anthony was quite willing to gratify her.Recognising that she would bede trop, Mary Oxenham chose to stay athome and amuse the children; and he and his pretty stepmother (sevenyears his junior) drove away after luncheon for the ostensible purposeof paying calls together.

They paid two calls, and then, being in East Melbourne, Maude proposedthat they should go and have some tea.

"It was horribly bad tea," said she, "and I know a place where you canget it exceptionally good. I am just dying for a cup."

"Why, that must be the place Mary wouldn't take me to yesterday. Shesaid men were not admitted."

"Stuff! Of course they do. Didn't you hear Mrs. Bullivant say she wasthere yesterday with Captain what's-his-name, that charming new A.D.C.?No, you were flirting with Miss Baxter—oh, I saw you!—and had no eyesor ears for anybody else."

"Of course you may. You'll be charmed—everybody is. There are dearlittle chairs, in which you can actually rest yourself, and tables sohigh"—spreading her hand on a level with her knee. "And it's awfullyretired and peaceful, if you want to talk. I only hope"—regardless ofher previous efforts to compass that end—"that it won't get too wellknown. That would spoil it."

Anthony stalked through the basket-maker's shop (that customers passedthat way, in view of his wares, was a consideration that largelyaffected the rent, to Mrs. Liddon's advantage), and knocked his head andhis elbows on the dark staircase, and thought it was indeed the funniestplace of its kind that he had ever seen. But when he reached thetea-room, and looked round with his cultured eyes upon its singularappointments, he was quite as charmed as Maude had expected him to be,and more surprised than charmed.

"How very extraordinary!" he ejaculated. "What an oasis in the howlingdesert of Little Collins Street!"

"Yes, isn't it?" returned Maude, jerking her head from side to side. "Iknew you would like it. But, oh, do look how full it is! How tiresome ofpeople to come flocking here, as if there were no other place in thewhole town! There's hardly a table left. Oh, here's one! I'll get thatgirl to put it in the corner yonder. She knows me."

"It will do here," said Anthony, with a little peremptory air that shewas quite accustomed to. "Sit down."

"What a very extraordinary place!" he repeated, as his stepmother drewoff her gloves in preparation for prolonged repose and conversation.Then, as Jenny advanced, blushing a little—for she knew this was thejunior partner, and he stared at her intently—"What a very——" He leftthat sentence unfinished.

"Tea and scones for two, if you please. Yes, she's quite a new type,isn't she?—like her tea-room. She's the daughter of old Liddon, whoused to be in the office, and who was killed by being run over on therailway the other day. Mary says she's quite well educated."

"What!" cried Anthony. He sat bolt upright in his chair. "Old Liddondead! Good heavens! And his daughter keeping a restaurant! Why, Ithought they rather prided themselves on being gentlefolks. The old manused to tell me he was an Eton boy—quite true, too."

"He married his cook," said Mrs. Churchill—which was a libel, for poorold Mrs. Liddon's family was as "genteel" as her own—"and I suppose thegirl takes after her. Mrs. Liddon's cooking talents are now exercised onthe tea and scones that they sell here, and they do her credit, as youwill see. I'm sure I wish to goodness I could find a good cook!"

"If that is Miss Liddon," said Anthony, who was watching the screen forher reappearance, "I think I ought to speak to her."

"Oh, no, you oughtn't, Tony. It would never do. Mary doesn't want men totalk to her. Mary is taking a great interest in her, you must know, andshe'd like to keep men out of the room altogether—only she doesn't wantto hinder custom—just for Miss Liddon's sake, for fear she should betaken liberties with, or annoyed in any way, as if she were a commonwaitress."

This was a very injudicious speech, but then Maude was nearly alwaysinjudicious.

"I don't annoy women," said her stepson severely; "and I am not 'men.' Iam a partner of the firm that has lost her father's services—if we havelost them."

"Don't do it, Tony; it would be most improper. If you attempt to scrapeacquaintance with her I'll never bring you here again. Mary would blameme, and make a dreadful fuss."

"I assure you she would. You see she wouldn't let you come yesterday.You can make your condolences to the brother in the office."

So Anthony did not say anything to Miss Liddon, except "Thank you," in avery gentle tone. As she approached with the tea and scones, he rose andstood—her little head was not much above his elbow—and he took thetray from her hands. The unwonted courtesy brought a flush to Jenny'spale cheeks—they were pale with the weariness of being on her feet allday—and Mrs. Churchill had her first suspicion that the young personwas pretty. She determined that she would not bring Tony to the tea-roomagain.

Nevertheless, being there, and very comfortable, she would have sat onwith him indefinitely, had he allowed it; but he would not allow it. Hermeal finished, she was taking the place and time of paying clients, asseveral others were doing, causing Jenny to wonder if she had not made amistake in providing cushioned chairs. He proposed to call at the officefor his father, and drive the old gentleman home—an attention from hischarming wife that always gratified him; and Maude did not see her wayto object. They returned to Toorak quite early, and Tony lit a pipe andwent off with his sister for a saunter in the shrubberies (to get thehistory of the Liddons up to date), while his stepmother was hastilygetting into a yellow satin tea-gown with a view to an ante-dinnertête-à-tête on her own account.

CHAPTER VI

THE INEVITABLE ENSUES

Yes! The world became a changed place to Jenny Liddon from the momentwhen Anthony Churchill stood up to take her tray, and to say "Thank you"in that indescribably feeling voice. That very moment it was, and shenever marked it in her calendar.

Very seldom do we hear the bell. And therefore we are not really sosilly as we seem. Jenny was quite unaware that she had fallen in love assuddenly as you would fall downstairs if you did not look where you weregoing; being the most proper little heroine that ever lived in a properfamily story the idea of such a thing would have covered her with shame.Oh, she would have died sooner than so forget herself! She was merelyconscious of some new, sweet scent in the atmosphere of life, somelight ether in the brain, some—but what's the use of trying todescribe what everybody understands already?

When the hero had ceased to watch her out of the corner of his eye, hadvacated his basket-chair and vanished from the scene, the tea-roombecame a place of dreams, and not a place of business. She took theorders of customers with an empty, far-away, idiotic smile; she driftedabout with plates and teapots like an active sleep-walker. Oh, howhandsome he was! How big and strong! How considerate and kind! Whatperfect courtesy—taking her tray from her, and thanking her in thatway, as if she were a condescending queen! How thoroughly one's ideal ofa gentleman and a man! These impassioned thoughts absorbed her.

She went down to St. Kilda in the evening, and sat upon the pier. It wasabsolutely necessary to have the sea to commune with, under thecircumstances—darkness and the sea.

"You're tired, duckie," the old mother said, aware of a difference andvaguely anxious. "Oh, don't deny it—I can see you are quite done up."

"My legs do ache," the girl confessed, with a tear and a trembling lipand an ecstatic smile. "Running after so many customers. I am not goingto complain of that. Let me sit here and rest, while you and Sarah walkup and down.Your legs want stretching."

They thought not, but she was sure of it. "Go, go, dears—do go; I amall right—I am quite happy by myself—Ilike it!"

They wrapped her up and left her; and while they perambulated thepleasant platform, talking of their commercial successes, and how dearJoey would come round when he heard of them, she sat quite still andstared at the sea. It murmured musically in the cold, clear night, fullof sympathy for her.

All at once she seemed to catch an inkling of the truth. She turned hotand cold, sat bolt upright and shook herself, and inwardly exclaimed,with a gust of rage, "Oh, what afool I am!" then walked home brisklyto give renewed attention to business.

Business prospered as well as heart could wish. The little push given bythe powerful Churchill family to her humble enterprise, without which itmight have struggled and languished like so many worthy enterprises,floated it into fashion within a week; and, though she had plenty ofhard work, insomuch that the basket-maker's wife's niece had to be hiredto wash cups and saucers and hand the teapots round the screen, allanxiety as to income was set at rest. Nothing remained to make thetea-room a sound concern but to "keep it up" as it had begun; and sheand her mother were resolute to do that. Not a pot of ill-made tea nor adefective scone was ever placed before a customer by those conscientioustradeswomen. Mrs. Liddon, who was happily of a tough and activeconstitution, laboured to sift her fine flour and test the temperatureof her oven, as if each batch of scones was to compete for a prize in anagricultural show. They were not large, substantial scones, like thoseof the common restaurant, but no bigger than the top of a wineglass, andof a marvellous puffy lightness. She never made more than an ovenful ata time, mixing and cutting one batch while the previous one was baking;and this rapid treatment of the dough, with her previous elaboratesiftings, and a leavening of her own composition, produced the perfectarticle for which she became justly famous. Two scones were put beforeeach customer, and if only one was eaten the other was not wasted.Churchill & Son soon began to provide the tea, which was of the bestquality, at a price no storekeeper could buy it for; and the veryboiling of the water was watched and regulated, that the freshnessshould not boil out of it before it was used. The principle on whichthis establishment was conducted was to do little, and to do that littlewell—an admirable system, too rarely observed in the commercial world;but, as Jenny had not unjustly boasted, she had the instincts of a goodwoman of business in her. She resisted all her mother's pleadings forcoffee and cakes, when the number of customers seemed to call for largertransactions. Coffee and tea, she said, would be too much upon theirminds (since coffee as well as tea must be absolutely perfect), andcakes could be bought anywhere. Let them be content to know, and have itknown, that for tea and scones that were always good they were to beinvariably depended on. So Mrs. Liddon sifted and baked till eleven inthe morning, while Sarah prepared the trays and Jenny washed thetea-room floor; and then the latter, having tidied her dainty person,trotted about with hardly a pause till seven at night, while thebent-backed sister received the little stream of coin that steadilypoured in, and dreamed all day of growing rich enough to go to Europeand do things.

Jenny had no fears about the success of her undertaking; it seemedalmost too successful sometimes, when her back was aching and her legstoo tired to carry her; but she had one constant and ever-increasinganxiety, which beset her every morning, after keeping her more or lessawake through the night. This was lest Mr. Anthony Churchill should notcome to the tea-room during the day.

His stepmother never took him again, after the first visit; and sheherself lost interest in the place, which had been but the fad of anhour or two. She could get a cup of tea whenever she wanted, withoutpaying for it, or putting herself out of the way; and the Little CollinsStreet premises were very stuffy as the summer came on. They were toocrowded for comfort—i.e., for a sentimentaltête-à-tête; and thegirl was too good-looking to expose Tony to, with his absurd ideas ofher being a lady. So Mrs. Churchill gave the tea-room up.

Tony, however, did not give it up. Several days elapsed between hisfirst visit and the second, because it was so difficult to go and sitdown there and ask Miss Liddon to wait on him. He quite agreed with Marythat men should not be admitted. A girl like that, brought up as she hadbeen, ought not to be at the beck and call of those coarse creatures.Nevertheless, as men did go, he wanted to be one of them. Asrepresenting the firm with which her father had been so closely and forso long connected, it was only right that he should keep an eye on her,and lend her a helping hand if she seemed to need it.

He said nothing of his purpose to Mrs. Oxenham, who continued to refreshherself with the admirable tea and scones at hours that could be fairlycalculated upon and avoided. The first she heard of his having gone tothe tea-room on his own account was from her little half-sisters, whodid not happen to mention it to their mother. These children were muchattached to him, and he to them, and one day he took them to the RoyalPark, and treated them to tea and scones on their way home. He thoughtscones were better for them than sweets, he said, and he was able to getthem milk instead of tea. Mary commended him for his fatherly care oftheir digestions, and thought no more of the matter.

The fact was that he had given the small creatures an outing on purposethat they might introduce him to the tea-room. It seemed so much easierto appear before Miss Liddon on their behalf than on his own, and theirpresence was calculated to attract that notice and interest which he didnot imagine he would receive for his own sake. He was not desperatelyanxious to see Miss Liddon, but he was curious. What he had seen of her,and what Mary and his father had told him (particularly about thehundred pounds that had been offered and refused), had struck his fancy;that was all—at present.

When he appeared at the door of the yellow chamber, with aLiberty-sashed, granny-bonneted mite clinging to either hand, Jenny sawhim at once, and experienced that strange shock of leaping blood whichmakes heart shake and eyes dim for an ecstatic moment—such as we allunderstand much better than we can describe it. For days she had beenaching for a sight of him, despite her savage mortification that itshould be so; and here he was at last in the charming guise of a manloving and caring for little children, which, as every woman knows, is aguarantee of goodness that never proves false.

It was after six o'clock, when people were thinking of dinner ratherthan tea—when little Grace and Geraldine should have been on their wayto Toorak, where their nursery meal awaited them—and the tea-room crowdhad thinned to half a dozen, all of whom had their plates and brown potsbeside them. This also he had in a measure anticipated. Jenny was free,and came forward a step or two to meet him, glancing at the childrenwith a soft, maternal look, as it seemed to him.

"I hope these little people will not be troublesome," he said, bowingwith his best politeness. "They have been to see the lions and tigersfed, and I think it has made them hungry."

"Oh, yes," said Jenny flutteringly. "I will get them some scones—notquite the newest ones. And—and don't you think they are too young fortea? May I get them some milk instead?"

"Thank you—thank you very much—if you are sure you can spare it. Idaresay it would be better for them."

She set the children into chairs, took off their smart bonnets, tuckednapkins (napkins were kept for occasions, though not for general use)round their little chins, and put two scones into their hands; Anthonywatching her with eyes that she felt piercing like two gimlets throughthe back of her head. He was noticing what fine, bright hair she had,and what delicate skin, and remembering that her father had been an Etonboy.

"It is no trouble at all," she replied. "Now I will get them some milk."She dared to glance up at him. "You, sir—will you have some tea foryourself?"

"Oh, if you please—if it won't be troubling you. It's such perfectlydelicious tea."

Jenny danced off—trying not to dance—and was back in a twinkling, withthe tray in her arms. Her trays were light, and did not drag her intoungraceful attitudes, but he objected to see her carrying one for him.As before, he took it from her! and the little courtesy made her cheeksflush and her heart swell.

And he would not sit to drink his tea, while she stood by, as she did,to wait upon the children—to see that they didn't butter their sashesand slop milk down their frocks; and under the circumstances it wasimpossible not to talk to her.

"Will you allow me to introduce myself?" he ventured to say, during apause in her ministrations, when she seemed uncertain whether to go orstay. "I am Anthony Churchill—of the firm, you know. I hope I am nottaking a liberty, but your father was such an old friend. I grieveindeed to hear—I knew nothing about it when I came the other day——"

Jenny flushed and fluttered, and, because she was physically weary,could not bear to be reminded of her father, who used to take suchtender care of her. For an instant her eyes glistened, warning him tohurry from the subject.

"I think it is so brave of you to do what you are doing. My sister hasbeen telling me about it."

"Oh, thank you—but my mother and sister do more than I do, inproportion to their strength. My sister is delicate; I'm afraid it isnot good for her to sit here all day." After a pause, she added, "Mrs.Oxenham has been very, very kind to me; your father too."

"I am sure they were only too glad, if they had the chance. I wish—Iwish I were privileged to be some help."

"Oh, thank you! The only help we wish for is for people to come anddrink our tea, and show themselves satisfied with it."

"May I come and drink it sometimes? I feel as if men were out of placehere; I am sure you would rather not have them—but I am a very quietfellow, and I have a woman's passion for tea." He had nothing of thesort, but that didn't matter.

"Anyone has a right to come who chooses," she answered, turning fromhim to attend to little Grace.

The words were discouraging, but he thought the tone was not; and hedetermined to come again, and alone, at the earliest opportunity.

CHAPTER VII

THERE ARE SUCH WOMEN IN THE WORLD

Duly carrying out his intention on the very next day, Anthony wasannoyed to find the room full, and Jenny flitting hither and thitherlike the choice butterfly that defies the collector's net. More thanthat, the basket-maker's wife, who was acquiring an ever-deepeninginterest in the restaurant business, was being initiated into the art ofserving customers, in preparation for the expected crush of race time;and this unattractive person it was who brought him his tea and scone.

Very sedately he sat in the chair that looked best able to bear hisweight until his tray was placed beside him, and it became evident thathe was to get no satisfaction out of Jenny beyond that of looking ather. He looked at her for some minutes with an interest that surprisedhimself, and she was conscious of the direction of his eyes, and ofevery turn of his head, as if she had herself a hundred eyes to watchhim. Then he quietly took up cup and plate, and passed over to Sarah'stable. Sarah's table was a common, four-legged cedar affair, with anæsthetic cloth on it, and bore only her money bowls and the needleworkthat she was accustomed to occupy herself with at odd moments. It stoodin a retired corner, partly sheltered by the screen.

"Do you mind if I sit here with you?" he said pleasantly—with properrespect, of course, but not with the deference she had noted in hisattitude to Jenny. "I feel so out of it, with no lady to excuse mypresence, monopolising one of those pretty little tables that were nevermeant for such as me."

Now Sarah was a child in years, but she was old in novel-reading andlike exercises of the mind; and she had already cast a hungry eye uponMr. Anthony Churchill and her sister, scenting a possible romance beforea thought of such a thing had occurred to either of them. During theirinterview on the previous afternoon she had observed them with quite apassionate interest; and all through the night she had listened toJenny's restless movements in her adjoining bed, like a careful doctornoting the symptoms of incipient fever. She had been all day watchingfor his return to the tea-room, as for a potential lover of herown—lovers, she knew, were not for her—abandoning her dreams ofEuropean travel to build gorgeous air-castles on Jenny's behalf. "Ifthis should be the result of keeping a restaurant—oh, ifthisshould be the reward of her goodness and courage, and all her hardwork!" she sighed to herself, in an ecstasy of exultation. "Oh, if heshould marry her, and make a great lady of her—as she deserves tobe—what would Joey say to the tea-roomthen?"

So, when Mr. Churchill presented himself, he found no difficulty inmaking friends with her. She swept her work-basket from the table, togive him room for his cup and plate, and responded to his advances witha ready self-possession that surprised him in a girl so young; forSarah, under-sized and crippled, did not look her age by several years.For herself she would have been shy and awkward, but for Jenny she wasbold enough. She had determined that, if she could help to bring aboutthe realisation of her new dream, her best wits should not be wanting.

"Your sister seems very busy," he said, with a lightness of tone thatdid not deceive the listener.

"No. She never expected to have so many customers. I am sorry now thatwe did not open for the afternoon only; it would have been quite enoughfor her."

"Oh, yes. There are very few in the morning. Sometimes she is able tosit down and sew for a few minutes."

Mr. Churchill made a mental note of that. "I should have thought she hadenough to do at the slackest time without doing sewing," he said,watching the flitting figure furtively.

"Oh, she must be doing something; she is never idle. She makes her owndresses always—and the most of ours."

"You don't say so!" He stared at Jenny boldly now. "Do you mean to sayshe made that one that she's got on?"

"Mrs. Earl couldn't beat her," he said absurdly; and he really thoughtso, not knowing anything about it, except that Jenny's frock was simpleand neat—a style that men are always partial to. "But then Mrs. Earldoesn't often get such a figure to fit, does she?"

"I am sure she doesn't. It's so very graceful and—and high-bred, youknow. Nobody but a lady could move and turn as she does. I hope youdon't think I'm very impertinent to make these remarks."

"Oh, no," laughed Sarah, who glowed with satisfaction. "I like to hearher praised. To me she's the best and dearest person in the world.Idon't think there is anybody like her."

"Well, there can't be many like her," said Anthony, seriously reflectingupon the girl's energy and high-mindedness.

Jenny was quite aware that she was being talked of, and presently sheapproached them, flushed, bright-eyed, vividly charming, as she hadnever been in the days before Mr. Anthony appeared. He rose at once, andstood while she asked him whether he had been properly attended to.

"Yes, thank you," he replied; and Sarah noticed his change of tone. "Ihave been taking the liberty of making myself acquainted with yoursister."

Jenny laid a hand on Sarah's shoulder. "You are very kind," she said."I'm afraid she is a bit dull and lonely in this corner by herself allday."

"The kindness has been the other way," said he, but was grateful thatshe otherwise regarded it, perceiving a future advantage to himselftherein. "I fear you are tired, Miss Liddon."

"Not a bit," she said—and said truly—for his presence had filled bodyand soul with life. "And if I am, it's a pleasant way of getting tired."

"You must not over-exert yourself," he urged, with a serious solicitudethat thrilled her. "What profiteth it to gain custom and lose yourhealth?"

"My health is excellent," Jenny said, smiling happily. "And we aretaking our landlady into the firm, you see, with a view tocontingencies."

"Yes, I was so glad to see that. It would take twenty of her to do whatyou do, but still it's something; and she'll get more alert in time, Ihope. If necessary, you must take in still more helpers, MissLiddon—anything, rather than overstrain yourself and break down. Youmust see to that"—turning to Sarah; "you must make her take care ofherself. And if she won't, report her to me, and I'll bring my father tobear upon her. He looks on her as his special charge, I know."

As they were standing apart from the tea-drinkers, and as it were inprivate life, he held out his hand in farewell, bending his tall head ina most courteous bow. He could not sit down again, after getting up, hisown tea and scone being disposed of, and thought it wise to resist hisstrong desire to linger.

Being still afraid of taking liberties, he kept away from the tea-roomfor a day or two, taking his pleasures in other walks of life. Then thespirit moved him to return thither, and he chose the morning for hisvisit, when Jenny might be finding time to sit down to sew. Busy littlebee! What a contrast to the girls who courted him at Maude's tennis andtheatre parties—girls who appeared to have no motive or purpose in theworld beyond stalking husbands, and bringing them down, if possible, byfair means or foul—women whose brains and hands seemed never to benobly exercised. He found himself continually drawing comparisons, totheir disadvantage.

Since it was obviously impossible that a man could want tea and sconesin the morning, he had to invent another excuse for going to see MissLiddon at that time of day, and the happy thought occurred to him oftaking some flowers to Sarah. He selected from Paton's beautiful windowa wisp of moss and ferns and lilies of the valley, which was thechoicest thing he could see there, hid it in his hansom as he wentthrough the street, and carried it with some shamefacedness to the tableof the money-changer, where the two sisters were sitting together,awaiting customers.

"Good morning, Miss Liddon. Don't get up. I have not come for tea thistime. It just struck me that it would refresh Miss Sarah, sitting hereall day, if she had a flower to look at." And he presented his bouquetto the crippled girl, pretending that Jenny had nothing to do with it.

"Oh!" she breathed deeply. "How good! How lovely!" And, "Oh, oh—h!"cried Sarah simultaneously. They smelt the flowers in ecstasy, and Jennyran to draw a tumbler of water from her big filter.

"It's only rubbish," he mumbled disparagingly, "but it's sweet. I'mawfully fond of the smell of lilies of the valley myself."

"Oh, it's nothing! I just thought you might like it, don't you know. Itseemed a weary thing for you to sit here for hours, with nothing but themoney-boxes to look at."

He opened and shut his watch. Jenny was standing beside him, visiblepalpitating, touching the white bells with the tips of her fingers,saying nothing. There was a sound of footsteps and rustlings on thestairs. It was impossible to prolong the interview.

"Well, good-bye," he said suddenly, extending his hand. "I must go backto work."

As he plunged down the dark stairs into the narrow street his heart wasbeating in quite a new style, and he was distinctly aware of it. "Littlebit of a hand!" he said to himself, opening and shutting his own broadpalm, that had just swallowed it as if it had been a baby's. "Littlemite of a creature! I could crush her between my finger and thumb—andshe's got the pluck of a whole army of men like me. I used to thinkthere were no such women in the world nowadays; but there are—thereare, after all. Little wisp of a thing! I could take her up in my armsand carry her on my shoulder as easily as I do the children. I wish toHeaven Icould carry her—out of that beastly place, which will killher when the summer comes. Hullo! If I don't look out, I shall befalling in love before I know where I am. And with a restaurant-keeper,of all people! A pretty kettle of fish that would be!"

CHAPTER VIII

ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW

He turned into Collins Street, and made his way back to his office,still musing in this dangerous fashion: "What a housekeeper she wouldmake! What a mother! What a pride she'd take in her home! Those othergirls, once they'd got a house, would let it take care of itself, andtheir husbands too, while they ruffled about, like peacocks in the sun,and entertained themselves with Platonic love affairs. As long as therewas a useful person to pay the bills they wouldn't bother their headsabout the butcher and baker. Oh, I know them! Butshe's not that sort.She wouldn't take our money, honest money as it was—she wouldn't bebeholden to anybody—brave little thing! And such a ridiculous mite asit is, to go and do battle with the world for independence!"

Passing through a small army of busy clerks, his eye lit on Joey, whowas regarding him with the veneration due from a mortal to an Olympiangod.

"Oh, Liddon—you are Liddon, aren't you?—how are you getting on?" hedemanded suddenly.

"Very well, sir, thank you. I believe I am giving every satisfaction,"said Joey, with his young complacency.

Anthony regarded him for a moment in deep thought, and then asked himhow long he had been in the firm's employ.

"Oh, well, I must make inquiries, and see if it isn't getting time to bethinking of a rise." Nobody had thought of a rise for poor Liddon,senior, who had been worth a dozen of this boy. "And how is your mothergetting on with the—the little business she has entered into?"

"I hardly know," said Joey, with a blush and a stammer. "I don't seevery much of them now."

"I'm sure I don't know, sir. Somehow I can't take to the tea-roomscheme. I can't bear to see my mother and sisters doing that sort ofthing, when our family has never been connected with trade in any way."

"Don't despise trade, young man. You are connected with it yourself—andnot at all to your disadvantage, it strikes me—as your father wasbefore you."

"Yes, sir; but this is a very different sort of thing, and my father, asyou may have heard, sir, was an Eton boy."

"I have heard so. Well, you follow in your father's steps, my lad, anddo your duty as well as he did. And your first duty is to look afteryour womenkind, and save them in every way you can. Out of office hoursyou could do a great deal for them, couldn't you?"

"I'm sure," complained Joey aggrievedly, "I'm ready to do anything—onlyJenny won't let me. She will manage and control things, as if she werethe head of the family. She would go into this low tea-room business inspite of all I could say. However"—drawing himself up—"I hope it won'tbe very long before she is in a different position."

A stinging thought flashed into Mr. Churchill's mind, and changed hisamused smile into an anxious frown. "Do you mean by marriage?" he asked;saying to himself that she was just the woman to take up with a loafingvagabond, who would live upon her at his ease, while she worked tosupport him.

"No, sir. But my father's uncle, who is a great age, is rich, and weexpect to come in for some of his property when he dies."

"Oh!" in an accent of relief. "I wouldn't advise you to count on anycontingencies of that sort. Just stick to business, and depend on yourown exertions—as your sister does. Take pattern by her, and you won'tgo far wrong."

"I knowof her," said Anthony warily. "My father and Mrs. Churchill,and my sister, Mrs. Oxenham, have taken a great interest in the tea-roomever since it was first opened; I have heard from them of her nobleefforts to help her family."

This was a new view of the case to Joey, who decided to go and see hismother and sisters in the evening.

Just before Anthony passed out of the tea-room, after giving his flowersto Sarah, two stout countrywomen with children came in; people who hadarrived by train, with the dust of travel in their throats, and to whoma cup of tea never came amiss at any time. Jenny made them comfortablein soft chairs, and gave them a pot and a pile of scones; then she cameback to Sarah's table, and, kneeling down, encircled the lilies of thevalley with her arms. She inhaled deep breaths of perfume, and gave themforth in long sighs, with her eyes shut. Sarah watched her.

"They are the very dearest flowers you can buy," she remarked. "And Iknow they are bought, because of the wires on the stalks."

Jenny opened her eyes and gloated on them. "You have seven, Sally," shesaid wistfully. "You might give me one."

"For the matter of that, they are more yours than mine," said Sarah."But take all you like."

Jenny took one green stalk in her fingers, and, walking to thefireplace, over which their old family pier-glass, its gilt frameswathed in Liberty muslin, afforded customers the opportunity of seeingthat their bonnets were on straight, pinned the fragrant morsel at herthroat. The white bells lay under her chin, and she was looking down hernose and sniffing at them all day.

Anthony came for tea at five o'clock, and saw them there, and, oneminute after, saw them not there. On that occasion he had noconversation with the wearer, but talked for twenty minutes with hersister, becoming very confidential. On the following day he came also,bringing violets and English primroses in a little basket from theToorak garden; having given Maude to understand that they were for theadornment of his own rooms. On the day after that he came again; andMrs. Oxenham, whom he had imagined to be paying calls with herstepmother, came at the same hour and caught him. He was comfortablytaking his tea at Sarah's table, when he was suddenly made to feel likea little schoolboy playing the truant.

"Oh, solitary! You think I didn't see you, lolling with your arms onthat girl's table and talking to her—looking as if you had been sittingthere for hours."

"I really hadn't been sitting there for hours; I have not been in theroom five minutes."

"In that case, you are evidently very much at home here. Now, Tony dear,itdoesn't do, you know."

"What doesn't do? What iniquity am I accused of? Maude brings me here,and gives me the taste for tea; and I find the Liddons keeping theplace, and take that interest in the fact which we all do, and are induty bound to do; and I talk a little to that poor crippled child—Ican't talk to the other one, because she's always too busy; and here youlook at me as if I were a shameless profligate——"

"Hush—sh! don't talk so loud. Some tea, dear, please,"—to Jenny, whoapproached to serve her patroness. "There's no real harm in your cominghere by yourself, of course—you don't suppose I am not quite aware ofthat; but it's the look of the thing, Tony. A man alone doesnot lookwell in a place like this."

"You know what I mean.We come here, father and Maude and I, to helpthe place, and because wedo want tea, Maude and I, at any rate——"

"So do I. I want tea occasionally, as well as other mortals swelteringin the city dust; and I'm sure I want to help the place."

"Don't be provoking, Tony. You never want tea—it's nonsense. When youare thirsty you want whisky and soda. And as for helping the place, youdo exactly the other thing—and you must know it."

He lowered his voice, and Mrs. Oxenham did not answer him for someminutes, Jenny being present, looking rather unusually dignified,arranging the tray on the table. A faint perfume of violets exhaled fromthat small person as she passed him, whereby he knew that she had hisflowers about her somewhere—in her breast, he fancied. He rose andstood, as he always did, when she was moving about him.

"The other thing," continued Mary, when he again took his seat, "is thatyou expose that poor girl to injurious suspicions."

"It is of her that I think, and of whom you ought to think—not of yourown idle man-about-town whims. You see she is a lady, Tony, not the sortof person one usually finds in these places—really a lady, I mean."

"She is quite helpless, poor child. She can't prevent men from coming inby themselves and loafing here, if they choose to do it. I don't thinkshe ever sufficiently considered what she might be exposing herself toin that way, when she entered upon this business; but I know sheintended the place to be a ladies' place."

Mrs. Oxenham sipped her tea with a vexed air, while Tony looked at hergravely, drawing his moustache between his lips, and meditatively bitingit.

"You see, Tony, a number of people come here who know you, at any rateby sight—I can count at least half a dozen at this moment—and what doyou suppose they say when they see you as I saw you just now?"

"No; it doesn't affectyou. It never does affect a man; but it affectsmy little Jenny, whom I have been so anxious to protect from anything ofthe sort. In the absence of all other reasonable attractions—to a manlike you—they will say that you come here to amuse yourself with her."

"Anybody must see that it is impossible for a fellow to say a word toher. No will-o'-the-wisp could be more difficult to catch hold of."

"There are plenty of slack times—there are opportunities enough, ofcourse, if one chooses to make them. Nobody will be so silly as not toknow that. And it's not fair to her, Tony dear.You would not beblamed—oh, not in the least, of course; but she would be held cheap, onyour account. They would forget that she was a lady—a great numberdon't remember it, don't know it, as it is; and the tea-room might losesome of its repute as a select little place. If she could helpherself—if she could choose whether you are to be let in or not—itwould be different. Don't you see?"

He sat back in his chair, absently gnawing his moustache, while Mrs.Oxenham, satisfied that she had explained herself and was understood,concluded her repast; and he even allowed her to go to Sarah's desk topay for it. Then, at a signal from her, he perfunctorily escorted herdownstairs, put her in the carriage, and saw her smilingly depart topick up their stepmother, who was paying a visit to Mrs. Earl.

Walking meditatively into Elizabeth Street by himself, it suddenlyoccurred to him that he had not paid for his own tea and scone, in thepeaceful enjoyment of which he had been so rudely interrupted. Hehurried back to Sarah, with his sixpence in his hand, and apologies forhis absent-mindedness.

Something in the intelligent face, as she looked keenly at him, promptedhim to say—what he had not dreamed of saying—"My sister has beenscolding me. She says I am not to come here any more, because MissLiddon does not want men—men on their own account, I mean."

"We have not made ourselves comfortable, even for Sundays, yet. She wasso afraid of incurring expense till she saw how the business was goingto answer. Now she is talking of a proper sitting-room, but of course itwill take a little time. We used up our furniture for this." Sarahlooked at him again, and, after an inward struggle, added in a lowertone, "We spend nearly all our fine evenings on the St. Kilda pier.Being kept in all day, we want air when we can get it, and sea air, ifpossible. She loves the sea, and it is easy to get down there when thetea-room is shut. Mrs. Oxenham recommended it."

He held out his hand—though the room was full, and three women whowanted his attentions for themselves were watching him—and his eyessaid "Thank you" as plainly as eyes could speak. Carefully looking awayfrom the spot where Jenny was busy, but hungrily observing him, and fromthe faces of his lady acquaintances, he plunged down the stairs, andswung away to his club, with a light step.

At the top of Collins Street he encountered the carriage, with Maude andMary in it, and they stopped to speak to him.

"Come home to dinner with us, Tony," his stepmother entreated, with allher smiles and wiles.

He didn't know what to say, so he nodded in the direction of the club.For all the engagement he had was to go and walk up and down the St.Kilda pier.

CHAPTER IX

THE POTENTIAL HUSBAND

Sarah found herself obliged to go home when the tea-room closed. It wasabsolutely necessary, she said, to wash her hair. She would not belonger than she could help, and if Jenny liked to go to the pier byherself—forshe should not lose the refreshment of the sea air, sofagged as she looked—her mother and sister could join her there whenthe hair was dried sufficiently.

Jenny did not feel called upon to forego the recreation of which she wasso much in need, and had long been accustomed to go about at all hoursby herself, safe and fearless, though Sarah was not allowed to do so. Sothe proposition was agreed to; in fact, it was jumped at.

"And if you find it late before you are ready, dears," said Jenny,fixing her hat by the tea-room pier-glass, "don't mind about fetchingme. I can bring myself back quite well. It isn't worth while to waste ashilling on mere going and coming."

"All right," said Sarah; and mentally added, "I ought to be ashamed ofmyself, I know—but I don't care!"

She set out briskly to walk home with her mother, glad of the exerciseafter sitting for so many hours; and her sister spent an extra penny toride from Spencer Street to the bridge because of her over-tired legs.It was their habit to take the tram to St. Kilda in preference to thetrain, in order to be freely blown by such air as there was on thejourney to and fro; and she seated herself on the fore end of the dummyon this occasion, quite unaware of the fact that a man in the followingvehicle was in chase of her. She anticipated a long evening of lonelymeditation, which was the thing above all others that she desired justnow—two whole hours in which she might hug the image of Mr. AnthonyChurchill in peace.

That gentleman in his proper person watched her flitting down theseaward road. He had not seen her in her hat before, and daylight wasfailing fast, but he knew the shape and style of the airy little figurea long way off. He suspected Sarah of having contrived that it shouldbe alone to-night; but he knew that Jenny was guiltless of any knowledgethat lovers were around. Was he her lover? He put the question tohimself, but shirked answering it. He would see what he was a couple ofhours hence. One thing he was quite clear about, however, and that wasthat her defencelessness was to be respected.

Unconscious of his neighbourhood, she made her way to the pier, whichwas almost deserted, and seated herself on the furthest bench. There shecomposed herself in a little cloak that she had brought with her, andbegan to stare into the grey haze of sky and sea, starred with theriding lights of the ships at Williamstown, never once turning her headto look behind her. Anthony sat down at the inner angle of the pier,stealthily lit a pipe, crossed his legs, laid his right arm on the rail,and watched her.

"After all," he thought, "her father was an Eton boy; he really was—Ihave proved it—and he had a marquis to fag for him. His people weregentlefolks; so was he; showed it in every word he spoke, poor old boy.Maude, now—her grandfather was a bullock-driver, and couldn't writehis name; and her father's a vulgar brute, in spite of his knighthoodand his money-bags. And Oxenham is a Manchester cotton fellow—got thecrest for his carriage and tablespoons out of a book. I don't see whythey should want to make a row. Trade is trade, and we are all tarredwith that brush. Goodness knows it would be a better world than it is ifwe all conducted business as she does—were as scrupulous andhigh-minded in our dealings with money. We are in no position to lookdown upon her on that ground. As for money, there's plenty; I don't wantany more."

He puffed at his pipe, and the little figure grew dimmer and dimmer; buthe could see that she had not stirred.

"Little mite of a thing! No bigger than a child she looks, sittingthere—like a baby to nurse upon one's knee. In the firelight ... in thedusk before the lamps are lit ... gathered up in her husband's arms,with that little head tucked under his ear——"

"Why not?" he asked himself plainly. "Could I regret it, when she is soevidently the woman tolast? Beauty is but skin deep, as thecopy-books so justly remark, but her beauty is not that sort; she'ssound all through—a woman who won't be beholden to anybody for apenny—who makes her own frocks—takes care of them all like afather—stands against the whole world, with her back to the wall——"

Such were his musings. And, my dear girls—to whom this modest tale ismore particularly addressed—I am credibly informed that quite a largenumber of men are inclined to matrimony or otherwise by considerationsof the same kind.You don't think so, when you are at play together inthe ball-room and on the tennis-ground, and you fancy it is your "dayout," so to speak; but they tell me in confidence that it is the fact.They adore your pretty face and your pretty frocks; they are immenselyexhilarated by your sprightly banter and sentimental overtures; theyabsolutely revel in the pastime of making love, and will go miles andmiles for the chance of it; but when it comes to thinking of a home andfamily, the vital circumstances of life for its entire remaining term,why, they really are not the heedless idiots that they appear—at anyrate, not all of them.

I was talking the other day to a much greater "swell" than AnthonyChurchill ever was—a handsome and charming bachelor of high rank in theRoyal Navy, about whom the young ladies buzzed like summer flies round apot of treacle—and he was very serious upon the subject, anddesperately melancholy. He was turning forty, and wearying for a havenof peace. There must have been any number of girls simply dying to helphim to it, and yet he considered his prospects hopeless. "I see nothingfor it," he said, "but to marry a good, honest cook, or spend acomfortless old age in solitude,"—not meaning by this that his dinnerwas of paramount importance to him, for his tastes were simple, but thathe despaired of finding a lady whom the home of his dreams—and of hismeans—would hold. His dreams, he seemed to think, were out of date. Infact, he shared the views of the man inPunch, who was prevented fromgetting married by his love of a domestic life. And many others sharethose views. And thus the army of old maids waxes ever bigger andbigger—and they wonder why.

Not, of course, that I wish to disparage the old maid, especially if shecan't help it; and far be it from me to teach the pernicious doctrinethat a girl's business in life is to spread lures for a husband. I onlysay that an unmarried woman is not a woman, but merely a more or lessold child; that marriage should come at the proper time, like birth anddeath; and that if it doesn't—if it falls out of fashion, as everybodycan see that it is doing, in spite of nature and the partiesconcerned—then something must be very rotten somewhere. We will leaveit at that.

Anthony Churchill had had a hundred butterfly sweethearts, and been afew times in love. Earlier in life he might have bartered his futureincome for an inadequate sum down, had not happy accident intervened.Now he was experienced enough to know the risks he ran, old enough tounderstand what was for a man's good and comfort in his ripe years—thatis, partly. No man can be quite wise enough until too late for wisdom toavail him anything. It must be a terrible thing to have the right ofpractically unrestricted choice in selecting a mate that you may neverexchange or get rid of! To find, perchance, that you have blundered inthe most awful possible manner, entirely of your own free will!

Though, as to that, free will is an empty term. We are purblind puppetsall. To see through a glass darkly is the most that we can do. There wasa long and slender shadow on the sea—a mail boat coming in, bringingtravellers home—and as our hero watched it, standing with his back tothe unconscious heroine, he thought how he had been as one of them but afew days ago.

He walked up and down once more, feeling all the weight of destiny uponhim. And Jenny sat and thought of him, and thought that never, neverwould he give a thought to her!

"Whatwould they say," he asked himself, "if I really were todo it? I—I! And she the daughter of one of my clerks, and arestaurant-keeper!" He put the question from the Toorak point of view,and at the first blush was appalled by it.

"What do I care? They will see what she is—little creature, with thatdeer-like head!" He went off into dreams. "She shall not make her ownfrocks again, sweet as she looks in them—her children's pinafores, ifshe likes—monograms for my handkerchiefs—pretty things for her house.What a house she'll have!—all in order from top to bottom, and shelooking after everything, as the old-fashioned wives used to do. I thinkI see her cooking, in a white apron, with her sleeves turned up. Whenthe cooks are a nuisance, like Maude's, that's what she'll do—turn toand cook her husband's dinner herself. Catch Maude cooking a dinner foranybody! By Jove, I shouldn't like to be the one to eat it." The pipehad been set a-going unconsciously, and he puffed in happy mood. "A realhome to come back to of a night, when a fellow's tired—when a fellowgrows old.... Sitting down with him after dinner, with her sewing in herhands—not wanting to be at a theatre or a dance every night of herlife—not bringing up her daughters to want it. How quickly she sews! Iwatched her at it—able to do anything with those little hands, nobigger than a child's. But she's no child—not she; no doll, for anhour's amusement, like those others. A woman—a real woman,understanding life—a mind-companion, that one can tell things to; knowswhat love is too, if I'm not mistaken—or will do, when I teach her. Oh,to teach it to a woman with a face like that—with living eyes likethose!"

He was at the end of the main pier, looking over the bulwark at thenarrow shadow on the sea. It was nearly abreast of St. Kilda now,gliding ghostly, so dim that he only knew where it was by seeing whereit was not. Standing sideways to Jenny's bench, he saw her get up, andsaw the living eyes shine in the light of the green lamp.

CHAPTER X

AS THE WIND BLOWS

"Is that you, Miss Liddon? Getting a breath of sea air? That's right.Where are Mrs. Liddon and Miss Sarah?"

"Good evening, Mr. Churchill. Yes—a whiff; it is so pleasant when thesun is gone. My mother and sister were not able to come to-night, I—Iam just going back to them."

"That you are not," said Mr. Churchill mentally; "not if I know it. ButI must be careful what I'm about. She's shaking like a leaf—I can hearit in her voice. I mustn't be brutal and frighten her. Little lady thatshe is! She mustn't get the idea that I'm a Don Juan on the loose." Hehalf turned as he dropped her hand, and said quietly, "I've beenwatching the mail boat. She's late. Do you see her over there?"

"Where?" asked Jenny; not that she wanted to see it, but that shedidn't know what else to say at this upsetting moment.

"Just over there. But it's almost too dark to distinguish her. How gladthey'll all be to get home in time for supper and a shore bed! Have youever had a voyage?"

"I only wish I did know," responded Jenny, who had gathered herselftogether. "I don't fancyI should suffer from tedium, somehow."

"Why? Do you want so much to travel? But of course you do, if you havenever done it."

"Above all things," she said earnestly. "It is the dream of our life—mysister and I."

"You are happy in having it to come—in not being satiated, as I am.My dream just now is to settle down in a peaceful home, and never stiraway from it any more."

The green light was on her face, and he saw her smile, as if no longerafraid of him.

"You can have whatever you dream," she said. "We shall probably neverrealise ours. Still, we can dream on. That costs nothing."

"Oh, you will realise it—never fear." He abandoned his peaceful homeupon the spot, and determined to take her travelling directly they weremarried. And there was no prospect of tedium in that plan either, forhis experience, full as it was, had never included the charm of such acompanion, the delight of educating and enriching the mind of anintelligent woman who was also his own wife.

"Meanwhile," said Jenny, "we get books from the library, and read aboutthe places that we want to see, and the routes to them. We know theOrient Line guide by heart. We hunt for pictures, and photographs, andillustrated books. There are some nooks and corners of Europe we know sowell that we shall never want a guide when we get there—if we ever doget there."

It never occurred to him that she might decline to be personallyconducted by him, but that was natural in a man of whom women had alwaysmade so much. He added, struck by a bright thought, "If you are fond oflooking at pictures of places, I will send you a portfolio of photosthat I have—mementoes of my many wanderings—if I may. They wouldamuse Miss Sarah. I should like to give her some amusement, if I could,poor little girl." But he never thought of Sarah in his plan forbecoming the showman of the world, except that she must be disposed ofsomehow—she and her mother and that young ass in the office—so thatJenny might be free, and at the same time easy in her mind about them.

Jenny received the offer of the photos in silence; then said, "Thankyou" with a perplexed expression, indicating that a "but" was on itsway. He hastened to intercept it.

"There's the steamer—do you see? Patience rewarded. They have a Lord onboard and a returning Chief Justice, and the loyal citizens down to meetthem have had no dinner. They've been waiting on the pier atWilliamstown for hours. Come and sit down, won't you? I'm sure yourlittle feet must be tired."

He used the adjective inadvertently, and Jenny shied at it for a moment,like a dazzled horse. But she had not the strength to resist her intensedesire to be with him a little longer, especially with that word, thattone of voice, compelling her.

"I must be going home," she murmured, but was drawn as by a magnet afterhim when he turned to the bench on which she had before been sitting.

"It can't be more than eight o'clock, and now's the time you ought to beout, when it's cool and fresh," said he. "Don't you find the heat ofthat room very trying since the warm weather came?"

They talked about the tea-room in an ordinary way. Then they driftedinto confidences about each other's private lives and interests; andfrom that they went on to discuss their respective views as to books,creeds, and the serious matters of life; and all the time AnthonyChurchill kept a tight hand upon himself, that he might not frightenher. It had to be a very strenuous hand indeed, for it was a sentimentalnight, with the sea and the stars and the soft wind, and she had neverlooked so sweet as now, away from all the associations of the tea-room,which he had grown to hate, sitting pensively at rest, with her littlehands in her lap. More than that, he had never known how well she waseducated, how much thinking she had done, how intellectuallyinteresting she was, until he had had this talk with her.

At last, in an unguarded moment, he said more than he had meant to say.Laying his hat beside him, that he might feel the cool fan of the windover his slightly fevered brain, he drew a long breath, and exclaimed ina burst, "Well, you have given me a happy hour! I wonder when you'llgive me another like it?"

Immediately she began to recollect how late it was, and to be in aflurry to get home to her mother. All at once the suspicion that hemight be divining her feeling for him, and that she might be runningwicked risks, assailed her. She rose from her seat without speaking.

"Not yet!" he pleaded impulsively, as she looked for him to rise too;"not yet! Five minutes more!" And he took her hand, which hung near him,and tried to draw her back to his side, looking up at her in all thebeauty of his broad brows, and his bold nose, and his commandingmanliness, with eyes that burned through hers to her shaking heart. Thiswas love-making, she knew, though not a word of love was spoken, and,under all the circumstances surrounding him and her in their sociallife, it terrified her.

"I have stayed too long already," she said. "I ought not to have beenhere alone—so late."

The tremble in her voice, as well as the implication of her words,shocked him, and he pulled himself up sharply, regretting hisindiscretions as much as she did hers.

"Oh, it's not late. But I'm imposing on good nature, trying to keep youmerely to talk to me. Fact is, I seldom come across people that I careto talk to." He held his watch open under a lamp. "Later than I thought,though—late for you to be about alone, as you say, Miss Liddon. Youdon't mind my seeing you home, do you?"

She thanked him, and they walked to the tram together, without sayinganything except that they thought rain was at hand; and the tram set herdown almost at the door of her lodgings, where Mrs. Liddon and Sarahawaited her on the doorstep—Sarah in an ecstasy of secret joy at theapparent success of her manœuvres.

Jenny never went alone to the pier after that night, and her admirersought for another happy hour in vain. On the two occasions that he wentto St. Kilda in the hope of a meeting, she had her family with her, andnot all Sarah's artifices could disintegrate the party. Jenny loved himmore distractedly than ever, but, having no assurance that he loved herin the right way, or loved her at all, she knew what her duty was. Andshe had the resolution to act accordingly, though it was a hard task. Hehad scruples about going to the tea-room by himself, after what Mary hadsaid to him; and he found it no fun to go with her, or other ladies.Then the rush of the races set in. Mr. Oxenham and other guests arrivedfrom the country; horses had to be inspected; betting business becamebrisk and absorbing; lunches, garden parties, dinners, balls, crowdedupon one another in a way to carry a society man and bachelor off hisfeet. In short, for a few weeks Mr. Anthony Churchill almost forgot thetea-room. Almost—not quite. The portfolio of photographs arrived by thecarrier (and the formal note of thanks for it was preserved, and isextant to this day); flowers for Sarah came from Paton's, at shortintervals, with all the air of having been specially selected; Joeyswaggered into the new sitting-room with news of his rise to £200 ayear, imagining it to be the reward of transcendent merit. But poorlittle Jenny, harried with great crushes of tea-drinkers, worn withfatigue and heat and bad air and a restless mind, ready to go intohysterics at a touch, but for the fact that there was no time for suchfrivolities, sighed for the refreshment of her beloved's voice and facein vain. Day after day, week after week, she watched for his return, andhe came not. She concluded that her effort to do her duty had beensuccessful, and—though she would have done the same again, ifnecessary—she was heart-broken at the thought.

To tell the honest truth, as a faithful chronicler should do, our herovery nearlydid abandon her at this juncture. When love, even the verybest of love, is in its early stages, it is easily nipped by littleaccidents, like other young things. It wants time to toughen the tendersprout, and develop its growth and strength until it can defyvicissitudes; nothing but time will do it, let poets and novelists saywhat they like to the contrary. And so Anthony, not having been in lovewith Jenny Liddon for more than a few days (and having been many timesin love), was seduced by the charms of the stable and the betting-ringand the good company in which he found himself, when deprived bycircumstances of the higher pleasure of her society. More than that, herimage was temporarily superseded by that of a beautiful and brilliantLondon woman who was on a visit to Government House, and whom in thistime of festivity he was constantly meeting. She was a lady of title andhigh connections, and she singled him out for special favour because hewas big and handsome, travel-polished and proper-mannered, andaltogether good style as an attendant cavalier. His family (barring hisstepmother), proudly aware of the mutual attraction, and pleased to hearit joked of and commented on amongst their friends, formed the confidentexpectation that a marriage would result, whereby their Tony would havea wife and a position of a dignity commensurate with his own surpassingworth.

CHAPTER XI

NATURE SPEAKS

At the end of the gay season, when races were over, and multitudinousparties had become a weariness to the flesh, a few people of the highestfashion went on a yachting cruise, to recruit their strength after allthey had gone through. Of these Tony was one, and Lady Louisa, whom hewas expected to bring back as his affianced bride (she was a widow ofthirty-five), was another; and Maude Churchill (without her husband, andbent on circumventing Lady Louisa) was a third. They were got upelaborately in blue serge and white flannel and gold buttons, and thesmartest of straw hats and knotted neckties, and they set off on a hotmorning of late November, when the breeze was fair.

Mary Oxenham saw them start. She had refused to accompany them, partlybecause she felt she was too quiet for such a party, and partly becauseshe wanted to return to her own household and children, whom she seldomleft for so long. As she bade the voyagers good-bye she said to herbrother, "What are you going to do at Christmas, Tony?"

"Stay with us—in his own father's house—of course," Mrs. Churchillinterposed promptly. "You can come down, Mary."

"I can't, Maude; I must be at home, as well as you. You won't come to mefor Christmas, Tony?"

"I don't think so, Polly—many thanks," he answered. "I expect my fatherwill want me here." The fact was, he had too many interests in Melbourneto wish to leave at present.

"Well, come when you can, dear old fellow. I want to have you all tomyself, if it's only for a few days."

"I will, Polly, I will. Good-bye, and take care of yourself. Are youreally going away before we come back?"

"At the end of the week, Tony. I have been away too long—all yourfault, bad boy. Well, good-bye again.Bon voyage, everybody!"

The town clock was striking the quarter before noon when she re-enteredher carriage at Spencer Street, and it occurred to her to drive to thetea-room, to see how Jenny was getting on. Like Tony, she had beenforgetting and deserting herprotégée during the bustle of the lastfew weeks, and felt a twinge of self-reproach in consequence.

Entering the room, which fortunately chanced to have no customer at themoment, she was surprised to see Jenny sitting, or rather lying, in oneof the low chairs, with her head laid back and her eyes closed, herchest slowly rising and falling in heavy, dumb sobs—evident symptoms ofsome sort of hysterical collapse. Sarah and her mother were hanging overher in great alarm and distress, as at a spectacle they were whollyunused to, Mrs. Liddon persuading her to drink some brandy and waterwhich the landlady had hastily produced.

"Oh, what is the matter?" cried Mrs. Oxenham, hurrying forward. "Whatails Jenny? Oh, poor child, how ill she looks!"

"She's just worn out," said Mrs. Liddon. "I've seen it coming on forweeks, and nothing that I could say would make her take care ofherself. Shewill come here and work when she's not fit to stand. Wewanted her to stay at home this morning, but no—she wouldn't listen tous."

Jenny struggled to sit up and shake herself together. "Oh, mother, don'tscold me," she said. "It's just the heat, I think. It's nothing. I shallbe right in a moment I—I—oh, Iam a fool! Mrs. Oxenham, I am sosorry—so ashamed——"

Her mother held the glass between her chattering teeth, and she drank alittle brandy and water, and choked, and burst out crying.

"Jenny," said Mrs. Oxenham, in a voice of authority, "you come away outof this immediately. I have the carriage here, and I will drive youhome." In a flash she remembered that the mother and sister could not bespared from the tea-room, that the girl should not be left alone inlodgings, and that Maude and Tony were safely off to sea. "Home with me,I mean," she continued. "I will send you back to your mother to-night,when you are all right again. You can do quite well without her, can'tyou"—turning to Mrs. Liddon—"now that you have Mrs. Allonby's help?"

Mrs. Allonby, who was the basket-maker's wife, volubly assured Mrs.Oxenham that she could easily manage Miss Liddon's work now that thecrush of race time was over, and if she couldn't, there was her niece tofall back upon. Mrs. Liddon and Sarah said the same as well as theycould, but were almost speechless with gratitude. Sarah did not knowthat Mr. Anthony had sailed away, and she began to see visions and todream dreams of the most beautiful description. She had a shrewd idea asto what Jenny's complaint arose from, though not a word had beenbreathed on the subject, and this seemed the very medicine for it. Sheran to get her sister's hat and gloves, when they had composed her alittle, and would not regard any protests whatever.

"It is the very,very thing to set her up," she cried, in exultation."And, oh, itis good of you, Mrs. Oxenham!"

"Come, then," said that lady. "I will take care of her for the rest ofthe day, and you see if I don't send her back to you looking better thanshe does now. Quite a quiet day, Jenny dear; you need not look at yourdress—it is quite nice. There's nobody in the house but my father andhusband."

Before she had made up her mind whether to go or not, Jenny foundherself dashing through the streets in Mrs. Churchill's landau, havingbeen half-pushed, half-carried down the stairs and hoisted into it—she,who had been the controlling spirit hitherto. Joey, on the way to hisdinner, saw her thus throned in state, and could scarcely believe hiseyes. "There's my sister having a drive with the boss's daughter," hecasually remarked to a couple of fellow-clerks, as if it were no newthing; but the spectacle deeply impressed him. That day he patronisedthe tea-room for the first time, to the delight of his adoring mother,and began to identify himself with his family.

Jenny recovered self-possession in the air. She was agitated by the newturn in her affairs—by the wonderful chance that had snatched her outof the turmoil of her petty cares into the serene atmosphere of theworld of the well-to-do, who were untroubled by the necessity of earningtheir bread, into the enchanted sphere where her beloved's liferevolved; but she no longer trembled and cried, like the weakly of hersex, because her nerves were too many for her. Nothing morediscouraging than a discovery that the milk-jugs had not been washed byMrs. Allonby's niece, whose duty it now was to prepare them overnight,had broken down the spirit that had withstood long wear and tear ofstrenuous battle like finely-tempered steel; and a like triflingencouragement was sufficient to lift it up again. The ease of thecarriage was delicious; the relief of having nothing to do unspeakable;the sight of the beautiful gardens and stately rooms of the house thatentertained her as a guest and equal, more refreshing than either. Theday was such a holiday as the girl had never had before.

Mrs. Oxenham made her lie on a springy sofa for an hour, while theyquietly talked together; then they had atête-à-tête lunch—delicatefood and choice wine that comforted soul and body more than Jenny knew;and again she was made to rest on downy pillows—to sleep, if shecould—while Mary in an adjoining room played Mendelssohn'sLieder,one after another, with a touch like wind-borne feathers. By-and-by thegirl was shown about the house, made acquainted with precious picturesand works of art brought together from all quarters of the world, suchas she had never seen or dreamed of; and great photographs, scatteredabout in costly frames, were named to her as she moved in and outamongst them.

"This is my husband, whom you have not seen—but he will be here todinner, and you needn't be at all afraid of him, for he is one of thegentlest and dearest of men," said Mrs. Oxenham, taking up a mass ofrepoussé silver that enshrined the image of a burly fellow with aplain but honest face. "And this is my young stepmother, whom I thinkyouhave seen; she is in the dress she wore when she was presented atCourt. This is my brother—I have a little half-brother, the sweetestbaby, that we will have down to amuse us presently, but this is my onlyown brother; him, I think, you have also seen."

She passed on to others, and Jenny passed on with her; but presently,while Mrs. Oxenham was writing a note, the girl returned to the table onwhich stood the counterfeit presentment of her red-bearded hero, inpeaked cap and Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers and hob-nailedboots—such a magnificent figure in that crowd of distinguishednobodies! Looking up when she had finished her note, Mrs. Oxenham sawher standing, rapt and motionless, with the heavy frame in her hands,and was struck by the expression of her face and attitude.

"Good heavens!" she mentally exclaimed. "I do hope and trust that boyhas not been thoughtless!"

She remembered how she had found him in the tea-room, and his pronenessto amatory dalliance of a fleeting kind, inevitable in the case of a manso handsome, and so much sought after by flirting women; and she had amoment of grave uneasiness. Then she reflected upon Jenny's soberness ofnature and Tony's opportune departure with Lady Louisa, and was at easeagain.

Tea was served at five, and the children came down to be played with.Then Mr. Churchill and Mr. Oxenham returned from their club to dinner,and the latter was introduced to Jenny, and both did their part to puther at ease and make her feel at home and happy. The old gentleman tookher in to dinner on his arm, and was concerned that she did not eat asshe should, and told her she wanted a change to the seaside, rackinghis brains to think how he could manage to cozen her into accepting someassistance that would make such a thing practicable. Soon after dinnerwas over the hansom Mrs. Oxenham had ordered was announced, and the goodold fellow, bustling in from his wine, declared his intention of seeingMiss Liddon home in person. He blamed Mary for sending her away so soon,but Mary said it was better for her to go to bed early; and then Mr.Churchill said he hoped Miss Liddon would soon come again—forgettingthat his daughter was on the point of leaving him, and that his youngwife would be little likely to endorse such an invitation.

Jenny left in a glow of inward happiness, and of gratitude that shecould not express, though she tried to do so. Mrs. Oxenham wrapped herin a Chuddah shawl, and kissed her on the doorstep.

"Good-night, dear child," she said, quite tenderly. "Go straight to bedand to sleep, and don't go to the tea-room to-morrow. I shall come andsee you early."

Having watched her charge depart in her father's care, this kind womanreturned to her husband, whom she found alone in the dining-room,smoking, and reading the evening paper, with his coffee beside him.

"Would you have any objection to my having that girl to stay with me forChristmas—that is, if she will come?"

He laid down his paper and thought about it. Though he was a Manchestercotton man, he was no snob, or he would not have been Mary Churchill'shusband; but this was, as he would have termed it, a large order.

"Nobody. That is, I have not asked anybody at present. I think I'drather we were quietly by ourselves. She's a lady, Harry, you can see itfor yourself. Her father was an Eton boy."

"And she is thoroughly out of health. I never saw a girl soaltered—shattered with hard work, poor little soul. I believe if shedoesn't get a long rest and a change that she will have a severeillness, and then what would become of her mother and sister, and thebusiness she has managed so splendidly? Now that Cup time is over, it ispossible for them to do without her for awhile, and country air and goodfeeding and a little looking after would set her up, I know. And I don'tsee how else she is to get it. I am sure the children would like to haveher, Harry; and she is so modest and quiet that she would never be inthe way."

"He is not coming. I asked him, but he said he couldn't leave town. Heis too much engaged with Lady Louisa, I suppose; and if she didn't keephim, Maude would. Oh, if there was the slightest chance of Tony being atWandooyamba, of course I shouldn't ask Miss Liddon there."

"Well, my dear, I'm sure I don't care, one way or another. Do just whatyou think best."

"Not in the least. What's good enough for you is good enough for me,and, personally, I think she's an awfully nice little thing."

"Then I shall go and settle it with her mother in the morning," saidMrs. Oxenham, "and we will take her back with us."

CHAPTER XII

TWO WISE MEN

It was not far from Christmas when Anthony returned from his cruise,which he did in a listless, yawning, world-weary frame of mind. He hadnot enjoyed himself as he had expected to do, and wished he had remainedin Melbourne at work, and given his old father a holiday instead.Tasmania had looked beautiful, to be sure, but he had seen too manythings that were more so, and seen them too recently, to be impressed byits hills and streams; while the sea had no charm after his recentvoyage. He had wholly depended on his company for entertainment, and hiscompany had disappointed him. Few, indeed, can stand the test of suchconditions as those under which they were expected to shine, as under amicroscope, with double lustre and meaning (he had not stood ithimself); and it was not surprising that the brilliant Lady Louisa hadfailed to substantiate her pretensions to be a clever woman, or thatMrs. Churchill had contrived to make a most kindly-disposed stepson hateher. Not, of course, that it was necessary for Lady Louisa to showherself clever in order to captivate our hero, or any man; it wasbecause her stupidity had led her to waste her blandishments on abrainless idiot of a whisky-drinking globe-trotter, whose name was hisonly title to be called a gentleman, that it had manifested itself sounmistakably to her superseded slave. When the bookless, newspaperless,trifling time was over, he stepped ashore with a sense of being releasedfrom an irksome bondage, and determined to keep clear of his late tooclose companions for many a long day. One only was excepted—an old chumand crony, who had accompanied him on the voyage from England, aQueensland squatter, who lived nine months of the year inMelbourne—Adam Danesbury by name. Mr. Danesbury had afforded muchamusement on board the yacht by boasting modestly of his recentengagement to a girl at home; showing her likeness, worn in a locket onhis watch-chain, to the ladies, and confiding to them his plan forreturning to marry and fetch her out as soon as he had got his northernshearing over. The ladies thought it was so very funny of him; any otherman, they said, would have kept such a thing as dark as possible, underthe circumstances. But Anthony Churchill, who had always made a friendof Danesbury, had never liked him so well as he liked him now.

"Come up to my place and dine with me to-night," he said to him, as theparty were dispersing in the yard of the railway station; "and let'shave a quiet pipe and a little peace, after all this racket."

"Mr. Churchill! Mr. Churchill!" called Lady Louisa from a GovernmentHouse carriage, to which a callow aide had escorted her. "What have Idone that I should be neglected in this manner? Are you not even goingto say good-bye to me?"

Anthony advanced with his man-of-the-world courtliness, and pressed heroutstretched hand. "No," he said, "I never mean to say good-bye toyou—until I am obliged."

He bowed as to a queen, while the young A.D.C., whose enchantress shewas at the moment, notwithstanding the fact that she was almost oldenough to be his mother, glared ferociously.

"These conceited colonials!" he muttered to himself; "these tradingcads, putting on the airs of gentlemen! What presumption of the fellowto speak in that tone to HER!"

"Tony," cried Maude, from the midst of her bags and bundles, which hermaid was counting into the hands of a cabman, "you will see me safehome, Tony?"

"Well, really, Maude, I don't see how you can help getting home safely,with your own husband to take care of you," Tony replied, a littleirritably (his father, delighted to get his young wife back again, wascalling her carriage up). "You don't want me now."

"Tony, you know Ialways want you. And youmight come just for a cupof tea and to see the children. They'll be expecting you."

"As if you couldn't get washed in our house, where you've got your ownrooms, and dozens of suits of clothes lying in your drawers!"

"Oh, I know; but you must excuse me now, really. There'll be letters andall sorts of things at my chambers, waiting for me, and I telegraphed toJarvis to have my dinner ready."

He detached himself from her clutches, and, when her carriage drove off,called up his hansom and flung himself into it with a sigh of relief."Thank God, that's over!" he ejaculated, drawing his cigar-case from hispocket. "What fools women are! The more I see of them, the more sick ofthem I get."

It was great luxury to find himself in his own bachelor home, where thepriceless Jarvis had everything in order and ready for him, and where hewas his own man, as he could never be elsewhere. He had an iced drink,and read his letters, and glanced at half a dozen newspapers, lollingbare-armed upon a sofa, with a pipe in his mouth and slippered feet inthe air; and then he had a bath and elaborately dressed himself, puttinga silk coat over his diamond-studded shirt; and Jarvis set the daintydinner-table, and Danesbury arrived.

"Come in, old fellow!" shouted the emancipated one, hearing his friendin the hall. "Now we'll enjoy ourselves! Take off that black coat—noladies to consider now; we may as well be cool and comfortable when wedo get the chance. Dinner ready, Jarvis? All's vanity and vexation ofspirit, old man, except one's dinner. Thank God, we've still got that tofall back upon!"

"We've got something more than that to fall back upon, let us hope,"said Mr. Danesbury, smiling. "At any rate, I have."

"Oh,you! You've got Miss Lennox to fall back on, of course. But weare not all so lucky."

"What's happened to you, that you should class yourself with the unluckyones? But I know; Lady Louisa hasn't appreciated you. I can quiteunderstand that you feel bad about it, being so little accustomed tosuch treatment."

"Hang Lady Louisa! A battered old campaigner, with no more heart orbrains than a Dutch doll! I should be sorry to feel bad over a woman ofthat sort."

"Lord knows. A troubled conscience, perhaps, for having wasted so muchvaluable time. Dinner, as I said before, will restore me. Sit down."

They sat down, and did justice to Jarvis's preparations. Anthony'slittle dinners were famous amongst dining men, who knew better than todisturb enjoyment and digestion with too much conversation while theywere in progress; but when this meal had reached the stage of coffee andcigarettes, the two friends fell into very confidential talk.

"Why," said the host, "you've been the loudest of us all in denouncingthose bonds—till now. Because you've lost your tail, is that any reasonwhy we should cut off ours?"

"That's all very well while we're young and foolish," said Mr. Danesburysedately (he was a sedate person always, but "a devil of a fellow," allthe same, at times). "And I denounce the thing still, when it's nothingbut a buying and selling business, like what we so often see. But get agood girl, Tony—a girl likemy girl—one who doesn't make a bargainof you, but loves the ground you walk on, though you may gobarefoot—then it's all right. Think of our advanced age, if youplease. Byron was in the sere and yellow leaf before he was as old as Iam, and you are close up. Twenty years hence we shall be old fogies, andwe shall have lost our appetite for cakes, if not for ale, and they willshunt us into corners; then we shall want our girls and boys to ruffleit in our place. If we don't look sharp, those girls and boys won't bethere, Tony, and it will feel lonely—I know it will."

"These be the words of wisdom," said Tony reflectively. "I must confessI had forgotten about the girls and boys."

"Oh, but, apart from them, it's a mistake to put it off, after a certaintime of life—that is, of course, if you can find the right sort ofwoman. For God's sake, don't go and throw yourself away on one of thesesociety girls. What a fellow wants is a home, and they don't seem toknow the meaning of the word."

"How would you describe the right sort of woman?" asked Anthony, pushingthe wine towards his friend.

"I wish you did, Tony. If you had come down to my father's place, as Iwanted you to, you would have met her. However, you will see her beforelong, I trust."

Anthony spread his arms over the table, and looked curiously at the manin whom Miss Lennox had wrought so great a change.

"Tell me about her, will you, old fellow?" he said. "Tell me, so that Imay know what the right woman is like, when I do happen to see her."

Mr. Danesbury was nothing loth. He, too, spread his arms on the table,with an air of preparation, having placed his unconsumed cigarette inthe ash-tray beside him.

"Well, in the first place, I must tell you she is poor," he began. "Butshe's none the worse for that."

"No, the better—the better!" cried Anthony, delighted. "I believe it'sjust money that spoils them all."

"Her father has the parish next to my father's; old Lennox got theliving after I left home. It's supposed to be worth two-fifty, but if hegets two it's as much as he does; and there are seven children. My Roseis the eldest—twenty-three next birthday."

"Yes?" Anthony had left off smoking, and was listening as men seldomlistened to this love-sick swain.

"The way I knew her first—my sisters gave a garden party—you knowthose little clerical garden parties?—parsons and their wives anddaughters from miles round, coming in their washed frocks and theirlittle basket carriages; and two of the Lennox girls were there—nice,interesting little things, but not Rose. We had three tennis afternoonsbefore I knew of her existence. I used to hear my sisters say, 'Whydon't you make Rose come?' but never took any heed; until one day I hadto drive some of them home, because a storm was coming, and they hadn'tany carriage; and just as I got there the storm burst, and I went in towait till it was over. And there I saw that girl—my Rose—sitting at atable, mending stockings, with half a dozen little brats saying theirlessons to her. This was what she did every day—sewed, and kept house,and taught the children, while her sisters went out to play tennis. Shesaid it was so good for them to have a little recreation—as ifshewasn't to be thought of at all. That's the sort of woman she is."

Adam Danesbury detached watch and chain, and pushed them over the table."It don't do her justice," he said tenderly. "She's got hair that youcan see yourself in, and a complexion like milk; the colour comes andgoes with every word you say to her, and her expression changes in thesame way. Photography always fails with people of that sort.Still—there she is."

Photography had evidently not done justice to Miss Lennox. The ladies onthe yacht had called her dowdy, and insignificant, and plain, wonderingat Mr. Danesbury's taste; but, helped by that gentleman's description ofher, Anthony made out a sweet and modest face, which held his gaze forseveral minutes. Her lover watched him eagerly—this accomplishedconnoisseur—and swelled with pride to see her so appreciated.

"Well," said Anthony, as he snapped the locket, "she's a charmingcreature, and you are an enviable fellow."

"I am that," rejoined the lover, re-opening the case before hanging itto his button-hole. "And I shall be a great deal more enviable this timenext year, please God."

CHAPTER XIII

TWO UNWISE WOMEN

This conversation haunted our young man all night, and drove him in themorning to the tea-room, in serious pursuit of the right kind of woman,if haply she might be found there. To his surprise and consternation thebird had flown.

"Not ill, I trust?" he said in alarm, at the end of five restlessminutes, during which he had scarcely taken his eyes from the screen.

Sarah was arranging the flowers he had just brought her. She hadpatiently waited for this question. "No," she said, with a nonchalantair. "Shewas ill—very ill indeed—but she is all right now."

"Yes. They are most kind to her. It was just what she wanted, for shewas quite worn out. The hard work at Cup time prostrated her."

"No. Mountains. At least I suppose they are mountains—I never was theremyself."

"Dreadfully. And I am afraid she worries about us. But the room goes onall right. Lucinda Allonby is a cat, but she is smart at waiting; andher aunt is a good soul. She is regularly in the partnership now."

"I should have thought you'd known," said Sarah, playing with hisgrowing impatience.

"Of course she has written to me. I got two letters from her last night.But she has been out of town as long as I have."

"Not quite as long. She stayed a few days after you left, and then shewent home; and she took Jenny with her."

"What!" Anthony almost bounded from his chair. "Took Jenny toWandooyamba? As her guest?"

Sarah nodded carelessly. "Wasn't it good of her? She found Jenny lookingvery ill, and she said she must have a change and rest. And we hurriedto get her clothes ready and fix up an evening dress for her, and offshe went, and there she has been ever since."

"Ever since," groaned Anthony; "while I have been dawdling on thatcursed yacht. If I'd only known——"

She was a little sore about his long desertion, and wanted to know whatit meant before she permitted herself to be confidential.

He plumped down on his seat in front of her. "It has everything to dowith me," he said; "everything. Sarah—I am going to call you Sarah fromthis moment—shall I tell you something?"

"You must keep it a secret for a little while, until I know whether shewill have me. I am going to ask Jenny to be my wife."

He met her eyes boldly, for he had made up his mind; and she, seeing himserious and determined, clasped her hands in a speechless ecstasy ofgratitude to Heaven for its goodness to her.

The writer of this letter posted it at the G.P.O. while spending hisafternoon about town, buying buggies and Christmas presents for hissister's family, consequently it went up country by the five o'clockexpress, and Mrs. Oxenham received it before noon next day. No answerwas expected or required, and therefore Tony was surprised and annoyedto get a telegram from her, just as he was thinking it time to changehis clothes for his journey, to say,—

"What the deuce—oh, here, Jarvis, hold on a bit. Confound the—what onearth does she mean? Can't have got that great house full of guests, sothat there isn't a corner for me to sleep in—that would be too absurd.Going out, perhaps—but she wouldn't stop me for that. Can't beJenny—she'd stop me altogether if she meantthat. It's a dashednuisance anyhow."

The packing was stayed, and he mooned away to the club, because hedidn't know what else to do with himself. He was lost for want ofoccupation, and ridiculously angry at having to kick his heels fortwenty-four hours for no earthly purpose that he could see. There wasnothing to do or to interest one—there never is under thesecircumstances; his journey put back at the last moment, he was strandeduntil it could be put on again. So he drifted to the club.

There he found his father. It was the old gentleman's habit to playtennis after business, to keep his fat down—a habit formed long yearsbefore the lawn variety of the game had been invented; and Tony foundhim hard at it, and watched him listlessly.

As soon as Mr. Churchill was aware of his son's presence, he exclaimed:"Why, I thought you were off to Wandooyamba to-night!"

And when the game was over, the father said, "Come out and dine with usto-night, boy. You are deserting us altogether these days, and I've gota lot of business I want to talk over with you."

Tony recognised that it was his duty to accede, because he really hadbeen neglecting his father (but that was Maude's fault); and he accededaccordingly, as cheerfully as he could. Jarvis having been informed bytelephone, the two gentlemen took tram together, and were presentlyseen by Maude from her bedroom window sauntering up the garden,affectionately arm in arm. She dashed aside the gown that had beenchosen for the evening, and called for Mrs. Earl's latest—a whitebrocade, full of gold threads, that was very splendid.

Anthony had leisurely dressed himself in the clothes he kept at Toorakfor these chance occasions, and was pulling his coat lappets straightover his big chest when he heard her knock on his door.

"Do—do make haste and come downstairs. I've something I want to say toyou—very particularly—before the others come down."

He thought he would dawdle on until he heard the "others"—i.e., hisfather—on the stairs; then he thought he might as well hear what thewonderful secret was. It was never safe to put her off. She was liableto burst at wrong times if kept bottled up too long.

CHAPTER XIV

A WEAK FATHER

He found her pacing up and down the long drawing-room with excitement inher face, all the gold drops on the crape front of her dress swingingand twinkling, the stiff train scratching over the carpet. She almostrushed at him when he appeared.

"Tony," she said, laying her heavily diamonded hand upon his arm, "yourfather says you are going up to Wandooyamba."

"Oh, indeed! And pray, madam, who are you, to give me orders—me, thatwas dux of my school when you were in your cradle?"

"I am your mother, sir. It is a mother's business to give orders, and ason's to obey them. And I say you are not to go to Wandooyamba."

"If a mother is to issue commands of that sort, and in that tone ofvoice, the least she can do is to give her reasons for them."

"The reason is that Mary has company up there—people—aperson—aperson that I don't choose you to associate with."

"I know nothing," said Tony mendaciously, "and am most anxious forinformation. I cannot imagine Mary associating with anybody who isn'tfit to associate with me. But perhaps it is I who am not fit? Who's thealmighty swell that I'm not good enough for?"

"No swell at all—quite the contrary. It's that tea-room girl—oh, Tony,I believe you knew all the time, only you like to put that mask on,because you know how I hate to see you look at me like a wooden image!It's that Liddon girl, that she made such an absurd fuss about. Shewasn't well, and Mary took her to Wandooyamba to recruit, and she'sthere now."

"I don't see what that has to do with me," said he in a stately way;and he tried to move away from her.

Maude clutched him with both hands round his arm, and moved with him."If it doesn't matter now, it will matter when you get under the sameroof with her. Oh!"—looking up at him—"youdid know she was there,and youare going after her! You used to sneak to the tea-room on thesly—heaps of people have told me—and now you are going to Wandooyambajust on purpose to make love to her—I can see it in your face, thoughyou have your mask on! Oh! Tony dear, don't—don't be a naughty, badboy—for my sake!"

"If I have ever been bad—bad to women," said Tony, removing his mask,"that time is over. Don't distress yourself. If I should by chance makelove to Miss Liddon, it will be quite respectably, I assure you."

"But that would beworse!" shrieked Maude, coming to a standstill inthe middle of the room, horrified. "Oh, Tony, what are you talkingabout—you, that have always been so fastidious! A tea-room girl! Oh,you are only trying to aggravate me! I didn't save you from Lady Louisato have you throw yourself away on a tea-room girl!"

He almost shook her, he was so angry with her. "May I ask you to be sovery good as to mind your own business, and allow me to manage mine?" hesaid, with a sort of cold fury in his voice and eyes. It was not the waya son should speak to his mother—indeed, it was quite brutal—but hecould not restrain himself; and she, looking at him, guessed what thesudden rage portended.

"Itis my business," she retorted, with equal passion. "It is myfamily's business—it is all our businesses—to see that we are notdisgraced."

The white gauze over her bosom heaved like foam on a flowing tide, thegold drops studding it shook like harebells in a breeze.

She swept out of the room, and he heard her long tail scraping over thetiles of the hall, and rustling up the broad stairs.

"Little devil!" he muttered in his teeth; and then he laughed, and hiseyes cleared, and he went out upon the colonnaded verandah and walked upand down, with his hands behind him, till the gong clanged for dinner.

Sedately he marched into the dining-room and stood by the table, he andthe servants, all silent alike, waiting for host and hostess to comedownstairs. Then in flounced Maude, in her glittering whiteness, withher head up, and a wicked flash of triumph in her eyes as she met thewooden stare of her stepson; and her husband followed at her heels,furtive, downcast, troubled—pretending for the present that all waswell, and failing to convince even the footman that it was so. Tony wasat once aware that Maude had "told his father of him," and all throughdinner he was trying to forecast what the result would be. She sparkledbalefully for a time, trying to tease him into disputatious talk; buthis cold irresponsiveness cowed her into silence too, and the resourceof wistful glances that hinted at remorse and tears. It was a dismalmeal. When it was happily at an end, and she rose from her plate ofstrawberries, he marched to the door and held it open for her, standingstiffly, like a soldier sentinel. She looked at him appealingly, andwhispered "Forgive me," as she swept slowly out; but he stared stonilyover her head and took no notice.

Shutting the door sharply behind her, he returned to his seat at thetable. The gliding servants vanished, and his father pushed the winetowards him. There was a long silence, which he would not break. The oldman cleared his throat a few times, and smacked his lips over his oldport. At last their eyes met, and the spell was lifted.

Anthony laid a broad palm over his father's hand resting on the table."Don't let us talk of it here, daddy," he said, with gruff gentleness."Finish your wine comfortably. Then we'll go into the smoking-room, andI'll tell you all about it."

Mr. Churchill brisked up, tossed off his port, and was ready for thesmoking-room at once. It was detached from the house, and its Frenchdoors opened upon a retired lawn, on which the moon shone between theshadows of shrubs and trees. They drew armchairs towards the threshold,and lit their pipes, but not the lamps, and talked and talked in thecooling twilight, as men who had confidence in one another.

At first the father would not hear of the projected match. He belongedto a vulgar little world that was eaten up with the love of money, andcould not despise the conventions of his caste. He argued, gently butobstinately, that it would "never do, you know," for quite a long time,thinking of what Maude would say to him if he failed to be firm; but amention of Maude's homely predecessor, and the days when there was nohigh fashion in the family, touched his susceptible heart. Tony drewcomparisons between his dead mother, his stepmother and his proposedwife, and morals therefrom.

"Where would you have been withouther, all that time when you werepoor and struggling?"

"I may be. No one can tell. Any sort of misfortune may come to a man.And in the day of adversity—well, you can see what she would be."

"Suppose I should fall ill? Maude's sister was at a ball the nightbefore her husband died."

"She would have guessed if she'd been a woman of the right sort. Jennywon't go to balls when I am ill in bed, if it's only a cold or aheadache."

"No doubt that's the sort to stick to you and comfort you." The oldfather sighed as he reflected on his increasing gout. "And Idaresay—after all—in the long run perhaps——"

"Exactly. I am firmly convinced of it. She will last it out. Andmeanwhile, think of the cosy home I'll have! Oh, I may have been acareless, fast fellow, but I've had my ideas of what I would like to be,and like my home to be. And then there's the children—if anybody hasgot the makings of a good mother in her, she has. Don't you see ityourself?"

"If you'd seen her with Maude's brats—washing the milk and butterstains from their hands and mouths! And they took to her on the spot, asif they'd known her for years. It is a sure sign."

"Oh, it is—it is! Your mother had that way. Poor old girl! Many's thetime I've seen her at the wash-tub, and ironing my shirts, and cookingmy dinner, and you children hanging round her all the while. But it'sodd to see a swell fellow like you caring for that sort of thing. You'vebeen brought up so differently."

"Perhaps it's my mother's nature cropping out in me. But, in fact, it'sbecause I've seen too much, sir."

"Too much woman—of the sort that I knowdon't make good wives—at anyrate, not good enough for me."

"Ah, you're wise! I daresay you do take after your mother; she wasbetter than I am. You are wiser for yourself than I should have been foryou."

"I don't know that it's wisdom, consciously. It's pure selfishness, aslike as not. I know she'll be good to me, and take care of me, andstick to me through thick and thin."

"No fear. A man couldn't play the beast, with a wife of that sort; atleast, I hope not. I mean to be a pattern husband."

"I'll just go and change my clothes and get home to bed," he said. "Saygood-night to Maude for me. I won't disturb her again."

"Good-night, my boy. And you may tell her I've given my consent, if youlike. Only, mind you, we shall have to abolish the tea-room for the sakeof the family."

"We'll hand it over to the basket-maker's wife, and that fellow in theoffice must make a home for his remaining relatives. Good-night,dad—good old dad!"

He stole up to his room and changed his clothes, stole down again andout into the moonlit garden. As the road gate clicked behind him he sawthe front-door open, and in the effulgent aperture a white figure thatglittered vaguely. A wailing note came through the scented dusk.

"Good-night," he called back, and turned to run towards an approachingtram. He made his voice as cheerful and kindly as he could, for heforgave her now; but he said to himself, "Oh, you little Jezebel!" andthen, in a graver spirit, "Thank God, my Jenny is not one of thatbreed!"

He went home to bed and slept like a new-born baby. Next morning he wentearly to the tea-room to tell Sarah that his father had given hisconsent and good wishes, and to inquire if Jenny was still atWandooyamba—because Mary's telegram had made him nervous. Sarah saidher sister was with Mrs. Oxenham still, and not to return till afterChristmas; and Sarah wept a little for pure happiness, and kissed herpotential brother behind the screen. He would have spoken to Mrs.Liddon, as suitor to guardian, before going away; but she was busy withher scones, and the girl declared they would all be spoiled and thecredit of the tea-room ruined if such a surprise were sprung upon her atsuch a time. So he left the matter in Sarah's hands, and went away anddid some more shopping; bought a beautiful little ring with a pea-sizedpearl in it, in addition to fish and lollies. No more telegramsarrived, and Jarvis took the portmanteau to the station, and stood thecrush of ticket-getting, and put his master's coat and the eveningpapers into the best corner of the smoking carriage on the express; andat 4.55 the happy man was borne upon his way, feeling certain that hewas to see the wife he had promised himself before he went to bed thatnight.

CHAPTER XV

A STRAW AGAINST THE TIDE

Jenny was having an idyllic time at Wandooyamba. Mrs. Oxenham was notthe woman to do things by halves, and, having undertaken to restore thegirl to health, she set about the task with her native wisdom andcapability. New milk in the morning; broth at eleven o'clock; drivesbehind Harry's wild teams, which never made her afraid; rides on a quietpony with him and little Hal; rambles in the wooded hills about thehouse—the lone bush that she loved, but had never had her fill of;these things, in conjunction with a kindness from all around her thatnever allowed her to feel like an outsider, promptly brought a glow tothe magnolia-petal whiteness of the little face, and a clear light tothe eyes that had been so dull and tired.

She was so perfectly well-mannered and well-bred, and she looked sopretty in her neat gowns—particularly when she wore the black silkthat had been cut low and frilled with lace for the evening, showing herdelicately-curved and fine-skinned throat—that neither host nor hostessfelt any incongruity in her position as their social equal and the equalof their friends. If they remembered the tea-room, they remembered alsothe father who had been an Eton boy; but soon they forgot all about herantecedents and belongings, and esteemed her wholly on her own merits.They wished they could have kept her altogether, as housekeeper, orcompanion, or governess to the children (two sturdy boys, who loved herwith all the sincerity of their discriminating little hearts), becauseshe was so gentle, and so useful, and never in anybody's way.

She was never in anybody's way, and yet she was always at hand if therewas anything to be done that nobody else was ready to do. Until she hadleft the house no one realised the amount of unostentatious service thatshe represented. She made toys for the boys; she made sailor suits forthem (though nobody had wanted her to do that); she arranged theflowers; she sewed and cut the weekly papers; she marked handkerchiefs;she made the tea; she took the children for walks, and kept them good bytelling stories to them—a great relief to the house when school-timewas over and the governess had gone away.

"She's just my right hand," Mary said to her husband one day; "and Idon't know what I shall do without her when the time comes to send herhome. It's like having a younger sister to stay with one."

"It is," said Mr. Oxenham, who had just found his favourite drivinggloves, of which several fingers and thumbs had opened, mended so neatlythat they were as good as ever.

Nevertheless, neither of them had any idea of making an actual youngersister of Jenny Liddon, and when Tony's letter arrived there wasconsternation over its contents.

"Now, isn't that justtoo bad?" Mary cried, as she dashed it on thetable, and stamped her foot with vexation (Jenny being in theschool-room with the boys). "When I wanted him to come, he wouldn't; andnow I don't want him he starts off, without giving me any warning, inthis way! Oh, it really is too provoking of him! To-morrow—that's thisvery night, less than twelve hours from now—he will be here, Harry. Andthat girl in the house!"

"It's awkward," said Harry, picking up the letter and perusing it forhimself. "A fetching little thing like her, and a handsome, fast fellowlike him, both under the same roof——"

"Oh, it must not be," Mrs. Oxenham declared impetuously. "It must beprevented at all costs. I have a duty to Jenny as well as to my brother.I only hope and trust he doesn'tknow she is here—I asked them not tomention it, and you see he says nothing about her; but, whether or no, Iam not going to let either of them make fools of themselves, if I canhelp it."

"Nor yet pack Miss Liddon home, after asking her to stay overChristmas—like a schoolgirl expelled for misconduct."

"I know that too. I must scheme and plot to deceive them, like the badwomen in novels; only they do it to harm people, while I shall do itfor their good. Go away, Harry, and let me think."

He went away, and was uncomfortable till lunch time, when she met himwith a calm face and a telegram in her hand, which she asked him todespatch to the township for her.

"I have put him off till to-morrow," she said. "You can tell him thehorses were lame, or something."

Mr. Oxenham, who had scores of buggy horses, all jumping out of theirskins with the exhilaration of their spring coats and renewedconstitutions, said she must think of something that Tony would be morelikely to believe thanthat. And she said, "Oh, leave it to me!" Andhe replied that he would do so with the very greatest pleasure.

The luncheon bell rang, and Jenny came into the pleasant dining-room,with the children clinging to her. She put them in high chairs on eitherside of her place at the table, and tied on their bibs, and cut up theirroast mutton and potato, like the little mother that her lover dreamedof.

"Why do you bother about those brats, Miss Liddon, while the nursespends all her time flirting over the back fence?" their father said,in a gay but compunctious tone. And he helped her to mayonnaise, and toher special wine, and to cool soda-water, and to salt, and to anythinghe could lay his hands on; for he feared they were going to treat herbadly, and he wanted to put in all the good treatment that he couldbeforehand.

His wife regarded the girl with infinite kindness, but no compunctionwhatever—for she was a woman, and not a man.

"Jenny, dear," she said, "do you think you would enjoy a little drivethis afternoon? I don't think it is too hot."

"I should, greatly," Jenny replied, the ready glow in her face. "But Ienjoy everything—whether out of doors or in—whatever you like best."

"Me, too," clamoured little Hal. "Let me go too, mother! Then I can tellMiss Liddon some more about Uncle Tony's ship that he's gone to Tasmaniain."

With the explosion of this unexpected bomb the colour flew over Jenny'sface, and, because she knew she was blushing, it deepened to the hue ofa peony. Anthony had not been named in the family circle since herarrival, except to and by this terrible infant; even Sarah had beenafraid to interfere with the march of events by any allusion to him inher letters. So that Jenny believed him to be still upon the sea, andthat nobody knew how she thought about him.

Mrs. Oxenham flashed one lightning glance at her guest, and leisurelyhelped her little son to gravy. "It isn't Uncle Tony's ship, as ithappens; it is Mr. Daunt's," she said. "And what do you know aboutships, you monkey?"

She looked at her husband, and he knew she looked at him, though he waseating industriously, with his eyes upon his plate.

"I sha'n't be able to take you this afternoon, Mary," he mumbled, withhis mouth full, visibly shrinking. "I shall be busy."

"We shall not want you, dear," she calmly answered him. "Dickson candrive us. I am going to the township to do a little shopping forChristmas. And, Jenny, we will call on your aunt at the bank; it will bea good opportunity."

Jenny's aunt, her mother's sister, chanced to live in the town which wasthe Oxenhams' post-town and their railway terminus. Neither aunt,uncle, nor cousins had communicated with the Liddons since the tea-roomwas instituted, and had intended never again to do so; but when theydiscovered that the arch-offender against the pride of the Rogersons wasa guest at Wandooyamba, the great house of the district, which had neverconferred such a distinction upon them, their attitude towards thiskinswoman changed completely. They rushed to call upon her, and to claspher in their arms, and to beg that she would go and see them while shewas so near. Their call had not yet been returned, and the invitationhad been disregarded, because Mrs. Oxenham had looked a little coldlyupon the connection, and Jenny had preferred her friend to herrelations; but now Mary considered that the time had come to attend tothem. "We will go and see your aunt and cousins," she said cheerfully."They must wonder what has become of you."

And Jenny thought it was so good of her to trouble about people shedidn't care for, for the sake of a guest who was of no account, andthanked her gratefully.

They set out immediately after luncheon. They had six miles to go,mostly up-hill, and the light breeze was behind them, carrying the dustof hot December into their necks and ears. Mrs. Oxenham beguiled the waywith prattle about Mr. Daunt's yachting party and the beautiful LadyLouisa who held her brother in bonds; and Jenny looked annoyingly paleand tired when they arrived.

"We will go to the bank first," said the elder lady, "in the hope thatMrs. Rogerson will give us a good cup of tea."

The maid who answered his ring at the private door announced that Mrs.Rogerson was in, and ushered the visitors upstairs into a stiflingdrawing-room—only used for the reception of callers and an occasionalevening party. Here they sat for full ten minutes, fanning themselveswith their handkerchiefs, and looking round upon the art muslindraperies, and be-ribboned tambourines, and Liberty-silk-swathed platesand photographs, waiting for their hostess to appear. Mrs. Oxenham madeno remarks upon what she saw, nor upon the rustlings and whisperingsthat she heard, because these people were Jenny's relatives; and Jennytook no notice of anything.

Her aunt came in, damp and flushed with heat and haste and the weight ofa silk dress covered with beads. She was a great contrast to Mrs.Liddon, as she was well aware; much more stylish in every way—much moreon a level with this distinguished squatter's wife, whom she gushed overeffusively.

"And you, too, Jenny!"—kissing the girl, who offered her cheek and nother lips to the salute. "I really thought you had gone home withoutcoming to see us."

This was just what Jenny would have done, if left to her own devices,having no desire for intimacy with Aunt Emma or her family after the waythey had treated her about the tea-room; and she made no reply.

Mrs. Oxenham answered for her, however. "I should not have allowed that,you may be sure. Aunts and cousins"—disregarding Jenny's protestingeyes—"are more to one than strangers."

"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Rogerson. "And I want to hear about my poorsister—poor thing! When we were girls together, and papa and mammagiving us every luxury that money could buy, I little thought what shewas to come to, Mrs. Oxenham. And we believed she had made a goodmarriage too. Your father, Jenny, was an Eton boy."

"I know," said blushing Jenny, who often wished devoutly that her fatherhad gone to a state school.

"Mr. Liddon was a gentleman," said Mary, "and his daughter takes afterhim. I'm sure I don't know what Mr. Oxenham and I will do without herwhen she leaves us. It is like having one of our own."

Mrs. Rogerson gushed afresh—over her niece this time; and two smartgirl-cousins came in and gushed with her. They sat on either side ofJenny and held her hands, until one of them (Joey's adored one) got upto make the tea.

"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Rogerson. "She was always a favourite with us;we always knew she was a lady born, in spite of her absurd notions abouttea-rooms and so forth—which, I must confess,did make us a littleangry with her. You would have felt it yourself, Mrs. Oxenham, nowwouldn't you? But, after all, blood is blood, isn't it? You can't alterthat. Our own grandfather was nephew to a baronet—Sir Timothy Smith.You may have heard of him?"

Mrs. Oxenham said she did not remember to have done so—that perhaps hewas before her time—and graciously took another cup of tea, which shedeclared was delicious.

"And now, when are you coming to us, Jenny?" Cousin Alice inquired."Couldn't you come and spend the day to-morrow? And couldn'tyou come,Mrs. Oxenham? Our tennis club is having a tournament, and we are givinga tea on the ground—under nice shady trees, you know. It would be suchan honour if you would come and look on at us."

"I'm afraidI couldn't," said Mary, with a pretence of thinking itover. "But Jenny, if she likes, I could send her in."

"Oh, yes! And couldn't she spend a few days with us when she was here?We have seen nothing of her. We could drive her back to Wandooyamba."

This was what Mrs. Oxenham had fished for, had roasted herself in thesun for, and she roused herself to deal with the timely opportunity. Shelooked at Jenny, and Jenny looked back at her with eyes that said "No"so unmistakably as to suggest the thought that perhaps she knew ofAnthony's coming to the mind of the suspicious woman. This made herresolute.

"What do you say, dear?" she inquired genially; and in a moment Jennyunderstood that her friend wished her to accept the invitation, and waswondering in a startled way whether she had outstayed her welcome atWandooyamba. "Don't consider us—we must not be selfish—and you willcome back to us, of course. Dickson could drive you over when he goesfor the letters, and that would give you the afternoon to see thetournament."

There was nothing to say but "thank you" all round, and Jenny said itwith good taste, determined to bring her holiday to an end as soon aspossible—not to return to Wandooyamba after leaving it, but to spendChristmas with her own too-long deserted family. Mary had an inkling ofwhat was going on in the girl's mind, but said to herself that itcouldn't be helped. Anthony must be saved at all hazards.

CHAPTER XVI

A STAR IN TWILIGHT

"They seemed to want you so much, darling, and I thought your motherwould wish you to show them some attention," she said. "But goodnessknows what Harry and I will do without you! We shall be quite lost, andthe children too, till you come back again."

"You are too good to me," murmured Jenny, half inclined to cry. "I thinkI am getting quite spoiled."

Jenny had but one portmanteau with her, and into this she packed all herbelongings before starting off next day. Mr. Oxenham put it and her intothe buggy with his own hands, and, because he was not directlyresponsible for her departure, bewailed it loudly.

"I call it too bad of you—downright mean, I call it—to run away fromus like this, Miss Liddon," he said to her again and again, to theunconcealed irritation of his wife.

"You go on, Harry, as if she were leaving us for ever. We haven't seenthe last of her yet—not by a long way, have we, dear?"

The parting guest was sped with warmest kisses and handclasps, andbidden vaguely to come back again soon. But as she stood up to wave herhandkerchief to the children from the middle of the home paddock,looking back upon the great, rambling house, where she had had such agood time, she said to herself that she should go back no more. Ifmatters had turned out differently she would have called her convictionof that moment a presentiment.

Aunt Emma and Cousins Clementine and Alice received her cordially, andat once began to pelt her with questions concerning the Oxenhamhousehold, and as to what she knew of the Churchills in town. UncleJohn, the bank manager, lunching with his family, asked about Joey, andthe state of the restaurant business, and other practical matters. Inthe afternoon she helped to carry cakes and cream jugs to thetennis-ground, and was there introduced to the rank and fashion of thetown, not as "My cousin, who keeps the tea-room in Little CollinsStreet," but as "My cousin, who is staying with Mrs. Oxenham atWandooyamba," and she sat under a tree and watched the players, andtalked when she was obliged to talk, and, when she wasn't, thought herown thoughts, which were chiefly concerned in devising some way ofgetting home immediately.

The tennis-tea was followed by tea at the bank, composed of the remainsof the former, with cold meat and eggs; and by-and-by the moon got up,and it was proposed that the young people should have a walk to enjoythe pleasant night. A bank-clerk and a bachelor lawyer, who had "droppedin," attached themselves to Clem and Alice, and Mrs. Rogerson and herniece soberly chaperoned the party, and talked family affairs together.

The night train from Melbourne came in at ten o'clock, and the littletownship loved to catch it in the act. All townships which have a traindo. It is a never-failing joy to them. And, finding themselves in theneighbourhood of the station at about 9.35, the Rogerson girls exclaimedwith one voice, "Let's stay and see the train come in."

The motion was carried unanimously, and for half an hour they loiteredup and down the platform, looking into the vagueness of the moonlitnight, and talking and laughing rather loudly; all but Jenny, who,though she was so much less genteel than these relations, did not thinkit good manners to make a noise. And so it came to pass that shepresently saw a buggy dash into the station-yard, and recognised it asthe one that had brought her in in the morning.

"That's to meet somebody," said Clem to Alice, with intense curiosity."Jenny, who's expected at Wandooyamba to-night?"

"Nobody, that I know of," said Jenny. "They are always sending forparcels and things."

The train signalled from a distance, hummed through the still night, andclattered up to the platform, watched intently by all the eyesavailable. It was not the great express, but a local off-shoot from it,and the passengers it disgorged at this point were not very numerous.The first to tumble out was a big man with a red beard.

"Oh!Oh! OH! It's Mrs. Oxenham's brother! It's Mr. Anthony Churchill!He hasn't been here for ages—they said he was in England. Oh, isn't hehandsome? Oh, I wonder if he will come to the town at all? Oh, Jenny,just see what you have missed!"

Jenny drew back into the dim crowd, on which he cast no glance as hestrode to the buggy, calling to a porter to bring his things. She saidnothing, but she thought—it was a thought that stung like fire—"Now Iknow why I have been sent away from Wandooyamba."

Anthony's journey had been a pleasant one—especially the latter part ofit, when the coolness of a dewy night had replaced the glare of day;smoking quietly, and meditating upon his prospects, he would not havechanged places with a king. Since he had definitely made up his mind tomarry Jenny, and since his father had admitted the wisdom of thatproceeding, and consented to it, all seemed plain and clear before him;for he had no fear of Mary, who was the first to know her worth, andalready treated her as a sister, and no fear at all that the girlherself would for a moment dream of refusing him. He was too deeplyexperienced in the signs and tokens of the supreme sentiment not torecognise it when he saw it, and he had seen it very plainly once ortwice through the modest disguises that she flattered herself hadscreened it from him.

All the way up he had been thinking of her, imagining their meeting atWandooyamba, and all that he would do on the morrow, which was Sunday,and a most beautiful day for love-making. He planned the time andcircumstances of his marriage, and how the other Liddons should bedisposed of while he was showing the world to his bride, and where heand she would live, and what sort of home they would have when theysettled down after their travels. Being Saturday night, which passengersby the express who want to go all the way to Sydney don't choose forstarting on that journey, if they can help it, he had room to put up hislegs and make a rug pillow for his head; in which condition of bodilyease, his mind, so to speak, went out to play, and amused itselfdelightfully. Jenny would not have known herself had she seen how shewas pictured in the fancies of his dreaming brain.

Needless to say, he never dreamed of seeing her on the platform when hearrived, and did not do so. At each of the country stations there was alounging crowd to see the train come in, people to whom it was the chiefentertainment in life, and who were a great nuisance occasionally to thehungry and thirsty traveller with but a few minutes in which to get hismeal; but these had nothing to do with Jenny or with him, and wereignored as far as possible. He distinctly heard the "Oh's" of Clementineand Alice, and the sound of his name, and nothing was less likely tosuggest the presence of his little sweetheart, with her shy refinement.He knew that a man would have been sent to meet the train, and lookedfor him and him only. In two minutes his rug and luggage were in thebuggy, and the light vehicle spinning out of the town.

The groom was a youth who was not supposed to know anything about theinside of his master's house, and Anthony heard no news that interestedhim—except that Mr. Oxenham did not intend to drive Emily again withladies and children behind her; which was a great relief to him. He lithis pipe afresh, and leaned back in his corner with arms folded, andthought of what was coming, in a mood of mind that he had imaginedhimself to have outgrown years and years ago. The night was very sweetand still, with its delicate mixture of moonlight and shadow; a night tomake the most world-hardened man feel sentimental. And the spell of thelonely bush is very strong upon those who are native to it, when theyhave been away for a long time.

"There will be a moon again to-morrow night," he thought. "And all theseleagues of solitude to lose ourselves in! It shall be settled to-morrownight, and then we will both stay for Christmas, while I teach her toget used to it. Oh, this is better than the Richmond lodgings, or theSt. Kilda pier!"

Through the trees he saw a dark bank, crowned with a cluster of lowroofs, uplifted from the valley pastures to the palely shining sky. Helooked at it with kindling eyes, and thought of the little figure movingabout the many rooms, in the atmosphere of cultured people—its nativeair—and how considerate and sagacious his sister Mary was. A lightlike a star stole out upon the hill, and another, and another. He hopeddevoutly that Mary had not sent her charge to bed.

Oh, that wasn't bed-time! And she was not ill now. Perhaps, however, shewould make an excuse to retire, lest she should be in the way at thefamily meeting; it would be just like her. Perhaps she would go to bedto avoid him, out of pure shyness. The doubt worried him, for he had sethis heart on seeing her that night—just to satisfy himself that she wasreally alive and well, and had not been forgetting to care for himduring his long absence from her.

CHAPTER XVII

"YOU NEED NOT EXPECT ME BACK"

Harry Oxenham, pipe in mouth, stood at the open garden gate. Mary stoodon the step of the front door. Conscious of guilt, they greeted him withmore than usual cordiality.

"And so you have really come, after all, my dear old boy," his sistercried, with her arms about his neck. "Thisis good of you! A piece ofluck that Inever expected!"

"Yes, I've come. Awfully glad to get into clean air, out of thosestinking streets. How are the kids? Why didn't you let me come lastnight?"

"Oh, the kids are as right as possible. You won't know them, they havegrown so. Of course they are in bed and asleep, or they would be pullingyou down between them."

She was hoping the tiresome brats wouldn't begin to talk of Jenny thefirst thing in the morning, and he was anxiously peering over hershoulder.

"Oh, for reasons—never mind now, as long as you are here. Come in andhave some supper. You must be hungry and tired after your long journey.Did you bring me some fish? Oh, thanks. It will be a treat, after weeksof Murray cod."

He followed her across the hall into the dining-room, where half thetable was spread with a tempting meal. He looked around; there was noone there. He looked at Mary, and he thought she blushed.

This time Mary blushed unmistakably. She exchanged a faltering glancewith her husband, who sidled out of the room; then she rallied herdignity, and quietly replied that Miss Liddon was not with her.

"Not from me; I have told nobody. Ifshe has been writing toyou,"—Mrs. Oxenham, gentle woman that she was, flared up at thethought—"all I can say is that I am shockingly deceived in her."

"She never wrote to me in her life. But that's neither here nor there.The fact remains that she was in this house two days ago, and is out ofit now. What have you done with her?"

There was an irritating abruptness in his tone and manner, and hissister threw up her head with a haughty gesture.

"I? Is she a child, that anybody should do anything with her? She hassome relations living in the town, and has gone to stay with them."

"Oh, my dear Tony, you are too absurd! And I don't choose to becatechised in this fashion. Miss Liddon is nothing to you."

He looked hard at her, and she at him, and she held her breath for amoment, trying to grasp the situation.

"You mean you kept it from her? And that you contrived that she shouldgo to her relations—having put me off to give you time to do it—so asto have her out of my way. I know about those relations. They havesnubbed and spurned her in her struggles, like the cads they are, andshe can't endure them."

"They have been exceedingly attentive to her, and had asked her to visitthem a dozen times. They proposed to-day themselves."

"I have it from her sister. And also that she was expecting to stay onhere. It was in a letter, dated two days ago. I read it. Mary, it seemsto me that you have behaved abominably. You simply turned her out."

"Tony, I will not allow you to talk to me like that. And just let me askyou one question:—Supposing I did, what in the world can it matter toyou?"

"Oh! You are very complimentary to us. But you don't mean that, ofcourse.You! A man in your position can't possibly have any concernwith a girl in hers; at least, you have no business to have any."

"That's worthy of Maude, Polly. In fact, the very words she said to meyesterday."

"Maude? What does she know about it? Tony, you are talking riddles. Ican't understand you in the least."

"Oh, Maude knows. So does my father. Buthe doesn't say thoseinsulting things. He says I have made a wise choice—as I know Ihave—and has given us his consent and blessing in advance. Do youunderstand now?"

She understood, and was momentarily stunned. Not Lady Louisa, after all,but this little no-account tea-room girl! It was a heavy shock. Shedropped into a chair, flung herself back in it, and ejaculated,"Well!"—adding with a long breath, "And she never gave me the leasthint of it all this time!"

"She couldn't very well, seeing that she hasn't the faintest idea ofsuch a thing herself—to the best of my knowledge."

"I am going to speak as soon as I can find her. And you are not going toprevent me, though you may think you are."

He poured out some whisky, and began to survey the dishes on the table.He was very angry, and consequently calm.

"Where's Harry?" he inquired. "I ordered the new buggy yesterday. I wantto tell him about it. Harry, where are you?"

Harry came in, sheepish, but blustering, and was delighted to go intothe buggy question without delay. They sat down to supper, and the mendiscussed business matters throughout the meal. Then Mr. Oxenhamfaint-heartedly proposed a smoke.

"Yes, dear." She followed him into the hall. "Aren't you going to saygood-night to me, Tony?"

"I did not know," she whispered. "It is so sudden—so unexpected. Wewill talk it over to-morrow, Tony."

Mrs. Oxenham went to bed and cried. Then she thought deeply for a longtime. Then she woke her husband up to talk to him.

"After all," she said, "it might have been worse. Some men, gentlemen ofthe highest class, marry barmaids and actresses—the vulgarestcreatures. And Jenny isn't vulgar. However unsuitable she may be inother ways, personally she is a lady. That's one comfort. And—and it'svery noble of him, don't you think?"

This note was delivered at the bank at breakfast time, with the messagethat the man was waiting for an answer. Jenny took it to her room, readit, and penned the following reply with a violently shaking hand:—

Anthony at Wandooyamba was restless and surly. Mary had always been hisally in everything, and these devoted ones are the people we have nocompunction about punishing severely when they do happen inadvertentlyto offend us. He would not forgive her for sending Jenny away.

"Can you lend me a horse, Harry?" was the first thing he said on comingdown to breakfast—before he had even noticed the children, whom he hadnot seen for so long.

Mary leaned over the table and whispered to him, "Wait a little. She iscoming back to-day."

He shook his head. "She will know what she was turned out for, and shewon't come back."

"She will—she will," said Mary, who devoutly hoped it. "Wait tillDickson returns, at any rate."

Dickson had a wife and family in the township, and when he found that hehad not to drive the young lady to Wandooyamba, he concluded that heneed not hurry home, but might take his ease in his own house, as he wasaccustomed to do on the day of rest; so he pocketed Jenny's letter untilthe evening. When he then delivered it—at past six o'clock—he was verymuch surprised and offended at being taken to task for presuming toexercise his own judgment in the matter. He little knew what theconsequences had been to Mr. Churchill's temper and his mistress's peaceof mind. Tony was a handful that day, and sincerely did Mary regrethaving tried to play Providence to him.

She went to church with her family—to her own little bush church whichher own money maintained; the parson, ritual, and general affairs ofwhich were wholly under her direction—hoping to find the loverstogether on her return. In the afternoon they all walked for miles onthe track of the expected buggy, and walked back again, casting wistfullooks behind them. Then Dickson came leisurely ambling home—they sawhim from the verandah sitting in solitary state—and Jenny's letter wasdelivered and the suspense ended.

Mary tore it open, read it with distress, almost with tears, and handedit to her brother. He perused it with a grim smile, put it into hispocket, and ordered a horse to be saddled immediately.

"I have wasted too many," he answered stiffly. "Good-night. You need notexpect me back again."

CHAPTER XVIII

JENNY IS TREATED LIKE A LADY

That night the Rogersons went to church in a body, as usual, for theywere a churchy family. Mrs. Rogerson was that power in the congregationwhich only a self-asserting, middle-aged, highly-respectable female ofpronounced religious views can be, and fully recognised herresponsibilities as such; knew that she was expected to set an example,and believed that the parochial machine would certainly get out of gearif she did not keep a constant eye upon it. Alice and Clementine wereboth in the choir, and particularly indispensable to it of an evening,when anthems were performed. Mr. Rogerson carried round the plate andcounted the money in the vestry—most important function and functionaryof them all. When the early tea was disposed of, and the table preparedfor the substantial supper which was the concluding ceremony of theday, whereat the minister and several leading church members assisted,the family put on their best bonnets, and brushed their hats, and wentforth to their devotions, leaving a godless young clerk, with a cigarand a novel, to keep guard over the bank's treasure in their absence.

Leaving also Jenny—not with the young bank-clerk, who was invisible,but on a sofa in the hot drawing-room upstairs, complaining of aheadache, which she had legitimately come by through exciting her littlesoul over Mrs. Oxenham's letter and the perplexing questions that itraised. They had urged her to go to church, that she might hear theanthem and see how well they did things, but her intense craving to bealone to think gave her strength to resist their importunities. She wasprovided with Drummond'sNatural Law and a smelling-bottle, and leftin peace.

Just as the church bells were silenced by the striking of the townclock, Mr. Churchill reached the principal hotel; and he quicklyunpacked the small valise he had carried on his saddle, washed andbrushed, and fortified himself with whisky and a biscuit, in lieu of hislost dinner, which he had not time to think of now. And at about themoment when Clementine began her solo in the anthem he rang the bell atthe bank door. Somebody, he knew, would be upon the premises, and he wasprepared to explain the object of his visit to any whom it mightconcern.

The young clerk thought of burglars, and was at first reluctant, but, onrecognising the untimely caller, admitted the great man, and did what inhim lay to be obliging. Jenny heard the ring and the little stir in thehall, but took no notice. She was entirely absorbed in wondering whyMrs. Oxenham wanted to throw her at Mr. Churchill's head to-day, aftertaking such extreme measures to remove her from him yesterday; and whyMr. Churchill, supposed to be engaged to Lady Louisa, should be in "agreat way" because he had not found at Wandooyamba the girl of whom hehad taken no notice while they were both in town and he was at libertyto interview her at any time. She was lying all along on a sofa, withher arms thrown up and her hands under her head. Her little figure wasclad in a white gown—a costume insisted on by Mrs. Oxenham in thismidsummer weather. The light from the window beside her touched herchestnut hair and her pure skin and her bright eyes, that were fixed indeep abstraction upon the wall. If she had posed to look her prettiest,she could not have succeeded better.

A heavy step came up the stairs, and she did not stir, forshe had nothought of burglars. Not until it slackened and paused at the open doorof the drawing-room, threatening an intrusion upon her precious hour ofpeace, did she turn her head apprehensively. When she saw who it wasthat stood there, looking at her, she bounded to her feet as if she hadbeen shot.

He was as sober as one could desire that a gentleman should be, butprobably it was whisky on an empty stomach which made him bold at a timewhen most men are liable to be daunted; for, seeing her standing there,trembling, cowering, but visibly glowing from head to foot, he made uphis mind that then and there would he settle the great question betweenthem. No, notthere. As he took his resolution, he remembered howshort the evening service is, though it may not seem so to the personstaking part in it, and how horrible it would be to be disturbed in themiddle of his proposal by the Rogersons and the parson and half a dozengossips of the township coming in. So he said to Jenny, holding her handvery firmly, "As you wouldn't come to Wandooyamba, I have been obligedto come to you. I have something of great importance to say to you; andI want to know if you will come out for a little walk on the hills withme? It is not very hot now."

Jenny's colour deepened, and her tremblings increased. She withdrew herhand. "There is no one here," she said.

"But there will be soon. And I have a great deal to tell you—I want tobe free to talk. Come out for a walk. Your aunt won't object when sheknows it is I who am with you. Go and put your hat on—quick."

She hesitated still. "It is not—not anything the matter? Not anybodyill? Nothing wrong at home?"

She ran off to her room, and there stood still for a minute, clenchingher hands and drawing long breaths that shook her little frame. Thoughtsraced too fast to be followed, but if she could not think she couldfeel. If she could not understand him she was sure she could trust him;his sister's endorsement of his proceedings was a guarantee of that. Sheput on her hat, snatched up a pair of gloves, and returned to himspeechless.

"You don't want gloves," he said, and took them from her, and laid themon a table on the landing. They went downstairs, and the young clerk letthem out of the iron-lined door.

"You can tell Mrs. Rogerson that I will bring Miss Liddon home safely,"said Anthony, with the air of a lawful guardian. It was nearly eighto'clock, and daylight was fading fast. He had an idea that there wouldbe a moon, which would make a walk on the hills delicious, forgettingthat the moon was not due for another hour and a half. Jenny had noideas upon the subject; she left all to him.

Immediately behind the township the rocky ranges began to rise and tobreak like waves into little valleys and gorges that were as lonely asa desert island, though so near the haunts of men. He knew all their insand outs, and in his own mind had marked the group of boulders where heand Jenny would sit while he asked her to marry him. He had found ityears before, when out on a picnic; it had wattle-feathered rock onthree sides of it, and in front the ground fell into a ravine thatopened the whole way to the sunset. Two quiet streets, a lane, and arather weary mountain path led to this airy solitude, and one couldreach it with steady walking in a little over half-an-hour. One mighthave thought it would certainly be occupied or invaded on a Sundaynight, with so many wanderers abroad, but as a fact the townspeoplecared nothing for the beautiful scenery at their doors, and did not gointo the ranges from year's end to year's end. Anthony knew that, andchanced finding his eyrie untenanted.

Through the streets where 'Arry and 'Arriet were strolling on thefootpaths and flirting over their garden gates, he led his spell-boundcompanion, chatting commonplaces by the way.

"Yes, for several weeks. And I had no idea you were here all this time.Of course I got no letters at sea."

"The sea must have been delicious in the hot weather," remarked Jenny,thinking of her sufferings during the Cup season in the stifling air ofLittle Collins Street.

"No, it wasn't. At least, I did not enjoy it. I daresay the sea wasright enough; I might have enjoyed it in other company."

"What did Mrs. Oxenham tell you?" But he divined what it was. "Thatthere was a lady on board whom I was specially interested in?"

"Oh, did she? People have no business tothink about those matters;they ought toknow, before they talk. That lady was just about thelast woman in the world to suit me. And they bored me to death—thewhole lot of them."

Jenny's heart leaped in her breast, but still she did not dare to askherself what his words and his visit portended. They had begun to climbthe mountain pathway, a devious and stony track through wattle bushesand gum saplings, and it had grown almost too dark to see his face.

"It is the scrub that shuts the light out," he said quickly. "And therewill be a moon directly. Just a little further, and we shall get thebreeze from the top. Does it tire you? Let me help you up."

He offered his arm, but she declined it. She was not tired, but nervousabout being out so late and so far from home.

"Not with me," he said; and added, "There's nothing clandestine aboutit. Mrs. Rogerson knows—at any rate, she will when I take you home—andso does Mary."

"Does Mrs. Oxenham know that I am walking here with you?" she wasimpelled to inquire, breathlessly.

Jenny climbed on blindly, with her head spinning round. Presently theyreached the top, and the cool air blew in their faces. The town, theinhabited world, was behind them, cut off by a granite wall and theobliteration of the track in the gloom of night; in front the ravinestretched away to the pale saffron of the west, and, looking in thatdirection, it did not seem that day was over yet.

"Now I must find you a place to sit and rest yourself," said Anthony."Take my hand over these rough stones."

Her hand shook, and so did his; his voice had begun to sound a littlebreathless, like hers. His exultation was mounting to his head, andsomething like terror was making her heart quake. "Ought I to haveallowed him? Ought I to have done it?" she was asking herself. But itwas too late for such questions now, and all doubts were settled withinthe next five minutes.

"Here," he said. "This is the place. A flat stone to sit on, and thesloping rock to lean against. Generally the rocks slope the wrong way,but this slants back at the right angle exactly. Sit down here; you mustbe tired after that climb. I will fan you with a wattle branch." Hebegan to break off boughs, while she sat down, because her kneestrembled so that it was difficult to stand. "Isn't this a charmingview? At sunset it is magnificent, when the tops of the ranges turn pinkand then indigo, like velvet. Can you hear the trickle of the creek downthere? It seems miles below us, in that depth of shadow, doesn't it? Andthat humming sound—listen! It is a waterfall. What is the noise like?Oh, I know—like a railway train in the distance. And the wind in thegum leaves—can't you shut your eyes and imagine that is the sea? Do youremember that night on the St Kilda pier, when you were so frightened?You are not afraid of me now, Jenny?"

"Yes, I am," she said, springing to her feet, and turning eastwardtowards the town. "And Imust go home, Mr. Churchill; it is not rightfor me to be out here at this hour. You should not have brought me. Itis not treating me like—like a lady," she burst out, in a tone ofreproach and distress which reminded him that he had not yet given herproper notice of his intentions.

He sprang upright in an instant, and caught her arm, and, before sheknew it, had both his arms around her.

"Don't you understand?" he exclaimed, in a deep voice. "I thought youdid—I thought Sarah would have told you. And my coming in this way—mydragging you up here, to get you to myself—and Mary's letter—oh, mypoor little woman, youdidn't think I was making an amusement of it,did you? That's not treating me like a gentleman, Jenny."

"I can—I do. I want you to marry me, Jenny—there it is; and you can'tmisunderstand now. And, what's more, all my family know it, too, and myfather says he's glad, and told me to tell you that he says so. And Maryis awfully sorry that she sent you away yesterday. And you—you won'tsay 'No'? It may be cheek and impudence to mention it, but I've seen itin your dear little eyes a score of times."

"Oh,what have you seen?" she asked, gasping, laughing, crying,thrilling, all dazed and overwhelmed in this sea of joy.

"This," he answered, stooping his head and putting a hand under herchin. "Take off your hat, Jenny, so that I can kiss you comfortably."

CHAPTER XIX

WOMAN'S RIGHTS REFUSED

The transcendent minutes passed, and presently found them sitting undertheir sloping rock, talking with some measure of sense andself-possession. Both heads were uncovered, and, as Anthony hadanticipated, gloves were not required. The saffron sky had hardly avestige of colour left, stars were out overhead, the gorge at their feetmight have been the valley of death itself, so impenetrably deep anddark it looked, with the steep, black hills heaving out of it. Throughthe delicate air came a faint chime from far away behind them, the clockat the post office striking nine.

"No, darling. We couldn't go if we tried. On the other side it would betoo dark to see a step; we should only lose ourselves. We must wait forthe moon."

"About half an hour. Aren't you content to sit here with me? We shall behome before eleven."

She was quite content. Her head was not high enough to reach hisshoulder—it rested on his breast; he tucked away his beard that itmight not tickle her face. His own face he laid on her brown hair, orstroked that hair with a big, soft hand. His arm supported her littleframe; it was so little and so light that he was afraid to hug it much,for fear he should crush it.

"What a ridiculous mite it is!" he murmured. "If you are tired, Jenny, Ican carry you home quite easily."

"But you have been tired, my poor little girl! When I think of what youhave been doing, all this hot summer, while I have been loafing aroundand amusing myself——! However, that won't happen again."

"And yet you never came to the tea-room to see how I was getting on—notfor such a long, long time!"

"And don't you know why that was? Mary found me going, and scolded mefor it, because she said it was compromising you. It was for fear that Imight do that—that only—that I kept away. Whereby, you see, I havealways treated you like a lady—from the very beginning. Oh, Jenny,thatwas an unkind thing to say!"

"But still Ido think," she proceeded, when the impediment wasremoved, "I do think itwas cheek and impudence to make so sure. It'slike a Sultan and his slave—like Ahasuerus and Esther. And I neverdid run after you—you know I never, never did!"

"Poor little mite! No more it did! It was the very pink and pattern ofall that was proper. And yet I knew it—I knew it, Jenny, just ascertainly as if you had said, 'I love you' in so many words."

"I could and did. You shouldn't have eyes so clear that one can see yourheart through them." He kissed the lids down over them, and held themshut for a space. "And you are not ashamed of it, are you?"

"I should have been ashamed if I had known it before, but I'm not now."She stole an arm round his bent neck. "But you won't hold me cheapby-and-by, because I gave myself away so easily, and was so far be——"

Again he laid his hand over her mouth. "I can't very well do it now," hesaid gravely, "but when I am your husband, and you say things like thatto me, I shall simply smack you, Jenny."

"Oh, here it is," drawing forth the ring he had purchased in Melbourne."You can't see it by this light, but it's the very nicest I could find.Neat, but not gaudy, you know. It has a pearl in it, threaded on a goldwire because it's so big, as white and pure as your own dear littlesoul. Yes, I got it on purpose—so you see how sure I was of gettingyou. Don't let its poor little pride be hurt. You couldn't have helpedit, you know, anyhow; because, if you hadn't given yourself, I shouldhave taken you as a matter of course, as the giant took Tom Thumb."

"You don't? Well, perhaps not I believe you are a match for any giant,you little epitome of pluck! By-and-by we'll see. In the meantime let meput this on your finger, and tell me if it's the right fit."

"There! By whatever means I have got you, you are mine from thismoment—signed, sealed, and delivered." He lifted the little hand, andkissed the ring reverently. "Till death us do part."

She kissed it after him, and then flung herself on his breast, where heheld her, closely and in silence, until the moon rose and gave themlight enough to find their way home.

After all, it was past eleven before they arrived; for the right trackwas difficult to find while the moon was shut off from it by the tallscrub, and its many pitfalls had to be encountered with care. Hand inhand, and cautious step by step, the affianced lovers came down fromtheir mount of transfiguration, and could hardly believe their earswhen, still high above the town, they counted the chimes that told themthey had been more than three hours together.

"Never mind," said Anthony. "In for a penny, in for a pound. And weshall be able to give a good account of ourselves when we do get back."

"Certainly. In the first place, to justify this expedition; in thesecond, to prove my right to take you home to-morrow, and otherwise tocontrol the situation. Isn't that what you wish?"

She assented with a pressure of his hand. "When I see my aunt'sface—when I see them all knocked backwards by the shock—then perhaps Ishall believe in the miracle of being engaged to you," she said. And hereplied with truth, that if she didn't believe it now, it was not hisfault.

The aunt's face it was which met them at the bank door. Mrs. Rogersonbelieved that a deliberate assignation had been planned—and that on aSunday, when respectable young folks should have been at church—andwas properly concerned and scandalised. At the same time she was deeplyinterested and flattered by the fact that it was Mr. Churchill who thustook liberties with her household; and she felt there were mysteries tobe unravelled before she could decide upon any course of action. Shefell upon Jenny first, and her voice was a decided reprimand.

"Mydear child! wherehave you been? Anddo you know what time itis?" Then with a gush, "Oh, Mr. Churchill, thisis an unexpectedpleasure! Won't you walk in?"

He shook hands and walked in. "I am afraid it's late," he said; "but youmust blame me, not Jenny. I took her for a little turn to see if the airwould do her headache good, and it got dark before we knew it, and welost our way. But I knew you would not be anxious, knowing she was withme."

"Oh, no—certainly. Do come in. My husband will be so pleased to seeyou. You are quite a stranger in these parts."

She led the way to the dining-room, where an entirely new supper hadbeen arranged, on purpose for him, and where he was impressivelyreceived by the urbane father and his fluttering daughters.

"Our friends are gone, Jenny," said Clementine, all eyes for the greatman. "And Mrs. Simpson was so anxious to see you—to tell you she wasgoing down by Tuesday morning's train instead of to-morrow afternoon."

"Oh!" said Anthony, "that doesn't matter. I am going down myselfto-morrow afternoon, and I'll take care of Jenny. I know she is anxiousto get home—aren't you, dear?"

It was like an electric shock striking through the room. The eyes of thestartled family interrogated each other and Jenny's blushing face.

"Oh, it's quite proper," said Anthony lightly, "since we are engagedpeople—engaged with the consent of our families, moreover. She couldnot have a more eligible escort.Is that chicken-pie, Miss Rogerson?May I have some? I came away from Wandooyamba without my dinner, and Iam simply ravenous."

The effect of the plain statement was all that Jenny had anticipated.They were so stupefied for the moment that they could only gape andstare, marvelling at the inscrutable ways of Providence and theincalculable caprices of rich men. Perhaps the first sensation was oneof personal chagrin, in that the virtue of consistent gentility had goneunrewarded, while the enormity of a tea-room was so unjustly condoned;but personal pride in the prospective connection was the permanent andpredominating sentiment. Exclamations, questions, interjections, kisses,hugs, wrapped Jenny as in a whirlwind; while her lover calmly ate hispie and drank his bottled ale, as if it were an old story thatinterested him no longer. He was not ashamed to ask for a secondhelping.

"And you never saw her on the platform last night?" said Clem archly, asshe waited upon him.

"Our platform. She must have known you were coming—I know she saw youjump out of the carriage—and she never made a sign! And she's nevergiven us the faintest hint at all!"

"That's her native modesty. And there are some things one doesn't talkabout, you know—except to one's nearest and dearest."

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled carelessly. "There's nothing in beingmere relatives. I don't tell things to my relatives, and—a—you havenot been sovery intimate, you know—at least, not since I've knownher."

An uncomfortable pause was broken by a protest from Alice, who was givento the saying of things that were better left unsaid. "I'm sure,never—until the tea-room——"

The mention of that bone of strife brought angry blushes to the familycheek, and glares which stopped her from going further.

"Don't speak ill of the tea-room, if you please," he said. "It is themost admirable institution that I know. But for the tea-room I shouldnot have found my pattern wife—should not have known half her goodqualities."

Jenny's intimacy withhim—years old since eight o'clock—made herfearless of what she said or did, and, as has been intimated before, shewas a person of spirit, with a good deal of human nature in her. Shemoved to his side, laid her hand on his shoulder for a moment, andsaid, with an ineffable air of self-justification, "He is not ashamedof the tea-room."

"On the contrary, dear, I am proud of it," he responded quickly,touching the little hand.

"Nevertheless," proceeded Jenny, "I will give it up now. It has been asuccess—I have earned a great deal of money—but I will dispose of itwhen I go home."

"But, my dear sir," the urbane uncle interposed, "I am her naturalguardian, don't you see. Joseph is a good boy—a very superior youth, infact—but he isonly a boy. It is my duty, as her nearest malerelative, standing in the place of her father, to attend to her affairsat this juncture."

"I merely wanted to say," proceeded Jenny, with an air of resolution,"that I wish to please those who have been so good to me—who have notdespised me because of what I did to make a living. I will not wait inthe tea-room again—for their sakes; and of course my mother and sistermust not work there without me. I will think of something else, thatshall not—not be disagreeable to anybody."

"You don't want to think any more, Jenny," said Anthony quietly. "I amgoing to do the thinking now."

"Still," urged Mrs. Rogerson, with tardy generosity and misguided zeal,"we can't allowyou to be saddled with my sister and her children, Mr.Churchill. They must not live onyour money."

"I know they won't," said Anthony, "if they are made of the same stuffas you. But please leave all that now, dear. And go to bed, or you willbe tired for your journey to-morrow."

On the way to his hotel he confounded the impudence of her relatives inmany bad words, and laughed at the notion that she was going to "boss"the family arrangements as heretofore.

CHAPTER XX

SHE CARES NOT

Next morning, while he was sitting with hisfiancée in the bankdrawing-room, the ladies of the house having discreetly pleaded domesticengagements, Mrs. Oxenham was announced—to see Miss Liddon.

Jenny rose from the sofa, pale and palpitating. Anthony neither movednor spoke, but watched his sister narrowly.

"I have come," said Mary; and then she stopped, and held out her arms.Jenny rushed into them, sobbing; and it was made evident that allopposition was at an end, as far as this Churchill was concerned.

"I am notde trop, am I?" she inquired, with a tremulous laugh. "Youdon't mind my sitting here with you for a few minutes, do you, Tony?"

He got up, and solemnly kissed her. "You are a good old girl, Polly," hesaid, in a deep voice. "Sit down, and tell us that you wish usjoy—it's about the only thing that could make us happier than we arealready."

"I came on purpose," she replied, "to wish you joy, dears, and to fetchyou both back to Wandooyamba. Jenny, you will come back to me, mydarling? I understand now—I didn't before. And Harry—he is yourdevoted admirer, you must know—he commissioned me to say that heexpects you."

"Can't," he said. "We have telegraphed to her mother, and have arrangedto go down by this afternoon's train."

"Yes, Polly! we can't put it off now. I must see her mother. And we aregoing to close the tea-room, and—and lots of things. But we can comeback again."

Mrs. Oxenham was then prevailed on to wait to see them off, and theRogersons sent out for champagne that lunch might be served in a stylebefitting the occasion. Having made up her mind to support Tony, therewas nothing Mary would not do to please him; and she fraternised withJenny's relatives, invited them to Wandooyamba, drove them to thestation, and otherwise effaced herself and her social prejudices, in thespirit of a generous woman who is also a born lady. On the platform shekissed the lovers in turn, regardless of spectators.

"I declare," she said, aside to her brother, "it is ridiculous of youtwo to be going away like this; you should have gone alone, Tony, andleft Jenny with me."

"You could have come back for her when you had seen her mother, or Icould have brought her down. You look exactly like a bride andbridegroom starting off on their honeymoon, with all this party seeingyou off."

He laughed again, and dropped his voice. "I'm going to take her toEurope, Polly, and we must sail not later than March, you know, onaccount of the Red Sea, and the English spring, which I don't want herto miss."

"She has never seen the world, as we have, and I'm going to show it toher. It's what her little heart is set on. And time she had somepleasure, after all her hard work."

"She won't be everything, but she'll be first. Where is she, by the way?Come, little one, jump in."

Jenny stepped into a small compartment of the ancient carriages providedfor this unimportant branch line, and he sprang in after her. Though itwas close to Christmas, and other compartments were fairly full, theyhad this one to themselves—whether by fair means or foul did nottranspire. As soon as they were off Anthony proceeded to unfold indetail the plans he had been hatching through the night, because, hesaid, the main line train would be crowded, and he might not haveanother opportunity.

"But I am not going to desert my family all in a moment, as you seem tothink," she protested. "Indeed, indeed I cannot——"

"It won't take very long, and I shall want to have a house preparing forus to come to when we get back. I shall want to feel that we have ahome, all the same—for we may get tired of wandering at any minute. Andthis is a thing one can't leave to other people. One must choose forone's self. So I shall at once look round for a nice place—Hush, Jenny!Don't interrupt me when I'm speaking, it's rude—and then I shall see ifI can't persuade your mother and sister to look after it for us. Yousee, we shall be sending home furniture and all sorts of odds and endsfrom different places as we travel about, and we shall want somebody wecan trust to receive the things and take care of them. I hardly like toask such a favour of her, but for your sake I believe your mother wouldlike the job; and I daresay she will feel lonesome with nothing to dowhen the tea-room is shut up. I shall take passagesimmediately,because berths are bespoken months before at this time of year. ForFebruary, if possible."

Jenny gasped. "Oh, talk of cheek and impudence—! Am I not to have anysay at all?"

"You seem to think that, because I am small, I'm not to be counted as awoman with a will of her own."

"Oh, no. But you have had your turn of bossing people and managingthings. Now I'm going to have mine, and you must submit to be bossed inyour turn. Do you see? That's only fair."

The sort of bossing that she received that day was too delicious forwords. After her long toil and struggle to take care of others, thebeing cared for herself, in this strong and tender fashion, was perhapsthe sweetest experience she ever had in her life. The main line trainwas crowded, but no one crowded her. Refreshments, such as they were,were produced without any trouble to herself, whenever she wanted them.But the charm of all was to sit beside him, content and peaceful, andknow that she had nothing to do or to fear—that the combined world waspowerless to touch her through the shield of his protection.

Jarvis was at Spencer Street, and took her luggage and instructions whatto do with it. A hansom was waiting for his master, and into this he putJenny, and drove her home through the gas-lit streets to her impatientmother and sister.

Mrs. Liddon had been prepared by Sarah for the tale they had to tell;nevertheless, she wept with joy when she heard it, and was particularlyenchanted to know that her sister Emma had been properly taught not tolook down on them that were as good as herself and better. Likewise shethanked God that Joey's future was assured. And she folded her eldestdaughter to her breast, and declared that Mr. Churchill had got atreasure, though she said it that shouldn't; and bade him forgive herfor being an old fool and crying over it, when she was really that happythat she didn't know if she stood on her head or her heels.

The tea-room had long been closed, and she had had time to exercise herspecial talents in the production of a charming supper, to theexcellence of which he testified in the only satisfactory way. He atelargely, and remarked that he had never enjoyed anything more in hislife.

"Well, I never enjoyed cooking things more," she said; and added, ratherpathetically, "I must say I do get a little tired of making nothing butscones, day after day."

"You shall not make any more," said Jenny. "We are going to talk to Mrs.Allonby in the morning, and see if she will not take over the tea-room,and set us free."

"She'll be only too glad to jump at the chance," said Mrs. Liddonproudly, "if we make the terms reasonable. But, ah!"—shaking herhead—"she'll never make scones like I do."

CHAPTER XXI

THE BEST AVAILABLE

So quickly did Jenny, aided by her impetuous lover, effect the transferof her business, that she was out of it before Christmas Day. Thebasket-maker's wife had the benefit of the holiday custom, and theex-proprietors the pleasant consciousness of having labouredsuccessfully, in every sense of the word, and being now entitled to thatrest and recreation which only those who have worked well canappreciate. They were all glad to be free. They had not realised theseverity of the constant strain until it was removed, and wondered thatpeople who could spend their days as they pleased were not more gratefulfor the privilege.

"And now," said Anthony, "I want you all to be my guests for Christmas.A friend has lent me his yacht, and we will go for a cruise wherever youlike—inside the Bay or outside—according to how you stand it. Sarah islooking thin—she wants taking right out of this air; and the motherwill not be the worse for a sea blow after living at the oven-mouth solong. Tell Joe to bring a mate—any male friend he likes. I have invitedone of my own—a very good fellow—who wants to know you. Jenny, is aday long enough to get ready in? You don't want any finery."

"Quite," she replied, for she had been previously acquainted with thisplan for enabling him and her to enjoy long days together; and she setto work to pack for the family with her business-like promptitude.

While thus engaged she was called into their little parlour to receive avisit from Mr. Churchill. The old gentleman presented himself in hismost benevolent aspect, bearing a bouquet of flowers; and, while Jennycould hardly speak for blushing gratitude, he asked her if she wouldgive an old man a kiss, and secured her doting affection for ever bythat gracious recognition of her new rights.

"And so you are going to be my daughter," he said, patting her head."Well, well!"

"Oh, not at all! Just at first, perhaps——But then fathers are oldfools. They never do think anything good enough for their children. I amquite pleased, my dear—quite satisfied and pleased. I am proud of myson for making such a choice. He has looked for true worth, rather thana brilliant match. Not many young men in his position have thediscernment, the—a—what shall I say?"

"I have no worth," repeated Jenny, who really thought so, "compared withhim. I know I am not fit for him."

"Tut, tut! He says differently, and so do I. It's your gallant conductsince your father's death, my dear—that's what it is. And I'm proud ofmy boy, to think he can fall in love for such a cause. He's got a bit ofhis mother in him—a good seed that hasn't been choked with richesand—and so on. The more I think of it the more I approve of him. We hadan idea of marrying him to a lady of title, and making a great swell ofhim; but there—it's best as it is. A good wife is above rubies, doesn'tthe Bible say?—something like it—a crown to her husband, eh? You'llmake a good wife, I'll warrant, and, after all, that's the main thing."

"I will indeed," declared Jenny solemnly, "if love and trying can doit—though I shall never be good enough for him."

"Oh, he's not an angel, any more than other men; I know that, though heis my son, and a good son too. You mustn't disparage yourself,Sally—isn't your name Sally?—no, Jenny, of course—nice, old-fashionedname. You are his equal, as I have been telling Mrs. Churchill—butthese young ladies go so much by appearances—his equal in all butmoney, which anybody can have, and no credit to him. Your fatherwas"—she thought he was going to say an "Eton boy," but he sparedher—"a true gentleman, my dear, upright and honourable, the sort of manto breed good stock—if you'll excuse the phrase—the sort of blood oneneedn't be afraid to see in one's children's children. But there, Iwon't keep you. You are getting ready for your little trip? I wish you ahappy Christmas, my dear, and a happy married life, you and himtogether, and—and—and I hope you'll look on me as your father, mydear——"

Emotion overpowered him, and a second kiss, warmer than the first,concluded the interview. Jenny let him out of the house, and then ranupstairs to tell her anxious sister that Anthony's father transcendedthe winged seraphs for goodness. And Mr. Churchill returned to Toorakwith a swelling breast, to keep a careful silence towards his wife as towhat he had been doing. For Maude had declared that nothing should everinduce her to recognise "that person" whom Tony had chosen to pick outof the gutter; and her outraged family abetted her in this resolve.

The yacht sailed on Christmas Eve, with a party of seven in addition tothe crew; and Jenny had her first taste of the luxury that wasthenceforth to be her portion. She found herself a little queen onboard. Mr. Danesbury was introduced to her at the gangway, and rendereda quiet homage that Maude and Lady Louisa, on the previous cruise, hadlooked for at his hands in vain. Jarvis was there, in the capacity ofcabin steward, and was called up to be introduced to her as his futuremistress; and Jarvis waited on her as only he could wait, anticipatingher little wants and wishes before she had time to form them. He hadfelt that, in the course of nature, he must have a mistress some day, ifhe remained in his present service; and, from a first impression thatshe might have been worse, he gradually adopted his master's view thatshe could hardly have been better, and treated her accordingly.

"The best servant in the country," Anthony said to her. "And I thinkwe'll take him with us on our travels. You'd find him fifty times moreuseful than a maid. When we come back and set up housekeeping, he is tobe our butler."

Lest unseasoned persons should have their appetites interfered with, theyacht did not venture outside the Heads, but cruised about in quietwaters, touching now and then at little piers, for the variation of ashore ramble or a picnic in the scrub; and it was a beautiful time. AdamDanesbury and Sarah became great friends. She talked to him by the hourof the virtues of her beloved sister, and he to her of the equalexcellencies of Miss Lennox; topics of interest that never palled uponthem. Mrs. Liddon was happy, knitting a shawl for Jenny's trousseau,and losing herself in sensational novels, and getting "wrinkles," as shecalled them, from the very swell cook who daily concocted dishes thatshe had never so much as heard of. If there was a fly in the sweetointment of her satisfaction, it lay in the fact that Joey was not takenmuch notice of. But Mr. Churchill was not interested in Joey, and hadinvited the friend on purpose to relieve himself of the obligation totake much notice. The young men had each other's company, together withtobacco, books, cards, chess, and Jarvis to bring them cool drinks whenthey were thirsty; what could junior clerks require more? Joey was avery good boy on this occasion, very subdued and inoffensive, keepingall his swagger until he should return to the office to tell of hisdoings and the high company he had kept; and he was undeniably ahandsome youth, with the proper bearing of a gentleman. But his sex wasagainst him. Crippled Sarah, wizened and sallow, was infinitely moreinteresting to the distinguished host Between him and her a very strongbond existed.

And, as he had foreseen, the yachting arrangement was perfect forlovers on whose behalf every other member of the party was minded to beunobtrusive and discreet. What days were those that he and Jenny hadtogether in the first bloom of their courtship! What fresh sea-mornings,in which to feel young blood coursing to the tune of the salt wind andthe bubble of the seething wake! What dream-times under the awning inthe tempered heat, with soft cushions and poetry books! What rambles onthe lonely shores, and rests in ti-tree arbours, and talks andcompanionship that grew daily fuller and deeper, and more and moreintimate and satisfying! In the quiet evenings four people sat down towhist round the lamp in the little cabin, and the fifth dozed over herknitting, so that the remaining two had the deck to themselves, and theromantic hours to revel in undisturbed. Then Tony smoked a littlebecause Jenny wished it, and she leaned on his arm as they paced to andfro; and they opened those sacred chambers of thought which are keptlocked in the daytime, and acquainted each other with dim feelings andaspirations that expressed themselves in sympathetic silences betterthan in speech.

Thus did they grow together so closely that Jenny's wedding-day came toher with no shock of change or fear. After the Christmas cruise hecalled to see her at all hours—to disturb her at her flying needlework,which she would slave at, in spite of him—making her own "things" tosave expense, as if expense mattered; nightly taking her down to StKilda for that blow on the pier which still refreshed her more thananything. And very soon they saw the mail boat come in—the very mailboat in which he had taken berths for their wedding journey. As theywatched her passing in the falling dusk, they recalled their firstmeeting in that place—how very few mails had arrived since then, andwhat stupendous things had happened in the interval!

"What a funk youwere in!" said Tony, laying his big hand over thesmall one on his arm. "Poor little mite! You took me for a gay devilwalking about seeking whom I might devour, didn't you? What would youhave thought if you had known I had followed you all the way—stalkedyou like a cat after a mouse—eh?"

"Ask her, then. Sarah understood me a long time before you did. And Imade a vow that I'd repay her for that good turn, and I haven't done ityet. What do you think she would like best?"

"I know what she wouldlike," said Jenny wistfully. "To go abroad withus. It has been the dream of her life."

"Not this time, pet. Next time she shall. This time I must have onlyyou, and you must have only me. Besides, she wouldn't go, not if youwent on your knees to her. She knows better. She's a deal cleverer thanyou are—in some things."

"I know she is. Poor Sally! And she might have been like me, witheverything heart can wish for! Mother says she was a finer baby thanI—beautifully formed and healthy; but she had an accident that hurt herback—a fall. And so all the sweetness of life has been taken from her,while I—I am overwhelmed with it."

"If she can't havethis," said Jenny, pressing his arm, "she can'tknow what happiness means."

He drew the warm hand up, and kissed the tips of her fingers, on whichgloves were never allowed on these occasions.

"I foresee," he said gravely, "that I shall have to beat you and refuseto give you money for new bonnets, to make you realise that your littlefeet are standing on the earth, Jenny, and not on the clouds of heaven."

They were married in February, that they might have a quiet month beforesailing in March. Mrs. Rogerson wanted to undertake the wedding, but waspolitely informed that there was to be no wedding; and there was none inher sense. Jenny went out for a walk with her mother and sister, andAnthony went out for a walk with Adam Danesbury; old Mr. Churchill andhis daughter Mary, who happened to be staying with him, took a hansomfrom the office, Joey having been released from his desk therein; andthese people met together for a few minutes, transacted their businessbriefly, and adjourned to the Café Anglais for lunch; after which thebride and bridegroom, being already dressed for travel, with theirbaggage at the station, fared forth into the wide world.

And I don't know whether the moral of Jenny's story is bad or good. Itdepends on the point of view. Virtue, of course, ought to be its ownreward—at any rate, it should seek no other; and there are people whothink a husband no reward at all, under any circumstances, but quite thecontrary. For myself, I regard a rich marriage as rather a vulgar sortof thing, and by no means the proper goal of a good girl's ambitions.Also, however well a marriage may begin, nobody can foretell how it willeventually turn out. It is a matter of a thousand compromises, take itat its best, and all we can say of it is that there is nothing above itin the scale of human satisfactions.

That I will maintain as beyond a doubt, because it is the dictum ofnature, who is the mother of all wisdom. She says that even an unluckymarriage, which is a living martyrdom, is better than none, but that amarriage like that which arose out of Jenny's tea-room is a door to thesanctuary of the temple of life, never opened to the undeserving—thenearest approach to happiness that has been discovered at present.Yes—although, without beating her or keeping her short of pocket-money,the husband necessarily makes his wife feel that the earth is herhabitation and the clouds of heaven many miles away.

THE END.

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CHAP.		PAGE
I.	THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL	9
II.	HER FIRST FRIEND	24
III.	AFLOAT	33
IV.	THE HERO	45
V.	HE MEETS THE HEROINE	56
VI.	THE INEVITABLE ENSUES	69
VII.	THERE ARE SUCH WOMEN IN THE WORLD	82
VIII.	ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW	92
IX.	THE POTENTIAL HUSBAND	105
X.	AS THE WIND BLOWS	115
XI.	NATURE SPEAKS	125
XII.	TWO WISE MEN	138
XIII.	TWO UNWISE WOMEN	150
XIV.	A WEAK FATHER	159
XV.	A STRAW AGAINST THE TIDE	171
XVI.	A STAR IN TWILIGHT	184
XVII.	"YOU NEED NOT EXPECT ME BACK"	193
XVIII.	JENNY IS TREATED LIKE A LADY	204
XIX.	WOMAN'S RIGHTS REFUSED	216
XX.	SHE CARES NOT	228
XXI.	THE BEST AVAILABLE	236

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The Project Gutenberg eBook ofA Humble Enterprise

AHUMBLE ENTERPRISE

BYADA CAMBRIDGE

"Pinned the fragrant morsel to her throat."A Humble Enterprise.Page 97.

CONTENTS.

A HUMBLE ENTERPRISE

CHAPTER I

THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL

CHAPTER II

HER FIRST FRIEND

CHAPTER III

AFLOAT

CHAPTER IV

THE HERO

CHAPTER V

HE MEETS THE HEROINE

CHAPTER VI

THE INEVITABLE ENSUES

CHAPTER VII

THERE ARE SUCH WOMEN IN THE WORLD

CHAPTER VIII

ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW

CHAPTER IX

THE POTENTIAL HUSBAND

CHAPTER X

AS THE WIND BLOWS

CHAPTER XI

NATURE SPEAKS

CHAPTER XII

TWO WISE MEN

CHAPTER XIII

TWO UNWISE WOMEN

CHAPTER XIV

A WEAK FATHER

CHAPTER XV

A STRAW AGAINST THE TIDE

CHAPTER XVI

A STAR IN TWILIGHT

CHAPTER XVII

"YOU NEED NOT EXPECT ME BACK"

CHAPTER XVIII

JENNY IS TREATED LIKE A LADY

CHAPTER XIX

WOMAN'S RIGHTS REFUSED

CHAPTER XX

SHE CARES NOT

CHAPTER XXI

THE BEST AVAILABLE

THE END.

E. H. STRAIN

SHAN F. BULLOCK

GUY BOOTHBY

By the same Author

By the same Author

By the same Author

BERTRAM MITFORD

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MAX PEMBERTON

ARTHUR MORRISON

By the same Author

FRANCIS PREVOST

By the same Author

HENRY KINGSLEY

ETHEL TURNER

By the same Author

By the same Author

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OUTRAM TRISTRAM

FRANCIS HINDES GROOME

GEORGE MEREDITH

By the same Author

EDITH JOHNSTONE

NORA VYNNE

By the same Author

CAPTAIN CHARLES KING

THOMAS NELSON PAGE

By the same Author

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

A
HUMBLE ENTERPRISE

BY
ADA CAMBRIDGE

"Pinned the fragrant morsel to her throat."
A Humble Enterprise.Page 97.