The Sport of Circumstances

Chapter I

" Natures, like melodies, have their key-note, and, through our moods, however varied, runs a central fibre of character like the string in a necklace of many-coloured beads." — A. S. Hardy. " I sat, Kit, give us another cup of tea ; there's a ducky ! " " You've had one big cup already, Jack," remarks Rhoda, who is between Jack and the tea-pot, " and that ought to be sufficient." And Rhoda passes in her own cup to be replenished for the second time. " All right, Jack," says Kitty, who sees an ominous frown passing over his round jolly face. " Pass your cup, dear, and I will find you something." And Kitty surreptitiously fills up his cup from her own, and adds a little " extra-strong " from a small tea-pot standing in an isolated position. Rhoda's eyes are on her plate, but Jack sees this little piece of sleight-of-hand, and his left eye closes spasmodically.

That addition from his father's sacred tea-pot has filled his cup with heavenly nectar, for, were its existence suspected, there would be " ructions." B At this moment Mrs. Breton, who is writing lists for the cook at her davenport, is disturbed by the arrival of the post-bag. She sorts the letters, and, after carefully arranging a pile by the vacant place at the foot of the table, reads out " Miss Breton," " Master Jack Breton;" but before Rhoda's languid band has time to touch the envelope, Jack has grabbed his, and is waltzing round the room with it high above his head. "Now, girls, be quiet," says Jack pompously. " I must study my correspondence." "Yes, Jack dear," says Kitty; "but whom is it from?" " Oh, probably from the Lord Chancellor or the Attorney-General," answers Jack, who is intended for the bar, but has no idea of carrying out the intention.

Rhoda's letter is laid carefully by her plate, and, though Kitty recognises the crest, and casts wistful eyes thereat, Rhoda has no intention of opening it until she has finished her last morsels of toast and butter. " Mother, mother, read this ! " cries Jack in wild excitement, as he flings down a sheet of paper covered with awful hieroglyphics, and, tearing round the room, attacks Kitty's back -hair — he knows better than to touch Rhoda's carefully arranged plaits. "Yes, but, dear, I can't" murmurs poor Mrs. Breton. " It might be Chinese from all the meaning I can gather from it." " Jimmy Thorowgood has invited me to spend the last fortnight of my holidays at his father's house in town, and we are to go to all the theatres." " It would be very nice for you, dear," answers his mother sympathetically, regardless of her own pain at losing her darling one moment before the prescribed time, " and I think your father will give leave ; but don't mention theatres before Aunt Jane, or she will move heaven and earth to keep you at home."

" Oh, Aunt Jane's been out since nine o'clock, at a special meeting of brothers-and-sisters-in-the- Lord, to appoint a new deacon for the saintly Mr. Soapsuds. I'll get leave before she comes back. The Zion people use such long words, and quote so much Scripture, and gloat over the wickedness of all outsiders to such an extent, that it will take hours to elect their deacon ; besides, each individual has a favourite candidate of his own, so they will be fighting and praying all day." " Hush, dear. Mr. Sopwith is a very worthy, if mistaken, man, and your Aunt Jane worships where she gets most satisfaction." " I won't give up theatres for all the Aunt Janes in the world. I forget everything at a play. Oh, theatres are lovely !" "Who is talking of theatres?" exclaims a thin acid voice from the doorway.

" I thought the absence of those godless places was the one saving clause which prevented this miserable village from filling its cup of wickedness to overflowing." Aunt Jane enters in a jerky, unreposeful manner. Her long, thin, acid face is in perfect keeping with her discordant voice, and her mean gown and tightly-folded shawl are a constant reproach to all decently-dressed people. Aunt Jane never enters a room without bringing in a rush of cold air, and, in her presence, the most amiable people become suddenly snappish. "Don't you think, Jane, that this may possibly be a personal question ? " asks her peace-making sister-in-law. " Of course for you to go to a theatre, with your views, would be a sin ; but surely a person who saw no wrong could go to see a carefully selected play, like Shakespeare's, Goldsmith's, or Sheridan's, without moral harm."

"Have you read Shakespeare, sister?" thunders Aunt Jane. " There are some dreadful people in Shakespeare; also in Goldsmith — and blasphemous language as well. Sheridan reflects the iniquity of his time, and glosses over his immorality with epigrams; he leads the young to excuse their own sinfulness in that of their forbears. The heroine of one of Goldsmith's plays dresses up as a barmaid, and Shakespeare's women wear men's clothes ; more over, they paint their faces like Jezebel, and like that wretched woman shall be thrown down." " Until seventy times seven," murmurs Jack sotto voce. " You seem very well up in these perilous plays, Aunt," he continues, with a wicked twinkle in his erratic left eye. " I have read them in order to avoid them," answers his aunt, in a tone which means that the subject is exhausted.

"And so have I," answers Jack, so exactly in the tone and manner of the reverend Mr. Sopwith, that Kitty has to hide her laughter by airing the morning paper on the sunny steps of the window. Aunt Jane ignores the remark, under the impres sion that it will meet its reward without her inter vention. Here Rhoda, who has taken no part in the con troversy, raises her carefully-modulated voice. " Mother, Kitty and I are going to Mrs. Evers field's on Friday week at four o'clock, for tennis." She speaks as though it were an established fact, but it is Kitty's first intimation that she has been invited. "Are you, dear? Well, you must ask your father." "You know that father won't object, when he knows that I desire it." Mrs. Breton knows this only too well. Kitty's wishes, and even her own, go for nought when they clash with Mr. Breton's convenience ; but Rhoda, who inherits her father's handsome, well cut features and placid disposition, can do no wrong.

Everything she desires is conceded to her as a right. Rhoda and Aunt Jane are the only members of the household who can influence its master — the first through his pride, the second through his avarice ; for Aunt Jane has many thousands in the three-per cents., and, though her income is mostly spent on Mr. Sopwith and his tabernacle, Mr. Breton clings to the old saying that " blood is thicker than water." " Kitty has no gown," says the practical mother, " and I am afraid the summer bills will be very large." "I have been thinking," cooes Rhoda, like an amorous pigeon, "that, although I look horrid in my blue muslin, it will suit Kitty's brown hair ad mirably. It only wants to be shortened in the waist, and ironed out." "Are you thinking of giving up the party for my sake ? " cries Kitty. " I wouldn't allow it for the world.

You know I am only invited on your account." And Kitty goes up to her sister, and kisses her enthusiastically. Rhoda slightly draws back; kissing is not much in her line. " No, dear, I am not going to give up the party. I shall write to Redfern for a white serge." " But the bills " " Father won't mind, as it is for me." " White serge ! whited sepulchre ! " rasps Aunt Jane. Rhoda takes no notice. The other members of the family bicker with Miss Jane Breton, and she whisks them off like flies; but Rhoda and she maintain an armed neutrality, like two nations which long to fly at one another's throats, but, knowing their adversaries' strength, only do so on absolute necessity. Aunt Jane would lose caste at Zion were she to reside outside the Manor House, and Rhoda would fall in her father's estimation were she to drive away Aunt Jane and her three-per-cents.

Rhoda guesses that the morning meeting has been stormy, and keeps silent. Kitty soon gets over her mortification. She has a great admiration for her tall, beautiful sister, with her black eyes and carefully-braided black hair, her creamy complexion, her well-shaped red lips, and her queenly figure. Kitty is fully conscious of the fact that she herself is a commonplace httle body. She knows that her hair is of no particular colour, and that it will never lie smooth ; that her features are nondescript; but she does not know that many people prefer to look into her glorious blue eyes rather than at her sister's perfect outlines. She has been brought up to look upon Rhoda as a superior being, and fully believes in her; but the most saintly woman, (who is worthy of the name,) would require a mighty effort to be content to appear be fore the world in tumbled blue muslin, in company with tailor-made white serge.

Kitty thinks of the tennis, (at which she is an expert) ; of the friends she hopes to meet ; of everything, in fact, but the white serge gown ; and the sweet contentment comes back to her blue eyes. Presently a step is heard on the stairs, and Kitty hastens to put the cosy on to the isolated tea-pot, which in her anguish she has forgotten. Mr. Breton comes to the table with slow, quiet movements. A well-preserved, handsome man of doubtful age, with long, white, well-cared-for hands, and a face like Rhoda's, but full of the bitter ex perience of selfishness. As a young man, Mr. Breton was left a good, unencumbered income, and lived the self-indulgent, butterfly life of a man-about-town. He could in dulge himself in everything he loved best — first-class chambers, the best clubs, and a world-famed tailor.

He was famous for his little dinners. In a moment of weakness he married a pretty, meek, unambitious girl. From the time he became " Benedick, the married man," his life changed. The friends who had courted him for his dinners fell away, and he lost the entree to many houses where he had formerly been a " tame cat." His first infatuation over, he left London in disgust, and took a long lease of the Manor House at Kings Ditton, which, being within easy distance of town, enabled him to return in a measure to his bachelor life, while his wife and family economised in the country. " Good-morning, brother," comes from Miss Jane, in anything but a conciliatory tone. Miss Jane presumes on her three-per-cents., the destination of which she has already settled far, far away, but which she keeps dark, in order to hold mercenary sway on all sides.

She holds late rising in abhorrence, because she likes to get up early herself, and her " Good-morning " is equivalent to "You ought to be ashamed of yourself ! " Mr. Breton allows Aunt Jane's money to rule the household, but not to rule himself, and it is most unusual for her to venture a disparaging remark. Mr. Breton nods a comprehensive "Good-morning," which takes in all present. " Had your breakfast yet, Jane ? " " I took my tea and toast at my usual hour, seven o'clock. I have since communed with my estimable pastor, Mr. Sopwith, and have been instrumental in appointing a more worthy successor to Deacon Tickell, who has, I regret to say, been drawn away." " Is he dead ? " " Worse ! He has left our communion." Aunt Jane's " tea-and-toast " is a polite fiction. Mr. Sopwith teaches that to neglect the pleasures of the table would be base ingratitude to a merciful Providence, and Jane Breton carries out his teaching con amore.

Rhoda comes up and lays her hand on her father's shoulder. " Mrs. Eversfield has invited Kitty and me to a garden-party. I must have a new gown ; but, as I have special reasons for wishing to go, I suppose you don't mind ? " " Not if you have a good reason." So Rhoda goes off to write her ord'er, " I have received a letter," says Mrs. Breton " which I have said nothing about until you were present. It is from the son of my cousin Dorothy, the dear cousin with whom I was brought up. I have not seen her boy since he was a child. You know he has been abroad since his parents died." " Yes, yes, I know. Read it aloud." Mrs. Breton clears her throat, and begins — " Dear Mrs. Breton, — " I have at last returned to England. I have been abroad so long, that it is a very sad home-coming. I know no one, and it is all so cold and strange, and brings back the loss of my dear mother with all the old grief.

I must work doubly hard until I get accustomed to the change. In the meanwhile, you are the only person to whom I can turn for sympathy. May I come to you for a short visit, until my chambers are ready? If it be inconvenient, please say so. With kind regards to Mr. Breton, whose acquaintance I hope to make, " Believe me your affectionate cousin, "GEOFFREY OLDFIELD." For some moments Mr. Breton keeps silent, while he carefully passes a piece of devilled kidney between his lips. " I don't care about him coming. It will turn the house upside down, and make the servants neglect their regular duties. What is this work he talks about ? " " Oh, that is merely for amusement. He writes his mother left him £800 a-year." "Well, perhaps he had better come. It would seem inhospitable to refuse." The £800 per annum has caused a revolution in Mr. Breton's mind.

Aunt Jane mutters something about the " mammon of unrighteousness." " I will get a girl from the village to help," says Mrs. Breton, who sees a chance for her boy. " And most opportunely an invitation has arrived for Jack to spend part of his holidays with his school-fellow, the son of Mr. Thorowgood, the famous barrister." "Yes; he may go," answers his father, who is not to be taken in by dodges, but who is willing to pro pitiate the influential Mr. Thorowgood. Jack rushes into the garden, and gives chase to a " harmless, necessary cat." " What is Geoffrey like, mother ? " asks Kitty. " I believe he is a very upright young man, though not by any means a prig ; full of fun, but high-prin cipled and very clever." Kitty and her mother wander off to discuss the approaching arrival. " By their fruits ye shall know them," mutters Aunt Jane with the air of a Sibyl, as she jerks to the door, leaving her brother in undisturbed possession of the devilled kidneys and the isolated tea-pot.

Chapter II

" Every clod feels a stir of might, An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; Now the heart is so full that a drop o'erfills it ; We are happy now because God wills it." J. R. Lowell. It is Thursday afternoon, the day before Mrs. Evers field's party ; a hot, bright, beautiful afternoon, such as we only get in early June, when all nature re joices, and makes us rejoice with her. Geoffrey Oldfield has been at the Manor House for the last ten days, and has become quite one of the family. He is a man whom it is impossible to dis like. One look in his face is enough to tell you that you have met a friend whom you can trust. Not that it is by any means a handsome face : a broad, square forehead, over which hang masses of thick brown hair ; brown eyes ever ready to look for the best side of everything ; a solid, well-shaped nose; a large sensitive mouth, shaded by a heavy n moustache, and a chin just firm enough to escape looking obstinate.

Mrs. Breton, favourably predis posed, regards him as a son. Kitty has struck up such a friendship with him that Jack is almost jealous. Rhoda approves of him. Aunt Jane's is the only dissenting voice. Ever since she heard that he had written a play for a West-end house she has ex pressed her opinion to all who have asked it, " Mark my words, my dear, that young man is craving for jail." Jack's greeting is more characteristic than polite. "Why, from what mother said about your principles, I expected to find you a regular chump, and you're a real, right-down, good sort ! Won't we have a good time, that's all ! " Since the scene at the breakfast table, Rhoda has accompanied her father to town on more than one occasion, and has come back laden with bonnet-boxes and multitudinous parcels of all shapes.

Each parcel has caused Kitty a pang; but, on trying on the blue muslin, Jack's verdict has been so favourable, that she is reconciled ; and, as Jack says, " How are folks to know that the Miss Bretons have not each a muslin gown ? " " Jack," says Kitty, on this Thursday afternoon, "be a dear boy, and run down to the village for some blue ribbon. Mother is going to lend me her best white parasol, and I want to trim it up." " All right, Kit ; though it is hot enough even to satisfy Aunt Jane's anticipations for our future wel fare." "Run along, and I'll get cook to bake a cake, and we'll have tea in the schoolroom." " I say, Kit," says Jack in a mysterious stage whisper, " do you know that Rhoda's gown has come, and she is busy screwing herself into it ? Oh, how I hope it won't fit ! " " Why, Jack, you've got all the malice of a woman."

" Have I ? Well, it's the only kind of malice that can touch that cat upstairs. Jack rushes off before Kitty has time to lecture him for throwing mud at her idol. Kitty goes on her errand to the cook, and then betakes herself to the empty schoolroom, where she sits gazing at the distant hills, with her chin resting on her clasped hands, and her forehead puckered up as it always is when she is worried. She has an im mense admiration for Rhoda — an overpowering love for Jack ; and the differences of these two, who are always at loggerheads, form the greatest trouble of her young life. Jack is sixteen; just the age when boys begin to realize that they are no longer children, and want more consideration from their elders than later on, when they can claim it as a right. If Rhoda would only consider Jack a little ; if Jack would only yield Rhoda a little of the deference which she exacts from all sides ; then things might be all right, thinks poor little Kitty.

Kitty has not had sufficient ex perience to know that men have not that gift peculiar to unselfish women, namely, the power of shutting their eyes to all blemishes of character in those they love ; further, she does not know that barefaced sel fishness is a fault which men hold unpardonable in any woman, be she as beautiful as an angel. Kitty's thoughts fly off to the approaching party, and she begins to think that the blue muslin won't look bad ; besides, it will be such a pleasure to play in the same set with Geoff, — and even Jack has managed to get an invitation. It is the first " At Home " card that Jack has ever received, so he carries it about in his pocket, and lays it down in prominent places where eyes must necessarily fall. Kitty wonders how Jack will behave, and has a horrible foreboding that he will offer to sing a comic song.

This is Jack's special forte, and from morning till night " What cheer, Ria ? " absolutely pervades the staircase. Jack hides this talent in a napkin from Aunt Jane's prying eyes, since one c autumn twilight, when he unconsciously enlivened Miss Breton with " Said Moses to Aaron," and was horrified when a rasping voice in the "darkness in formed him that he " was using his share of grace to light him to perdition." Finally Kitty's thoughts creep upstairs to the white serge gown, but she drags them down again, three steps at a time, and begins to sing. " Come down to the garden," calls Geoff's voice from the shrubbery. " You don't know when you're well off, if you waste sunshine like this." Kitty runs down to join him, and finds him almost hidden among the bushes, lying on his back, a cigarette between his lips, and the latest well-re viewed novel up-side-down in his hands.

" You lazy boy ! you ought to be ashamed of yourself ! " But her voice and smile contradict her words. " Well, Miss, and who are you that you should call me to account ? I should just like an account of your afternoon." "Oh, I've done a lot! I have been gudty of sel fishness in sending Jack out in the sun; of vanity, in buying ribbons which I cannot afford ; of greed, in persuading cook to bake a cake; and I have finished up by sitting in the schoolroom covetinoto my neighbour's goods ; so you can't say I have been idle." " It's a good thing you occasionally find a few faults for yourself, as no one else could find them for you, and men don't like women to be quite perfect." " In that case, all men should like me, for I have broken nearly all the commandments in the last few hours. Perhaps it is a good omen for to-morrow."

" I don't think you need omens, dear. The world ought to treat you very kindly." " Well, admitting that I am an ' angel unawares,' isn't it a well-known fact that the world prefers black angels ? Besides, we have excellent authority for the statement that the ' wicked shall flourish as the green bay tree.' " " The world may prefer black angels, but not the world that can affect you. A person's opinion would be nothing to you, unless it were worth having." " There you're quite mistaken," cries Kitty, who is getting rather embarrassed. " Every woman has a spice of devilry in her composition, and an enormous amount of vanity. It may be hidden, but there it is, all the same. No woman likes to be run down, unless it be by another woman, in which case it is a compliment. Now," she goes on, "I am going to give you a small proof of my devilry, by dragging you away from this comfortable spot.

There is not room enough for two. If you will promise to be very good and not discuss my angelic qualities, I will take you to a much nicer place, where only my special friends are allowed." " So long as the ' nicer place ' is on this wicked earth and not in the blue ether above, I am content to follow your angelic majesty." They wander out of the shrubbery, across a patch of sunny turf, and, after winding in and out among the trees, arrive at Kitty's haunt. Seated here, you might fancy yourself in the woods. It is a veritable nest of ferns, moss, and ivy, which has cost Kitty much time and labour, and has worn out more than one pair of gardening gloves. The only hint of the civilized world lies in a flower-bed, (also Kitty's pro perty,) which is visible between the shrubs, the branches being cut away to leave the view clear.

This bed holds an incongruous collection of flowers, and is looked upon as one of Kitty's eccentricities. " So this is your retreat ! I should never have found it by myself." "And if you don't behave yourself, I will leave you to find your way out, and you will share the fate of the lady in the 'Mistletoe Bough.' " They both laugh, as only youth can laugh at nonsense of its own making. "But really," continues Kitty, "isn't it nice? I can have as much solitude as I like, and yet I have the whole family round me in case I feel dull." " The whole family ? " "Yes. That tall, pure white lily is Rhoda; the dear, sweet, old-fashioned cabbage-rose is mother; that stiff, prim, self-satisfied aster is Aunt Jane ; and the convolvulus " " Nasty thing, — it's dragging down the flowers, in order to rise itself.

Let me pull it up." " Oh, don't ! you really mustn't touch it ; that's darling papa." " Oh, indeed ! I'm sorry I was rude to a relation. By the way, you say ' mother ' and ' papa ' — rather an odd mixture ? " " Yes. You see mother couldn't possibly be any thing else but 'mother;' but papa — well, it's more polite, and means less." " You ought to add a pansy to complete the group. There is a space by the lily." " That's for Rhoda's husband — when he comes. I wonder how soon it will be ! Isn't she beautiful, Geoff? You can't think how proud I am of my sister." "And you have reason to be. I think it is one of the loveliest faces I ever saw. I hke to sit and gaze at her. She affects me just as the old Italian pictures and statues used to do. You couldn't have chosen a more suitable flower than the pure and queenly lily.

But about the pansy, Kitty— where is it to go ? " " If you mean the pansy for Jack, he's there already at the other side. Come and look at him." At this moment, a voice informing the world in general that " They all do it," proclaims that the original is himself at hand. Presently he comes bursting through the trees. "I'm so glad I've found you, Kit. I've got such a lot of news. Hollo, Geoff ! You're a favoured mortal to be allowed inside Queen Titania's bower. Take care that Oberon doesn't put an ass's head on your shoulders." "If Oberon is responsible for all the ass's heads that find themselves on broadcloth shoulders, he must be a busy gentleman indeed ! " "Where's my ribbon, Jack ? " asks Kitty. Jack fumbles in his pockets, and after producing a variety of knives, sundry knots of string, and a cricket-ball, he unearths the ribbon.

"Now for your news." Jack immediately looks mysterious and important. "Well, first I met old Mrs. Puddock. She has just come back from a visit to Southsea, and talked such a lot that I ran away from her ; however, I remember she told me to ask you if you had any jam-pots to give her. She is making jam, and has been all round the village collecting pots. I told her I had some nice flower-pots and a stone-dish that Tatters used to eat his dinner out of, but she didn't seem to see it. Mean old thing ! She can buy jam-pots anywhere for eighteen-pence a dozen." " Go on." Jack's mouth becomes quite round. " Isn't it awful ? I met Aunt Jane and old Soap suds arm-in-arm. How I wish they would get married, if only to spite the governor ! " Kitty and Geoff burst out laughing. " Surely you don't think she means to marry him ?

" asks Geoff. "I think he means to marry her money if he can. She's such a vain old cat that she would swallow any flattery. Wouldn't she comb his hair just ! " " There's the tea-bell, and the cake will get cold," says Kitty, so they troop off, laughing as they go. " I say, Jack," says Kitty, as she manipulates the tea-pot, " do tell me how you got an invitation out of old Mrs. Eversfield. Neither Geoff nor I will repeat it." " I know you won't blab, and I don't think Geoff will, but he must promise." Geoff gives the required promise, and Jack bolts a piece of cake. "Well, last Sunday I managed to come out of church behind her, and her handkerchief was stick ing out of her pocket. In the porch I transferred it to mine. When she was half-way home I ran after her with it, and offered to carry her books.

We admired the sermon, and then I got the conversation round to tennis, and told her how fond I was of it. Next I told her how to make her hens lay ; and, when we came to her gate, I hugged her nasty, fat cat, and said I hoped I might come and see it again. That did the trick, and the invitation came next morning." With this Jack separates the card from the heterogeneous collection in his pocket, and leans it admiringly against the sugar-basin. " Finish your tea, Kitty," says Geoff, " and let's have a knock-up." "Wait a minute," gasps Jack. "You haven't heard my best bit of news yet. George Vincent has come back." " George come back ! " echoes Kitty, who now knows the meaning of the white serge gown. " Does Rhoda know ? " " How is it possible to say what Rhoda knows ? She's a regular dark horse.