'You'll Love Me Yet.' By F. Haswell, and That Little Woman. By I. J. Lemon

Front matter

DRUNK NEARLY ONE HUNDRED YEARS. Barber a Company's (The Original) (Established in 1797) RICH 8IRUPY This Season's Growth." aSb per pound. ON FA CONGO. A Tea abounding in Strength and High Quality. Never sold before in England at the Price. COMPARE it with that sold by others at Two Shillings. Two Pounds and a Half free per Parcels Post for 3s. iod., and Six and a Half Pounds for 9s. 8d. CEYLON TEA (pure and simple) Is. 6d. per lb. (own packing), lib. Sample, by post, Is. 9d. ; or 2J-lb3. net. for 4s. 3d. No Charge for Carriage of Parcels of \olbs. and over in England. BARBER & COMPANY, (THE OBIGINAZ) (ESTABLISHED IN 1797) ' 274, Regent Circus, W; 61, Bishopsgate Street, City ; 67, Brixton Road, S.W.; 102, Westbourne Grove, W.; 42, Great Titchfield Street, W. Birmingham — Quadrant. Brighton — 147, North Street; 75, East Street.

Also 60, Church Road, Hove (their only addresses in Sussex). Cheques and Postal Orders to be crossed "National Provincial Bank." "she climbed the precipitous slope/ —"YOU'LL LOVE ME YET" (Chapter viii.). Bv FRANCES HASWELL AND That Little Woman By IDA J. LEMON CASSELL and COMPANY Limited LONDON PARIS & MELBOURNE 1893 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Reprinted from Cassell's Magazine. " You'll love me yet, and I can tarry Your love's protracted growing ; June reared the bunch of flowers you carry From seeds of April's sowing." — Bkowning. chapter I. A KNIGHT OF ARTHUR'S COURT. It was a warm summer afternoon, and the garden of Elderwood House resounded with a merry Babel of children's voices. There was no very apparent reason why the square house, fronting the dusty road that led from Winston village to the railway station, should bear a name so redolent of cool woodland and blossom ing trees, but it had received that title years before Mrs. Hornby came to hve there, with her four boys and five daughters.

The garden was a large but not a very picturesque one ; it had no sort of mystery about it, no bosky seclusion, no winding walks over-arched by flowering boughs ; there were, in fact, no trees at all, except a belt of poplars, which divided it from the adjoin ing grounds of Winston Lodge — Winston being a place of " villa residences." The road was shut out, however, by a high brick wall ; and there was a wide lawn — not very well kept, or rather, not kept at all — where the boys played cricket ; a thicket ot gooseberry bushes beyond the lawn ; a strawberry bed, which had gained the undeserved reputation of being unproductive, because the children always gathered most of the berries before they were ripe ; and a thriving plantation of rhubarb, adapted to the needs of a large family. " Sylvia !

Chapter II Confidences

Winston was not a specially hospitable place. Its inhabitants thought twice or thrice before embarking on so hazardous an enterprise as a party, but summer was the easiest time for "doing" their friends, and tennis-parties were the favourite form of entertainment. Ethel and Sylvia had an invitation of long standing to Winston Court on the Saturday following the parcel episode ; it was the first tennis-party of the season, and Sylvia was proportionately excited. The night before the party, as the two girls were brushing their hair in their own room, Sylvia suddenly flung herself on her bed, and exclaimed, with a long-drawn sigh — " Oh, Ethel ! I wish I wasn't so obscure I " " Whatever do you mean, child ? " " I mean just what I say : I don't like being so obscure." " But I don't understand what you mean by 'obscure.'" " Socially obscure, Ethel," said Sylvia, with emphasis.

" Never was anybody so obscure as I. No one cares to sit with me or talk to me at parties, unless it be the dullest of the dull. It's humiliating. I sometimes feel as if everybody must be noticing how neglected I am." " Don't trouble yourself on that score. You may feel com fortably sure that no one notices either of us, for good or ill, for I'm every bit as obscure as you, if you can find any consolation in that." " No. You never went into supper at a party all by yourself. I really don't think your case is quite so pitiable as mine. How do you account for this painful state of things, Ethel ? " " Oh, I don't know. We're not attractive enough, I suppose. We can but do our best to make ourselves more agreeable." " I can't do more than I do do," said Sylvia. " When I first went to parties, I thought perhaps my obscurity was only the obscurity of a beginner, and I've been hoping against hope for years that things might mend, but I see no signs of a change for the better."

Confidences. 17 "For years, Sylvia ? " "Yes, for years. Ever since that picnic to Allerton Abbey, when I was seventeen." " That's only two years." " Never mind that. I want you to tell me honestly : is it that I'm so much plainer than other girls, and shabbier, or stupider ? or what ? " Ethel stood fixed in thought, with suspended hair-brush. The question propounded had often exercised her own mind in one form or another, though, being of a more reserved and self contained nature than Sylvia, she had never put it into words. She had even formed a theory on the subject — a theory which she found a httle difficulty in formulating. While she remained silent, Sylvia went on — " You mightn't think it, but really I take immense pains to invent interesting conversation. I rake up every subject under the sun, and many a time I flatter myself I've said very amusing things to people.

And then I look at their faces, and see them utterly blank and sheep-like. I suppose my wit is too keen for Winston ; perhaps " — she added, with a magnificent gesture — " the day may come when I shall get into a different circle, and find myself appreciated." " It's curious, Sylvia, why some girls get so much attention, and others so little. I've often wondered about it, and I've come to the conclusion that it's a fate — a gift — whatever you please to call it. There's the matter in a nutshell. We can't explain it." " But if that is so, there's no hope of our ever escaping from obscurity, Ethel," said the younger sister dolefully. Ethel shook her head. " I'm afraid not, my dear. Either a woman has the mysteri ous gift, or she has it not ; it can't be acquired." " But, Ethel, that's not what books say.

Don't we always read of women making conquests by beauty or wit ? " " Never mind what books say. Just look round, and judge for yourself. See which women are most popular — with men, I mean — and see whether they are so much handsomer or cleverer than the rest." " Let me think. There's Angela — she's one of the popular kind ; but then she really is pretty, and beautifully dressed I " " But look at the Fulton girls 1 " " I don't know about them," said Sylvia reflectively. "They're quite as nice-looking as Angela, and much better company, and yet they are nearly as obscure as ourselves." "You see, we can't reason on the thing. There it is: it's a fact." " 'All that we know is, nothing can be known.' " quoted Sylvia. " You'll Love Me Yet." 18 " I suppose, if one could choose, one would like to have this gift of fascination," continued Ethel: "but as the grapes are utterly out of reach, I prefer to think them sour ; and honestly, I very much doubt whether these particular grapes add much to a woman's happiness."

" / think they do— very much indeed." Ethel shook her head with an air of great wisdom. " They are too intoxicating, and you see they are the kind that wither as the years go on ; so that I always fancy people who have drunk deep of them must find the latter part of life rather empty and bitter." Sylvia turned over her sister's theory in her mind. " Poets say Helen of Troy was the most beautiful of women, but I suppose you would say she merely possessed this gift of fascination. And Cleopatra the same." " Not a doubt of it. I dare say, if we could see Helen and Cleopatra, we should think them nothing particular." And so the subject dropped. But as the sisters walked down the hill to Winston Court next day, Sylvia said — "You'll be glad to hear, Ethel, that I've hardened my heart. I'm going to make the best of fortune, and enjoy myself this afternoon, in spite of obscurity."

The Hornby girls were almost the first to appear on the scene of action, for Sylvia always insisted on going early to parties, in order to make the most of her rare opportunities. The sun shone, the musicians were tuning up their instruments, the hostess was gracious, and there was such a pleasant sense of expectation in the air, that Sylvia, in spite of her sister's phi losophy, felt as if the tide of social success might be about to turn. The other guests soon began to assemble ; most of them were familiar neighbours, but Mrs. Ayton introduced the Hornby girls to some strangers, two brothers and a sister, of the name of Pendlebury, who seemed agreeable enough. " They're new to Winston," said Sylvia to herself, " and haven't learned to despise us yet. They haven't discovered how obscure we are.

Let's hope they won't have time to find it out to-day." At all hazards, she was determined not to be dull and silent; so she talked and smiled, enlarged on the fine weather, the virtues of the game of tennis, and the beauties of the neighbourhood, keeping on safe every-day topics ; for unpleasant experience had taught her the danger of venturing further afield. She got on so well that she began to feel elated. She glanced at her sister. Ethel was really looking very nice in her white gown and white hat with yellow daisies in it, and surely she might hope that her own costume, which was almost a facsimile of Ethel's, was equally becoming. But, alas 1 when Cousin Angela came 'up to them in a beautifully-fitting terra-cotta gown and a most Confidences. 19 recherche hat, a consciousness of dowdiness and commonplace descended on poor Sylvia, like a sudden east wind, chilling into ice her little stream of talk.

She would not yield without a struggle ; she strove against the benumbing sense of her own insignificance, but in vain ; she could no longer find anything to say, or if she did think of anything, she felt sure no one would care to listen to it. There began to be awkward pauses in the conversation. " It's unbearably hot ! " said Sylvia's bete-noir, Mr. Lowndes, sauntering up to the little group. " I didn't know you could ever feel warm about anything," said Sylvia to herself. " Shall we go into that summer-house ? " suggested Angela ; " we can watch the play from there." So they all ensconced themselves under the thatched roof of the rustic arbour, from which point of vantage they could watch not only the arena, but the new arrivals. " Sylvia," said Ethel aside, " if Mr. Bassett comes, you must find out whether he sent the silk dress."

Hardly were the words spoken when, through a gap in the evergreens, the portly figure of Mrs. Anderson, resplendent in stiff black silk, became visible, closely followed by her nephew. " Talk of the angels, and you hear the rustling of their wings," said Ethel. Mr. Lowndes put up his eye-glass to discover who these angelic beings might be. " A very substantial black angel ! " he said. " But who is that country bumpkin ? I don't know his face." " Her nephew," said Sylvia. " Ethel and I met him the other day at the Manor House." " He looks rather out of his element," observed the sarcastic Mr. Lowndes. " Probably he comes from the wilds of Cornwall or Caithness, where no man hath garden parties, and tennis is unknown." " His name is Lancelot Bassett," said Ethel : " that sounds delightfully poetical, doesn't it ?

" "I'm sorry for him," said Sylvia: "he'll never be able to ' live up to his name.' He says he finds it a trial." " So I should judge, from his appearance," said Mr. Lowndes gravely. " He looks shy and uncomfortable," said one of the Pendle burys. " That's because he knows no one here," said Sylvia. " I'll go and speak to them." And leaving the summer-house, she walked in the direction of the shrubbery, where Mrs. Anderson was standing talking to the hostess. But even while she was making this decisive movement, she was seized with repentance. b " You'll Love Me Yet." 20 "Why couldn't I stay in the arbour, where we were getting on so nicely ? " she said to herself. "How silly I've been! Now I shall have to remain with those people all the afternoon, and it will be unendurable. Mrs. Anderson is so tedious, and I feel sure ' Lancelot ' is just the kind of person to cling to his one acquaintance in a party, like a drowning man to a straw, as mother's old etiquette book has it."

She felt her friends' eyes upon her from the summer-house windows, and turned rather hot, but it was too late to go back now ; so, putting a good face on it, she went up to Mrs. Anderson, and held out her hand, first to her, and then to Lancelot. That personage was not feeling so painfully shy as Sylvia imagined ; yet it was pleasant to discover a face he knew amid the crowd of strangers. The white dress, the hair with a tinge of gold in it, the little glow on the frank face, made her look, to his eyes, like an embodiment of the joyful summer weather. Mrs. Anderson was effusive, as usual, and full of friendly inquiries about Mrs Hornby. After a while, Mr. Bassett proposed that they should cross the lawn to a vacant garden seat, and accordingly they moved in that direction. Mrs. Anderson was not a woman of varied conversational resources, having a habit, which always struck Sylvia as exces sively wearisome, of repeating the same thing over and over in terms very slightly varied ; and many a time during the next half hour did the poor girl gaze wistfully at the figures in the summer house, rueing the impulse which had made her leave that plea sant company.

But she saw no honourable retreat open from the position she had so rashly taken up. Oh, that something would happen ! Oh, that some charitable person would appear, and relieve her of the burden ! But nothing happened, and nobody came ; the hostess was only too glad to perceive that someone had undertaken the charge of entertaining Mrs. Anderson and her bashful-looking companion. " I suppose we shall just sit here the whole afternoon," thought Sylvia. At last, however, Mrs. Anderson made a move. " You two ought to have a walk round the gardens," she said. " I won't go with you ; I should walk too slowly for such active young people. I'll just go across, and have a chat with Mrs. Surtees." Sylvia would rather have gone back to the summer-house ; still, any change was a relief. " Shall we go down through those lilacs ?

" said Lancelot, looking at a winding path, which led, as Sylvia knew, towards the greenhouse. In that direction accordingly they went. Sylvia had not forgotten her resolve to sound her companion about the mys terious parcel, but did not quite see how to set about the task. Confidences. 21 It was impossible to ask a direct question, almost equally difficult to hint at it. While she was turning the matter over in her mind, Lancelot saved her any further perplexity by saying — " You would guess, Miss Sylvia, that it was I who sent you the dress the other day. I hope you did not think it was taking too great a liberty. It seemed the least I could do by way of making amends for my clumsiness." " Oh, how very kind of you ! " said Sylvia. " But you make mt uncomfortable, because — don't you see ? — the silk's worth ever so much more than the one that was spoiled — and besides, it wasn't spoiled at all.

I shall go on wearing it just the same." Then a new idea flashed across her. Mrs. Hornby would probably say that it was not etiquette to accept such a present — and, being in the habit of speaking without much reflection, she added, shaking her head — " And there's another thing : I don't think mother will allow me to wear it." Her companion looked concerned. " I'm afraid you don't like the colour. I chose the prettiest I could see — as I thought." "Oh, it's not that at all," said Sylvia emphatically; "it couldn't possibly be a prettier colour." " What is it, then ? " Sylvia hesitated. " I expect mother will say she can't allow me to accept such a handsome present from a stranger." " I'm not a stranger, am I ? " " To-day is only the second time I've met you," said Sylvia, smiling. This boy's friendliness was rather pleasant.

" But it's not a question of acquaintanceship, longer or shorter; it's a question of common honesty on my part, Miss Sylvia. I shall be awfully disappointed if you won't allow me to make compensation for my fault." " It doesn't depend on me, Mr. Bassett ; mother will have to settle it. And you mustn't imagine I don't appreciate your kindness. I'm very grateful to you, and I admire your taste." By this time they had reached the greenhouses. A drop of rain fell on Sylvia's hand. " I did think we were going to have a fine afternoon ! " she exclaimed : " but the sky seems to have suddenly darkened." " It will only be a shower; we can take shelter here," said the other. The door was not locked, and they went in. They foujd themselves alone there. " I hope we shan't have to stay here long," said Sylvia.

It was one of the remarks one would fain have left unsaid ; she hastened to repair her mistake. " But, after all, how pleasant it " You'll Love Me Yet." 22 is here ! The smell of the vines is so delicious, and it's not so overpoweringly warm and sickly as these places often are. We can sit on that step, and talk very comfortably, can't we ? " " And what shall we talk about ? " said Lancelot, smiling. " I've got such a good idea. First, I'll ask you a question, anything / like — and then you shall ask me a question, just what ever you like; and we'll bind ourselves to answer truly." " All right ; that's a fair bargain." " But I'm afraid you'll think my question rather an odd one. Only I do really want to know your honest opinion about some thing. Do you find me duller than most people ? " " I'm not sure that I understand you.

Will you put the same question in different words ? " " Do you think I'm less interesting — that I've less to say than most other girls ? " Lancelot smiled. " That's one of the last faults I should think of laying to your charge, Miss Sylvia." " Is that your genuine opinion ? " said Sylvia anxiously. "Quite genuine, judging, of course, from the two occasions on which I have had the pleasure of your company." " That's a relief to my mind, for I believe people in general find me a very difficult person to get on with ; no one cares to talk to me — outside my own family, I mean. And that often makes me rather unhappy." " And how do you account for it — if it is so ? " " I can't account for it— and that's the worst part of the trouble. If I knew the reason, I might at least try to alter myself."

" I'm afraid I can't help you to find the cause, because I don't recognise the effect." " What a pretty, courteous speech ! I begin to think you are not unworthy of that chivalrous name of yours." " It wasn't meant for a pretty speech — it was a statement of fact." " You know what candid creatures brothers are, Mr. Bassett ■ Oh, I forgot you had none. Well, never mind : my brothers often tell me I shall never get on in society, because I'm what they call a blue-stocking. I'm rather fond of books, and should like to have gone to Girton, only we couldn't afford it. But I don't see how that can make any difference, for I hide away all that kind of thing under a bushel whenever I am with strangers. The stupidest girl living couldn't make herself appear more ignorant than I." She spoke with such emphasis that her companion could hardly help laughing.

" What kind of books do you like ? " " Oh, all sorts. Novels, and poetry, and history, and even scientific books occasionally. Now, isn't that a dreadful Confidences. 23 confession to make ? That's just the kind of thing men hate, isn't it ? " " It's not at all the kind of thing I hate : so you needn't hide it away from me. Don't hide anything ; just say whatever comes uppermost— and I'll do the same : that's the way to get on, isn't it ? " " That will be delightful ! " said Sylvia, smiling. " Mind, it's a compact : we are both to say exactly what comes into our heads." " Then the first thing that enters my head is that, as you've asked your question, and got a truthful answer, it's nowra_y turn." " Certainly. I've no secrets — at least, I don't remember any just now — so you can ask whatever you please."

" Then, if your fairy godmother came and offered to grant you one wish — as they do in the story-books — what would you choose ? " " That's too important a matter to settle off-hand. I may never have such a chance again. Give me time to consider." Sylvia looked as solemn as if a real fairy, wand in hand, had appeared on the scene. Lancelot sat watching her contemplative face with no little interest. At last she said, with a sigh — " Oh, dear! I can't possibly bring everything into the compass of a single wish ; so I must just confine myself to one thing, which I know will sound base and mercenary. But I can't help that. It is what I want." " You make me feel very inquisitive, Miss Sylvia." " I should like a great lot of money. There ! " " And if you had it, how would you spend it ? What would you like to do with it ?

" " What would I not like to do ? — that's a more rational way of putting it. I shouldn't care to have a greenhouse — that's one thing certain ; and I don't think I want a carriage — yes, I should, though, for mother ; nor yet a grand house with a crowd of servants. But I'd have a delightful old place in the country — the real wild country I mean, not like this. It would be a long way from anywhere, with woods and wastes all round it. And I'd travel. I'd visit the places I've so often read about and longed to see. That's what I should like for myself. But there's no end to the things I would do for my brothers and sisters. Letty — my younger sister — should have singing lessons ; she has a beautiful voice. The boys should go to a good public school. Mother should spend her winters at Mentone, and Ethel and I would go with her.

We'd make all manner of interesting acquaintances there, and very likely " She stopped suddenly, for the second story of this castle in the air had always included romances in which her sister and herself played principal parts in connection with heroes of a very different stamp from any men she had ever met in real life — heroes who had achieved great exploits of some kind ; for, as she " You'll Love Me Yet." 24 justly observed to herself, when one is drawing on the bank of imagination, one may as well write a large cheque as a small one. " And ' very likely ' what ? " " Oh, I don't know exactly. All sorts of thrilling things might happen out there. But now, haven't I said enough to prove how many good uses I should find for my money ? " Lancelot did not immediately reply to this question, for, while Sylvia dilated on visionary glories, she had been taking off, first her gloves, and then her large hat ; and he was noting the con trast between the creamy-white dress and the rather flushed, eager face, crowned with yellow hair, that looked all the better for being a trifle tumbled.

" Don't you agree with me, Mr. Bassett ? I really ought to have a fortune ! " " I'm sure you'd dispense it generously, and some day I hope you may have your wishes." " Thank you. I don't go so far as to hope. I content myself with fancying." " Then you think, if you were rich enough, you could buy everything your heart desires ? That's not the common experi ence, they say." " I could, pretty nearly, I do believe — down to the box which once contained a cocked hat. I don't wonder you look puzzled, Mr. Bassett: that's a fine old crusted family joke 1 " " Am I not worthy to understand it ? " " Before we came to Winston, we lived in a rather old house, where there was a garret full of family relics. When father died, and we had to move, an aunt of father's came to look through these old things, and she said to mother one day, ' Ethelwyn, I believe that garret contains everything the heart can desire, down to a box which once contained a cocked hat ! ' " " I see the point of the joke now, Miss Sylvia."

" That's very clever of you, for people very seldom do see the point of my jokes — the world at large, I mean. But, let me inform you, in my own family my humour is highly appreciated. You see, I don't feel sufficiently at home with most outsiders to explain where the joke lies. But, oh ! Mr. Bassett, what have I done ? I've forgotten the disgraceful state of my hands, and taken off my gloves. It's a habit I have. I can't bear gloves : they make me so hot." " I'll take mine off too, and then we can be companions in disgrace." " No, we can't, for just look at these scratches. It's gooseberries that do it. You never gather gooseberries, do you ? " " I've not pulled any for a long time," said Lancelot, regarding her hands with a smile. " They do look as if they had been in the wars, poor things !

But I shall be very glad to come and help you to gather gooseberries, if you'll allow me." Confidences. 25 " Only too willingly. The smallest assistance thankfully received. Any day, Mr. Bassett. You may be sure of one thing : when I come to my kingdom, I won't pick gooseberries." " Mind, I shall take you at your word, Miss Sylvia." There was a slight pause. The heavy shower had passed off, and there were steps on the gravel walk. Angela and Mr. Lowndes opened the door. " We're looking everywhere for you," said the former, with her pretty smile. " Mrs. Ayton's gathering up all the people for tea in the drawing-room. Of course, everything out of doors is drenched; I'm afraid there's no chance of any more tennis." " I'm sorry for that," said Sylvia, putting on hat and gloves. " My turn was not to come till later on, and now, I suppose, it will never come at all.

May I introduce Mr. Bassett— Miss Daubeny? " Angela bowed, and held out her hand, with some little remark on the unfortunate weather. Though she never talked anything but common-places, her common-place had the happy character istic of sounding just the right thing for the occasion ; and now, as so often before, Sylvia herself was reduced, by her cousin's presence, to an awkward silence, and to what she herself would have described as " utter obscurity." They set out for the house, Sylvia leading the way with Mr. Lowndes. " And how have you fared with your young savage ? " asked Mr. Lowndes, in a tone which Sylvia considered disagreeably patronising. " What can I do to set him down a little ? " she said to herself; adding aloud : " I've found him very kind and pleasant, and not at all uncivilised.