The Mystery of a Woman's Heart. A novel

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Chapter I. Cut By Her Family

Fay Fairfax was in terrible disgrace. She was sent to Coventry by her parents, her brothers and sisters, and by most of her relatives, and all because she had stoutly refused to marry a man whom she did not like. She did not positively dislike him — that was the worst feature of the whole case — but her feelings were of an indifferent and negative order. And Fay, being a remark ably foolish young woman according to the world's way of thinking, actually considered such feelings incompatible with the holy bonds of matrimony. This was the more provoking to her family because the gentleman who had honoured her with his attentions was a noble lord, and the catch of the county. As most girls know, lords are not easily secured, and when they are it is the fashion to look upon them as a prize quite independently of their personal attractions.

If a man have but a title, he may be as ugly as sin, as wicked as Satan. In vain Mrs. Fairfax pleaded, and in plain, unvarnished maternal language represented the numerous advantages likely to accrue from the match. Fay was obstinate, and to prayers, entreaties and exhortations invariably returned the same answer. " I don't care for him, mother ; I would if I could, but I can't." "And, pray, why not ? " " How can I tell ? Lord Hallaton is worthy and estimable to a degree, and of course I know I shall never get another offer so good as long as I live, but " — and Fay shrugged her shapely shoulders — " I was only nineteen this Christmas, and it seems rather hard to be made to settle down for ever and ever without even having a chance given you of falling genuinely in love. Supposing I met the right man after my marriage ?

Might it not lead to complica tions ? Such things do happen when girls are in too much of a hurry." " Tut, Fay, what nonsense you talk to be sure. Who falls in love now-a-days ? Love is a luxury which very few young women can afford to indulge in." " Oh ! mamma, what a horrid theory." " It doesn't sound very nice, I daresay, but nevertheless it's a fact. Only rich girls are in a position to pick and choose. Paupers have no right to be particular. And you're a pauper, Fay." " Am I ? " said the girl, with a slight sigh. " Yes, I suppose I am. I never gave the matter a thought." " What with keeping those odious hounds," went on Mrs. Fairfax energetically, " cramming his stables full of hunters, and being naturally dreadfully wasteful and extravagant, your father, if he were to die to-morrow, would scarcely leave a penny of ready money behind him.

He has always lived up to his income, if not beyond it, and the estate is entailed, and goes to Jack. Mr. Fairfax has made no provision for his daughters. If anything were to happen to him, Heaven only knows what would become of you all." "Don't fret about that, dear mother; I, for one, can work." " Yes, turn horsebreaker, I suppose, and earn your living like a common groom. A nice employment for a lady. You are both selfish and ignorant, Fay, else you would give your younger sisters a thought, and not stand in their road as you are doing by refusing this offer. Clara is seventeen and a half, and quite ready to come out if only you were safely disposed of. As Lady Hallaton you could help the younger girls on tremendously, and give the boys a lift into the bar gain. But there," and Mrs. Fairfax gave a petulant sigh, " it's just like you, Fay.

You never had any common sense, and always insisted on having your own way, no matter how others suffered for it." At the end of such conversations as these, poor Fay was often reduced to tears; nevertheless, her decision remained unaltered. No amount of argument could make her believe that it would be right for her to promise to " love, honour CUT BY HER FAMILY. 3 and obey " a man who failed to inspire her with any sentiments of affection. Lord Hallaton was more than twenty years her senior. He was a widower with four children. She might, perhaps, have overlooked that fact, but the children's papa had grizzled hair and a yellow face, and looked quite old — quite old. Before all this had taken place she had always thought of him as " not a bad old thing." There was something distinctly unnatural about becoming the wife of " not a bad old thing."

For of course Fay had an ideal hero. What girl has not ? Her idea of masculine perfection was a dashing young guardsman, with a long, fair moustache and electric-blue eyes that should mesmerize her at a glance, and a splendidlydeveloped frame. She had not found this Adonis yet ; and she thought it would be downright wicked to sell herself tamely for wealth and position without making the smallest attempt to do so. If the worst came to the worst, she might sacrifice at the shrine of Mammon a few years hence, when she had failed to meet her affinity and had arrived at the sober age of three or four and twenty. If Lord Hallaton were really so much in love, he could prove the strength of his passion by waiting. Was it some pure instinct which, defying the worldliness produced by our vaunted civilization, rendered the girl impervious to her parents' solicitations ?

Who knows ? Fate weaves the woof of destiny with such cunning and delicate fingers^ After her rejection of Lord Hallaton, Fay was very unhappy at home, although as long as the hunting season lasted she found some relief from the petty persecution to which she was daily subjected. She was a bold and perfect horsewoman, and could ride almost any animal in the stable. Her light, sympathetic hands seemed to possess the knack of quieting the wildest fouryear-old ; and the horses hunted by Miss Fairfax invariably fetched a high price at the master's annual sale, which took place in the spring. The consequence was, hounds seldom left their kennels without a slight, girlish figure that appeared incapable of fatigue being seen in attendance. Fay was that rare thing in these rapid times — an absolutely robust and healthy girl.

Nature had endowed her with a magnificent physical organization. She had never known an ache or a pain in her life, and her rosy young face was entirely free from the slightest shadow of suffering. I Everything about her was bright — her hair, her eyes, her smile. When she entered a room it was as if a ray of sunshine flooded the whole apartment. Her laugh was de lightfully cheery and contagious. Its fresh, clear mirth proved simply irresistible. One felt that here was a happy, innocent creature completely satisfied with life, and who, without being in the least stupid, had not yet acquired the fatal habits of analysis and introspection. No wonder if Lord Hallaton — a nobleman, grave and old beyond his years — meeting Fay at the covert-side day after day, had fallen head over heels in love with her.

Just at first the girl's vanity was flattered ; but very soon he began to bore her, and when a man once bores a woman, no matter what pains he takes to please, his suit is doomed. He has not the ghost of a chance. For women may put up with anger, roughness, even insolence, but boredom is a deadly sin, which even the most angelic can never forgive. True, many of them are forced to acquire the art of being bored gracefully after marriage, but few of them attain to it before. Often and often Fay escaped from her elderly admirer by taking some formidable fence over which he had not the nerve to follow. Lord Hallaton did not profess to be a hard rider, and perhaps she despised him a little on that account. The ideal guardsman was, of course, conspicuous for his courage, and a perfect centaur into the bargain.

If the truth must be told, she scoffed at poor Lord Hallaton in her innermost consciousness, and dubbed him " a Funk stick." For youth is not always kind, and treats with crushing contempt the various infirmities it has never expe rienced. After a while a suspicion of the real state of the case began to dawn on Fay's mind. Then from being friendly and communicative, she turned very silent and reserved. But this change of conduct on her part produced no effect. His lordship was much too far gone to take a hint, like a sober mortal in full possession of his senses. One frosty spring afternoon, after a first-rate run, he overtook the girl walking slowly home on a lame hunter. He at once profited by the situation, and almost before Fay realized what he was about had asked her to become Lady Hallaton.

This proposal was quite a shock. She had to pull herself together and draw a deep breath before CUT BY HER FAMILY. 5 she could make any answer. Somehow he did not look well that day. Sentiment did not suit his style of beauty. A strong wind blew from the east, and it was bitterly cold. Lord Hallaton's face appeared yellower even than usual, and the little colour it possessed seemed all to have flown to the tip of his nose, which was purple — not a good, rich purple which might be recommended, but a greyish, un healthy one, suggestive of liver and indigestion. More over, there were crows' feet round his eyes and quite white hairs in his beard and hair. By the time she was five-and thirty he would have one foot in the grave and find a trained nurse infinitely more useful than a wife. These thoughts flashed through Fay's mind.

Even for the sake of thirty thousand a year she could not bring herself to say yes. If she were to, she knew she should regret it hereafter. And then, all of a sudden, a kind of desperate courage came to her aid. He was gazing at her fixedly, waiting for an answer with ill-concealed anxiety. She cleared her throat, shortened her reins with such nervous haste that the good horse threw up his head im patiently, and declined Lord Hallaton's offer so gravely and firmly that apparently he realized the hopelessness of his suit. " I am much obliged. You have done me a great honour," she said, "but — it cannot possibly be." Still he did not despair. " You are very young, Fay," he replied. " A mere child in point of years. I hardly expected you would know your own mind — yet." The last word came lingeringly and with an emphasis which seemed to imply hope.

She shook her little yellow head, with its crop of cluster ing curls. " I shall try again," he continued, striving to hide a certain tremor in his voice. " You — you had better not, Lord Hallaton. It will be of no use." He looked at her with such a scrutinizing gaze that her clear hazel eyes drooped. " Why do you say that ? " he asked. " I have a right to know. Fay — tell me. Is there — is there — any one else ? " "No," she said frankly. "There is no one else — at least, not just now. I suppose I have had what people would call flirtations, but I have never cared for anybody really." "Thank God for that," he exclaimed, with a sigh of relief. "I will wait patiently for the present, but in three months I shall ask you the same question again. Perhaps by then you will be able to give me a different answer.

No doubt I appear an old suitor in your eyes. I do not come up to your girlish expectations. It could not well be otherwise. But Fay, darling " — and this time no amount of self-control could steady his voice — "if devotion on a man's part can make a bright young creature happy, you may safely trust yourself to me." So saying he crushed her hand in his, whilst his sunken grey eyes shone with such an honest light that she felt quite choky and uncom fortable. The keen wind slapped her face boisterously, and the good game hunter beneath her hobbled on bravely towards his stable, and between them they soon brought the girl to her senses. She was far too healthy, both bodily and physically, to mistake compassion for sentiment. In spite of her mother's assertion, Fay had plenty of common sense. So she squared her shoulders, sat very upright in the saddle, and murmured : " They will be horribly angry with rne at home.

I hardly know how to face them ; but I could not have acted differ ently, for whatever Lord Hallaton's faults may be, he is a good and upright gentleman, and I never came so near to liking him as I did to-day. It would have been wicked of me to deceive him." Fay imagined that the storm thus raised would quickly subside, but in this she was mistaken. Although Mr. Fairfax owned a large estate, he was extremely poor. Indeed the ill-natured went so far as to say that the hounds kept him. They were a subscription pack, and very popular. Anyhow, the master was notoriously " hard up," and many people wondered how year after year he managed to avert a crash. Fay was the apple of his eye. Her good looks and cheery disposition, her ready wit and highly-developed sporting instincts, had endeared her to him beyond any of his other children, in whom he took comparatively but a small interest.

He looked forward to her making a good marriage, and was much gratified by Lord Hallaton's evi- OUT BY HER FAMILY. 7 dent attentions. He liked Fay's suitor personally, and as they were about the same age, he did not consider him at all too old to be mated with his blooming daughter. His disappointment was almost greater than Mrs. Fairfax's, when Fay shyly announced that the ardently-wished-for offer had been made and refused. For the first time in his life he treated her harshly and severely. She felt the change keenly, and in private shed many a bitter tear. The breach, once made, widened instead of healing. In this altered condition of affairs Fay, before long, found home unendur able. She was scolded, sneered at, and ignored by turns. The latter was the most galling of the three. Her proud spirit rebelled.

She had done no wrong, and resented being treated like a culprit. The friction between parents and daughter increased rather than lessened. Fay determined to try the effect of absence. In cases similar to hers she had heard of its often proving serviceable. She had an aunt much given to romance, who alone amongst her rela tions did not wholly condemn her action with reference to Lord Hallaton. To her Fay now appealed. " Dear Aunt Flo," — she wrote, whilst bitter tears coursed down her smooth cheeks and fell in little wet splashes on the note-paper — " I am very unhappy. I have never been so unhappy in my life. May I come to you for a while, and stay until this wretched business is either for gotten or forgiven ? Papa and mamma will scarcely speak to me. I can't tell you how miserable it is.

If this is the result of having a good offer, I hope it may never again be my fate to find favour in the eyes of an ' eligible.' Mean while I am almost universally condemned, and all because I refuse, at nineteen, to be forced into marrying a man I don't care for. I have been so scolded and lectured that really I hardly know whether I am right or they are right. By 'they' I mean papa and mamma. Of course I do not mind the ill-natured things which other people say. But it is terrible giving pain to those you love, and feeling as if they stood on one side of an unclimbable hedge and you on the other. But enough of my own sensations for to-day. It is selfish of me to inflict them upon you. Only, don't say that we girls always have a good time of it, for we don't. We have to pass through many a crisis before we fulfil the paternal and maternal expectations, and settle down dully, wealthily and respectably, leaving all our foolish dreams of love and happiness behind us.

Heigho ! it seems a little hard, doesn't it ? " When Fay wrote the above letter she was goaded to desperation. During her short spell of life she had never hitherto had cause to dwell on the dark side of things, and resented its being forced upon her. Her aunt's answer proved extremely consolatory to her wounded feelings. Until quite recently she had unconsciously despised that estimable lady's intellect, regarding her as a dear, but foolish, frivolous and eccentric old personage. But now she realized, as so many of us do in our times of need, that sympathy is a, priceless gift, which goes far before talent or originality. Lady Morton did not condemn Fay altogether because she had refused to marry Lord Hallaton. On the contrary, she declared that there were quite as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it, and that without true affection the bond of matrimony was little better than a hideous prison chain.

Sneer at her if you like, call her silly and old-fashioned in her notions ; rail as you please at romance, but I am not quite snre what sort of a place this world would be were it robbed of the wealth of pure and tender sentiment stored up in many an ancient female breast. At sixty years of age Lady Morton still believed implicitly in love, and, despite many follies, was as young and fresh at heart as a schoolgirl. Fay could not possibly have found a better comforter, or one more calculated to soothe her ruffled susceptibilities.

Chapter II

A WOMAN OF SENTIMENT. For a good many years Lady Morton had been what is generally known by the name of a "frisky widow." With out there being the least harm in her, her tendencies were decidedly playful, and kept her young long after the period when women are dubbed middle-aged. But now she was getting too old to frisk, and each fresh season increased the difficulty of finding a delightful person of the masculine sex with whom to gambol. Men were not nearly as polite as they used to be. The present generation had no manners whatever, and in consequence Lady Morton gracefully and gradually sought to accustom herself to the role of lively old lady. For a long time it proved an extremely uphill task to leave off thinking oneself ever young and ever charming. It necessitated a complete mental revolution ; but the glass told disagreeable truths in the most relentless manner, and those odious years, although they glided by so swiftly, left their impress, and defied even paint and cos metics.

She had made a gallant struggle with age, but age had conquered after many a rally, many a desperate fight on the part of its victim. When this stage arrived, Lady Morton reluctantly gave up seeking the grande passion, which, had it only come in time, would have converted the autumn of her days into a glowing and beautiful Indian summer. In spite of two husbands, her capacity of love was not quenched. She had a whole wealth of affection ready to pour out on a fitting object. A little had been dribbled away during the fifteen years of her widowhood, but there still remained a large stock. As the object did not present itself, however, she took to reading ultra-sentimental novels by way of com pensation, and over these the good lady shed many a gentle, washy tear which vastly relieved her overwrought feelings.

Nature had endowed her with a sociable disposition. She liked the company of her fellow-creatures, and delighted in going to parties and giving a conventional number in return. Her hospitality was precise and discriminating, rather than boundless. If Mr. and Mrs. Smith invited her to dinner, she made a point of asking them to a similar festivity, but she did not go out of her way to desire the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Brown, beneath whose mahogany she had never stretched her legs. That was only a waste of one's substance, and incompatible with the generous rules by which society is governed. Lady Morton possessed ex ceptional opportunities for entertaining, since she lived in a delightful, roomy old house, which was within three miles of Hyde Park Corner, and described by the house agents, on the single occasion when the proprietress had let it, as perfectly unique.

Its great charm consisted in a large garden, thickly planted with limes, lilacs and laburnums. In the heat of the summer, when the noisy streets were dry and dusty, the pavements glaring, one might have fancied oneself far away in the country, so cool was the shade of the spreading trees, with their wealth of foliage and dark trunks. The birds came and twittered among their branches, and warbled forth sweet love-songs in clear, gay voices. The sky looked with its blue eyes through the many-veined leaves, and the sun shone on the pendant clusters of laburnum until they gleamed like polished gold. And the air was scented with sweet odours wafted from the lilac bushes and the pink may that grew close up to the house. All Lady Morton's friends — and they were many — went into raptures over her garden.

Certainly London did not contain many similar ones. Every year, early in July, when strawberries were plentiful, and also cream, the owner gave an al-fresco party, which was voted by the guests " quite too perfect." Girls and boys flirted to their hearts' content in the cool, dark shrubberies, whilst papa and mamma partook of the good things, and then sauntered leisurely about to do away with their effect, and the young couple dodged them with cultivated dexterity. Ah ! those shrubberies could have told some tales, no doubt. Alto gether, Lady Morton lived a very pleasant, if somewhat selfish and frivolous life. She was one of those fortunate women not given to deep thought. A very little amused her. She would talk con tentedly by the hour about Mrs. So-and-So's bonnet, the latest fashions, or how terribly dear Lady Blank had gone off since last season, whilst the merest suspicion of a flirta tion between a young man and a young woman kept her profoundly interested for days.

Her tongue would run on about what he had said to her, and she had said to him, just as if it were all of the most vital importance. This power of identifying herself with a love affair rendered her immensely popular amongst her juniors. She was the recipient of their joys and woes. They were not afraid to confide their most bitter griefs to Lady Morton, for she had a mind as fresh and romantic as their own, and no matter what age she might attain to, would always remain a girl at heart. Time might play havoc with her appearance, but it could not affect her child-like disposition. The old lady was never so happy as when she had one of her pretty nieces staying with her. They attracted men to the house and recalled her own successes, now relegated to the past. Her numerous relatives were always glad to pay " Aunt Flo " — by which name she was generally known in the family — a visit ; but Fay Fairfax, the eldest daughter of her only brother, occupied the proud position of favourite.

All through the winter Lady Morton used to inveigh against " that wretched hunting," which kept the girl so perfectly satisfied in the country. Several months had now elapsed since she had seen Fay, and she welcomed her arrival with intense pleasure. " I can't tell you how glad I am to 'have you, my dear," she said. " Your coming will regularly put fresh life into me." And she kissed the girl fondly on either cheek. Fay returned the salutation with interest, for she had been much touched by her aunt's kindness and sympathy, and looked lovingly down at the tiny figure which hardly reached to her shoulder. It seemed to have shrunk and shrivelled since their last meeting, and the face, in spite of certain little adornments, wore a pinched expression strongly indicative of suffering. " Why, Aunt Flo," said Fay abruptly, " what on earth have you been doing to yourself?

" " Nothing, my dear, nothing," answered the other, inter lacing her jewelled fingers nervously. " But you don't look at all well." " Don't I ? " " No ; I'm sure something must be the matter. You've grown so thin and so " She was going to say old, but luckily checked herself in time and substituted the word feeble. The other would have given mortal offence. " I do feel very ill," Lady Morton admitted, " though I don't know exactly what ails me. For several months past I have suffered from a severe internal pain. At first I took no notice, and went about as usual, but latterly it has got so bad I could not go anywhere. Only the day before yesterday I was obliged to write to dear Lady Sarah Makepeace and excuse myself from attending her concert. And it was such an excellent one, I hear. Mademoiselle van Harlech sang the Shadow song from " Dinorah " quite divinely, so I am told.

It is horrid feeling ill, and not being able to do things like other people." And as she spoke tears of self-pity rose to her eyes. " Why don't you see Dr. Barber ? " said Fay, alarmed by her aunt's altered appearance and depressed condition. " It is not right for you to go on like this without advice." " Bless you, child, I have seen him. He's been attending me for ever so long." "Well, and what does he say? Can't he do you any good ?" " It does not seem like it. I have swallowed his medi cines till I'm sick of them, and the pain grows steadily worse. I told him so only this morning, and the stupid fool frightened me to death by hinting at possible complica tions. I've felt quite low and nervous ever since." " I don't believe in Barber," said Fay indignantly. " He always was a pompous, slow old creature."

" He did well enough when I was strong," returned Lady Morton, "but I confess I have lost confidence in him lately. He uses such a number of long words, and some how never seems to get to the point, or let you get there either." " / shall have to take you in hand, dear Aunt Flo," said Fay soothingly. " Poor you ! Instead of enjoying yourself, and getting over your troubles, you are doomed to dance attendance on an invalid. And I've been so healthy all my life. I can't think what's the matter with me." And again the moisture sprang to Lady Morton's faded eyes, whilst her wrinkled face worked in a manner quite pitiful to behold. Fay put out her strong white hand and rested it on the other's shoulder. "You must not consider me for one minute," she said. " I am quite satisfied to stay at home, and don't want to go gadding about to parties.