How Like a Woman ... New ... edition

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HOW LIKE A WOMAN $2 tljc same .Uutfjor. PARSON JONES. 3 vols. crown Svo, cloth, price 31^. 6<i. THE RISEN DEAD. I vol. crown Svo, price y. bd A FATAL SILENCE. I vol. crown Svo, cloth, price y. bd. " The plot is well conceived . . . there is no want of interest." — ■ A thenœum. " If the authoress will always write as well and in as good taste as in 'A Fatal Silence,' shi need fear no competition in her own line." — Spectator. A SCARLET SIN. Crown Svo, cloth, price 2S. bd.; boards, 2s. THERE IS NO DEATH. Sixth E ition. I vol, crown Svo, price $$. bd. GRIFFITH, FARRAN, & CO., newbery house, 39 CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON. " — ami seizing her in Ms arms, he carried her straight through the smoke into the courtyard again, aud then ran hack into the stable." —Vol. I., p. 228. "IIow like a Woman." r,Y FLORENCE MARRYAT AUTHOR OF ''HER FATHER'S NAME," "A CROWN OF SHAME," "DRIVEN TO BAY," " A HARVEST OF WILD OATS," ETC.

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Chapter I

A WILFUL WARD. Rachel Saltoun was the only child and heiress of Lord Edgar Saltoun, youngest son of the Duke of Craig- Morris. Her parents had both died when she was a girl in the school-room, and she had inherited, through her mother, an estate in Surrey, and a large farm in Sussex; and through her father, a town house in Portland Place, which she thoroughly detested, and utterly refused to live in. She had some half-dozen heirs-presumptive, who, if they did not actually thirst for her blood, would, at least, have received the news of her death with equanimity. But she was young, vigorous, and energetic, possessing a large amount of vitality and a predominant will to live and en joy her life, which is, perhaps, the best preventive of an early demise. She was a young lady of three-and-twenty, freed from the legal control of her guardians and trustees, Sir Henry Mordaunt, her uncle, and Mr. Robert Vyse, her late father's solicitor, and in the possession of her property ; but still giving these two gentlemen a vast deal of anxiety on her account.

She was neither wild, nor what is termed in these days, fast, but she held strange theories for so young a woman; and when she had made up her mind about a thing, nothing would turn it in the opposite direction. Sir Henry Mordaunt, who held the old-fashioned no tion, that a woman has no right to think for herself, shook his head gravely over some of his niece's vagaries, and longed for the time when lie should see her married, and shift his self-constituted responsibility on to another's shoulders. But the worst of it was, that Rachel seemed in no hurry to be married. She had plenty of suitors, or her rent-roll had, but not one of them had been allowed to approach close enough to ascertain her true feeli gs concerning him. This young woman of the nineteenth century was too wide-awake to throw herself into the hands of the first handsome fellow who asked her to be his wife, or to be lieve all he said with regard to his loving her for herself alone.

She was too well content with her present condi tion to be easily beguiled into changing it. So she lived on at Catherstone, her place in Surrey, from which she had easy access to London, and left the gloomy old mansion in Portland Place in the hands of her agents, to be let or left vacant, as they saw fit. That was another grievance of Sir Henry's. Why couldn't the girl come up to town for the season, like other people, and show herself in society ? She was really handsome, and might take her choice of the best matri monial partis. But Miss Saltoun did not care for dances, and hated "afternoon teas," and generally despised all social gather ings as waste of time. " What on earth will become of her? "thought Sir Henry Mordaunt, as he walked slowly up the approach to Cather stone one lovely day in April.

He had run down from town to have luncheon with his niece, and speak to her on a subject of importance, and he had been musing over her prospects the whole way. "It is quite unaccountable," he continued to himself. " Surely she can never intend to remain single and become one of those half-masculine creatures who will defer to no opinions but their own. But Rachel is very strange very HO W LIKE A WOMAN. 7 strange indeed ! — and this last freak of hers is as unaccountable as the rest." But here his eye wandered to the masses of foliage and flowers by which he was surrounded — to the grand old red-brick mansion which lay before him, the long line of stabling and coach-houses, and the park-like grounds that sloped away to the rear — and he stamped his foot upon the gravelled drive impatiently.

" How can a girl of three-and-twenty — a mere child in business matters — direct the management of an estate like this properly — to say nothing of her Sussex property ? It is ridiculous. It requires a man to do such things. Her father was a fool not to keep it out of her hands until she was married. Then she couldn't have afforded to turn up her nose at everybody as she does now." At this moment there came down a side path a middle aged lady, dressed in black. She was a short, stout little person, with an unmeaning face, but she had a good natured, simple expression, and her eyes bore traces of having shed tears. "Hullo! Miss Montrie," exclaimed Sir Henry, raising his hat, " and where are you going to at luncheon time ? Is not that the bell sounding now ? " " Oh, Sir Henry, I have no heart for luncheon— I have not indeed — and I really don't know how many more meals I may have at Catherstone.

Miss Saltoun has so plainly shown me that she can dispense with my company and my advice." " Indeed ! You surprise and distress me, Miss Montrie. Whatever is the reason ? Have you quarrelled ? " " It is not my place to quarrel with Miss Saltoun, Sir Henry, but she has certainly quarrelled with me. I — I really don't know how it will end," said the old lady, re lapsing into tears ; " I did not think I was exceeding my duty, but Rachel — Miss Saltoun, I mean — took it in very bad part. She called me — me — impertinent, and ordered me never to presume to interfere in her private affairs again. And indeed I think I had better go, Sir Henry, for I shall never feel at home at Catherstone after what l.as passed between us. " Tut, tut, tut ! " replied the Baronet, gently ; " it will all blow over in a day or two.

Ray's bark is worse than her bite. May I ask the subject on which you differed ? " " There was no differing — at least on my side, Sir Henry, I merely carried a message to Miss Saltoun from a gentleman. I thought there was no harm in delivering it, but she resented the action as an insult." " And the gentleman was ? " " Lord Vivian ! " " I thought as much, Miss Montrie. Well ! I think you have been very hardly used, but you must know Rachel's disposition by this time. Pride is her greatest failing, and she is very reserved about her own affairs. I have come over to-day with the express purpose of talking to her about Lord Vivian. I daresay I shall get into hot water as well as yourself. I suppose she is at home ? " " Yes, Sir Henry ; but I heard her order the carriage for three o'clock. I believe she is engaged to spend the afternoon with Mrs. Ommaney."

" Oh, very well. She can drive me back again, and I shall have all the more time to talk to her. And you must cheer up, Miss Montrie, and carry a braver front. I am afraid Ray has not much sympathy with tears. She is above that sort of weakness herself." " She has little enough to cry for," replied the companion, with a sniffle. " It ought to make herfeel more for others, instead of less." " Perhaps so ; but she has the ball at her feet, and we are all more or less at her mercy. However, I don't want you to leave her just yet. She is not an easy person to get on with, I fancy ; and you have considerable patience. Trust to me to set this little matter right, and believe that it will be so." "Thank you, Sir Henry," said Miss Montrie, as he bowed, and went on his way. The luncheon bell had j ust finished ringing as he reached the house, and he walked straight into the dining-room.

Rachel Saltoun rose hastily to greet him. She was a tall young woman of five feet six, with a pliant, graceful figure. Her hair was a reddish-brown, her eyes dark gray. She had rather a long nose, and rather a wide mouth ; but good teeth, and a lovely complexion. She was not beautiful. How many women are, when you come to think of it ? The roses and lilies, lustrous eyes and Grecian noses, exist only in the imagination of second-rate novelists. We can love our friends, and take an interest in all they say and do — ay, and think them very handsome into the bargain, even though their features are not regular, nor their figures perfect. Why cannot we therefore follow the fortunes of a fictitious heroine unless she is described to be like a painted doll from a fashion-book ? One thing about the appearance of Rachel Saltoun raised her above the herd.

She looked essentially a gentlewoman, and would have looked so dressed in rags. As she came forward to welcome Sir Henry, with her proud head carried a little high upon her slender white throat, he could not help thinking how aristocratic and high-born she appeared, and what a thorough princess she would have made, had royalty been her destiny. Yet she owed nothing to her dress, which was perfectly plain, and of a simple gray mohair, braided in black. " Well, Uncle Henry ! " she exclaimed pleasantly, " and what brings you to Catherstone to-day ? " " The pleasure of seeing you, my dear," replied the Bar onet, as he embraced her. He was genuinely attached to Ray, and thought more of her than his own children — firstly, because she gave him more anxiety; and secondly, because she was so like her dead mother, Iris only sister, to whom he had been deeply attached.

" More likely a scolding," laughed the girl. " You do not generally trouble me unless you have something par ticularly nasty to say. Never mind, uncle, we'll have our luncheon first, and fortify ourselves against the blow." And pushing him merrily into a chair, she resumed her seat at the head of the table. " Miss Montrie tells me you are engaged this afternoon, Ray," commenced her uncle. " Miss Montrie ? " echoed Rachel, with the faintest access of color. " Where did you see her ? " " I met her in the grounds. Is she not coming in to luncheon ? " " I don't know," said the girl, shrugging her shoulders ; " she is a faddy old thing, and comes and goes as she pleases. But it is true that I am engaged for this after noon. I am bent on a chasse studio with Mrs. Ommaney." " Going in for more pictures, Ray ?

" " I think not, uncle ; I don't know where I should hang them. But I like to see them all, in case I should miss a good thing." By this time the meal was fully served, and the servants had left the room. "Well, you must spare me a few minutes first," said Sir Henry. " What is the cause of your quarrel with Miss Montrie ? " " She told you we had quarrelled, then ? " replied his niece, coloring. " No. She denied quarrelling on her own part, but she said she had, unfortunately, offended you. How did it come about ? " " She was impertinent," said Rachel, with a haughty look. " Impertinent ! I am surprised ! I thought the old lady was so very meek. What did she say ? " " She presumed to bring me a message from a person whom I have dismissed from my acquaintance, and when I told her she had taken anunpardonable liberty, she threw her arms round my neck, and tried to kiss me, and began calling me by my Christian name.

I never heard of such a piece of impertinence in my life. I shall have my lady's maid trying to kiss me next. I will not stand such familiarity from any one." " My dear, you cannot compare Miss Montrie with your maid. One is a lady, the other from a station inferior to your own." " They are both my dependants," replied Miss Saltoun, proudly. " But I should resent such an attempt from any one, unless I had made the first advances." " Well, I advise you to make it up with Miss Montrie. She is a good old creature, and you mustn't break her heart. Besides, remember you can't do without her." " Why cannot I do without her ? I am my own mis tress, and I know of no clause in my father's will which compels me to keep an old woman to dog my footsteps." " How could you live alone at your age ? " " Why could I not ?

Do you suppose that Miss Montrie influences any of my actions ? " " No, no ! perhaps not," replied Sir Henry, testily ; " but it is the look of the thing." " The look of the thing," repeated Rachel, somewhat con temptuously. " Yes, that is how the world judges, but you know, uncle Henry, that I don't care a pin about the world." " But you must, my dear." "I don't, and I won't," repeated the girl, firmly. "If a thing approves itself to my conscience, I will do it, spite of a hundred worlds. If it is a consideration to Miss Montrie to live at Catherstone, and a consideration to you (as my very best friend) that she should do so, let her stay. But not to dog my footsteps, or interfere with my actions, or to give me advice which is both unheeded and uncalled for. My dear father decided that at one-and twenty I was to become my own mistress, and my own mistress I mean to remain."

Sir Henry sighed. " You are a wilful girl, Ray ; you always have been, and I am afraid you will remain so to your life's end. But now, to touch on my own business with you. What made you reject Lord Vivian ? " " Is this another of Miss Montrie's confidences ? " cried Ray. " No, my dear ; it is the errand that brought me down here. Miss Montrie did mention that she had offended by carrying a message to you from that gentleman ; but he called on me yesterday himself to ask me to plead his cause with you." " He seems to consider everybody a more efficient HO W LIKE A WOMAN. 12 orator than himself. And in that, perhaps he is right," said Rachel. " My dear, what fault can you find with the man ? He is young, good-looking, and will be an earl. He is cer tainly not so rich as you are, but, luckily, you can dispense with money in the man you marry."

" But not with brains, uncle." " Lord Vivian's brains are quite as good as the average." " The average won't do for me." " What is it that you want, child ? " " Nothing at present, thanks, except the carriage. Will you drive back to town with me, and we can continue this delightfully-interesting subject on the way." " It was just what I was going to propose, my dear, for I cannot leave the matter thus." " All right, uncle. We will sift it to the bitter end. But you must give me twenty minutes to dress. A chasse studio demands my best frock. Who knows if I may not meet the one to-day, and then, only think how pleased you will be ! " And with a mocking smile, that was altogether good tempered, Rachel left Sir Henry to his own musings. They were rather grave. " If she were not so thoroughly sweet about it all, one might quarrel with her," he thought ; " but it is impos sible to do that.

She has got some absurd idea about independence, and being her own mistress in her head, and nothing will turn her resolution. She has far too determined a will, and too open a way of speaking for a woman. Men don't like it. It frightens them away. Who can she take after ? Her mother was a baby com pared to her. She is resolved to walk through the world alone, and when women try to do that, they invariably come to grief. They haven't the strength, nor the power, nor the head to do it." But here Sir Henry heard the carriage drive up to the door, and walked out into the hall to await the coming of his niece.

Chapter II. Kate Cranley

In a few minutes, Miss Saltoun appeared on the wide staircase, dressed in a costume of the finest fawn-colored cloth, with high sleeves, and trimmings of brown velvet. Her face was shaded by a small hat, that only showed a few tiny curls like vine tendrils clustering on her forehead. A white wing adorned one side of it, and a point lace fichu was tied round her throat ; otherwise, she was guiltless of all ornament, and except for the quality of the materials, and the exquisite cut of her dress, it might have been that of a school-girl. Sir Henry Mordaunt looked at it rather disapprovingly. " Not smart enough, uncle ? " said Rachel, gayly, as she came forward, pulling on her long Suede gloves. " I don't like smart things, Ray, but you are certainly very unlike most girls of your age. You never wear a flower or a jewel.

What has become of all your mother's rings and brooches ? " " Oh, they are safe enough, locked away upstairs," replied Rachel, as she entered the carriage. " Why do you not wear them ? " " Well, to tell you the truth, uncle, I hate jewellery. It is so terribly in the way. Rings I detest. One can do nothing with one's fingers laden with rings. And brace lets are still worse, and I can't bear to wear anything round my throat. So I am reduced to brooches, and I acknowledge they are useful. See ! I am wearing one of dear mother's now — a black pearl set in diamonds. I seldom go out without it." " But in your position, Ray, and with your large amount of jewellery, it is a positive duty you owe to society to let people see sometimes what you possess." " Do you really think so ? I am sorry, for that is a duty, I am afraid, I shall never perform.

And I should only lose them, Uncle Henry. I should drop my rings in the pig-stye, when I am patting my little didlings ; and my bracelets in the manger, whilst I am feeding my horses." " Pigsties and mangers ! " exclaimed the Baronet. "When shall I ever convince you, Rachel, that a lady of your birth and education should have nothing to do with such places ? " " Never, uncle. Whilst I possess them, I shall look after them. Besides, they are my greatest pleasures. I woulcl not give up my flower and fruit gardens and my stables and farm for all the amusements that London could afford me." " They are all very well in their way, my dear, but it is not a lady's part to look after them personally. It requires a man to do such things." " Well, Benwell is, of course, the real superintendent of the live stock, but I choose to superintend Benwell.

Did you see my new mastiff, uncle ? " " No ! Ray ! I was thinking of a far more important matter than mastiffs. Will you let me resume the ques tion I put to you in the luncheon room, and tell me why you have refused so eligible a match as Lord Vivian ? " " Willingly. I had several reasons. Imprimis, he is not good enough for me." " Not good enough ! " "Certainly not. Wasn't his grandfather a bookseller, or something of that sort ? " " By no means. His great-grandfather did commence life, I believe, in trade, but his grandfather rose to a high position under Government ; and his father was created Earl of Ilford in return for the noble manner in which he stepped forward to help the nation during the Russian war. He is a veiy old man now, past eighty, and Lord Vivian will be Earl of Ilford before many years are over his head."

" Dear me ! How very interesting ! Earl Mushroom Number Two," replied Miss Saltoun, sarcastically. " He is a very worthy young man, and would make you an excellent husband," said Sir Henry. " What may be your other reasons for refusing his offer?" " One is quite sufficient," said Rachel, elevating her head. " I do not consider the blood of a bookseller's great grandson to be good enough to mix with that of the grand daughter of the Duke of Craig Morris. I would sooner marry a commoner of good birth, any day, than one of these Brummagem aristocrats. I consider it a disgrace to the nation that they should be allowed to exist. And. added to this, I dislike Lord Vivian personally, and would not marry him if he belonged to the blood Royal." " You are uncommonly hard to please, Ray," sighed Sir Henry.

" Last year you refused half-a-dozen eligible suitors." " Who all came after my money-bags. You know that as well as I do, uncle. I am a rich woman, and these men wanted my property — not me. Do you think I can't see through them ? And I prefer my property to them, and no one has a right to quarrel with my decision." " But, my dear child, you must marry some day." " I might answer you in the words of Rousseau to the author who averred he must live, ' ye ne vois pas la neces site.'" " Oh ! that is nonsense," replied Sir Henry, testily. " You can never intend to remain an old maid, and let all your money fall into the open maw of some distant cousin. You must marry ; you owe it to yourself and your dead parents. And you are getting on, you know, Ray. You were three-and-twenty last birthday, and a woman begins to go down hill after five-and-twenty."

Ray looked at her gloves for a few moments thoughtfully, then said, — " Well, there's one comfort, I'm not a beauty, and so am the less likely to deteriorate. But as to the marriage question, uncle, I cannot be coerced. I think it is very unlikely that I shall ever marry. I have no wish to do so. I am perfectly happy as I am, and I have certainly never seen the man yet for whom I would give up my liberty." " You are too proud, Rachel ; that's what is the matter, my dear. You think no living man good enough for you." " Oh, yes, I do ! or, I mean I should, if I could find him ; but he has not come across my path yet. And I will take my father's blood virgin to the grave sooner than contaminate it." " What do you call contamination ? Birth in a lower sphere of society than your own ? " " No, uncle.

Fusing my life with one that cannot bear the light of day, that has been a career of dissipation and wrong-doing." "Oh, Ray, Ray! You are too particular. You will never marry at this rate. Men are not like women, you know, my dear." " I am quite aware of it, uncle. I was twenty-three — as you remarked just now — last birthday, but my husband (if ever I have a husband) must be very much above the ordinary run of men in every respect." " You want a god from Olympus, my dear, and they don't come down to take wives from the daughters of men nowadays." " Let them stay away, then," cried Rachel, irreverently, " for I don't want them. I am quite contented alone. Who could be situated more fortunately ? My own mis tress, with everything I can require about me, and no one to control my actions. Please don't pity me, uncle ; I consider myself one of the luckiest girls in the world."

" If you would only come and stay in Ladgrove Square during the season," argued Sir Henry, " your aunt would be delighted to take you about with Rosie and Lena, and then you might have some chance of seeing others, and being seen yourself." "Of being properly put up to sale, you mean," laughed Rachel. " No, dear uncle, I know your intentions are kindly, but I shouldn't enjoy myself. Rosa and Lena are dear girls, and Aunt Mary is always good to me, but we haven't the same tastes. You know that I am fond of study and quiet, and a free country life, and hate dancing and chatter, and scandal ; so that we should be all at logger heads. If I could stand a London life, I should take up residence in the family mausoleum in Portland Place. But I love Catherstone better, so leave me there in peace."

" And yet you are going to Mrs. Ommaney's this after noon ? " " Oh, yes ; I like to visit my friends now and then ; besides, I am going to see pictures. Do you remember the great stir that was made last year by au Academy picture called ' The Birth of Spring ? ' It was a marvellous creation, and by quite an unknown artist, named Salter. It is to his studio that Mrs. Ommaney is going to take me this afternoon. She could not give me a greater treat, for there is nothing I care for so much as painting. The worst part of it is, that it makes me so terribly disgusted with my own efforts. They say Mr. Salter's picture for this year is twice as good as the last, and that he is the coming R.A. How I wish I had some companion to sym pathize with my tastes. I cannot stand Miss Montrie, and her eternal acquiescence, any longer.

She is like an irritating echo. I shall give her a year's salary, and let her go, and ask Mrs. Cranley to come and live with me in her stead." " Who is Mrs. Cranley, Ray ? " " Don't you remember Kate Aubyn ? She married a Mr. Cranley in the War Office, but he died last year, and left her very badly off. She is a better artist than I am, and would improve my drawing, and I know she would be only too glad to accept the position of watch-dog (as if I would let anyone watch me)." " I am afraid it would be a thankless office, Ray. But about this Mrs. Cranley. Haven't I heard rumors of her being rather fast ? " Miss Saltoun fired up in a moment. " Fast ! That is just like the ill-nature of people in this horrid world. How could the poor girl be fast on a hundred and fifty a year ? Why, she can hardly keep bread in her mouth and a dress on her back, and works like a slave at her painting to make ends meet.

And yet, I suppose, if she sometimes goes to the theatre with a friend, or has a little luncheon or supper in the Strand, people are uncharitable enough to put the worst construetion on her actions. But she is pretty. That is her greatest sin, and so all the scandal-mongers must pick her to pieces." " Hush, hush ! my dear Ray, you need not exert yourself so warmly in defence of your friend. I certainly have heard Mrs. Cranley mentioned as making herself notice able, but I am quite ready to believe it to be untrue on your authority. But are you seriously thinking of sup planting Miss Montrie by this lady ? " " I don't think I was seriously thinking of it until you said she was ' fast,' but I shall certainly do it now. Mrs. Cranley evidently wants a friend, and I will be one to her." " And poor Miss Montrie must be the sacrifice ?