Just a Love Story ... Illustrated

Front matter

JUST A LOVE STORY L. B. WALFORD'S NOVELS. New Uniform Edition. Crcnxm 8z'e, cloth extra, price 25. 6d. each, witM ditched Frontispiec, MR. SMITH : A Part of his Life. THE BABYS GRANDMOTHER. COUSINS. TROUBLESOME DAUGHTERS. PAULINE. DICK NETHERBY. THE HISTORY OF A WEEK. * To be followed by other Works by the same Author. SPENCER BLACKETT, 35 ST. BRIDE STREET, LONDON, E.C. May be obtained at al! Booksellers and Railway Bookstalh •• Have you any of your last monthly salaries left ? " — Page rj. JUST A LOVE STORY KY L. T. MEADE AUTHOR OF --P.4PDYS SOT," " T111Z 0DONNELLS OF IXCHFAU'N," " SCAMP AND /," FTC. 1ZTC. 3llus3trateJ> LONDON SPENCER BLACKETT 35 ST. BRIDE STREET, LUDGATE CIRCUS, E.C. 1890 \_A d rights rcsers-erf] CONTENTS. tHAP- PAGE I. A VISIONARY I ill. A CONSOLER 9 III. THE WORTH OF A BREAKFAST 21 IV.

UNEXPECTED NEWS 31 V. BANK-NOTES 42 VI. CHANGE OF SCENE 55 VII. FRIVOLOUS AND A FLIRT 73 VIII. HE WOULD NOT MISS 85 IX. WHAT ABOUT LOUIS 94 X. SEE THE CONQUERING HERO 105 xi. ,mrs. Forrester's story 119 XII. CROSS PURI'OSES 134 XIII. AT LAST 144 XIV. WE HAVE NOT MET FOR A YEAR 155 XV. 'TO THE RESCUE 16S XVI. A COMFORTER 184 XVII. SATISFACTORY TERMS _. . 197 XVIII. A MEETING IN ST. JAMES'S PARK 207 XIX. MOTHER AND SON 2l6 XX. A CHANGED VERDICT 230 XXI. THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD . 243 XXII. A PROOF-READER 254 XXIII. A LORDLY MESSAGE 266 XXIV. SUNSHINE 274 b <( LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PACE ' HAVE YOU ANY OF YOUR LAST MONTHLY SALARIES LEU ? ' ' 17 PATTY SAT MOTIONLESS ON THE FLOOR IN TIIF DRAWING ROOM " 42 SHALL WE GO UP AND ADMIRE THAT VIEW?' ' Hj TELL ME ANYTHING YOU I.IKE,' SHE SAID ICILY 122 STANHOPE RETURNED WITH IT, AND PRESENTED IT TO MISS CUNNINGHAM" l6l 'POOR LITTLE THING!' SAID ELIZABETH, BENDING OVER HER •. I9I 'BETTY, BETTY! THEY'VE COME!'" 25I MR. BEAUFORT WAS SOOTHED AND ELATED BY TWO SUCH ENTHUSIASTIC CRITICS"

Chapter I

A VISIONARY J|f|TF|^|HE sun was sending slanting rays 'j^j-4 fcsrf? through a western window into Mr. 1 Jbeautorts modest house, as he wended his way slowly, very slowly, home. He was a middle-aged man, with a slight stoop and grey hair, which he wore falling over his shoulders. His face was handsome but slightly discontented ; his mouth had some bitter lines round it ; his whole expression was irritable. In all respects he looked like a man who had missed the right A turning in life. He walked up two or three shallow steps to the suburban villa in Bays water where he lived, and opened his own hall door writh a latch-key. The house bore all the evidence of belonging to the cheap suburban class. The entrance-hall was extremely narrow, and the stairs which led to the storey above both narrow and steep.

The ground floor was arranged after the method of thousands of other similar houses — namely, a drawing-room to the front, and a dining-room to the back — the two divided by folding doors. The drawing-room had a bay-window, through which the sun was now sending floods of yellow light ; the dining room had French window-doors, which opened on to steps leading into a dreary little square of ground, called, for the sake of the name, a garden. Nothing could be more commonplace than the house, nothing more absolutely every day than its arrangements, and Mr. Beaufort entered it now with one of his habitual sio-hs. He was an ambitious man, and considered that THOSE GIRLS AGAIN 3 he had a soul very far above his petty surroundings, When he came into the hall, sounds of laughter and gay young voices greeted him.

" Those girls again ! " he muttered, under his breath. " Giddy-pates — silly, laughing giddy pates ! " Then he opened the drawing-room door and went in. It was an untidy room, but by no means ugly or inartistic in its arrangements. Four girls occupied it — four busy, active, energetic girls. " Here's father," said Patty, the youngest, and instantly four tongues ceased to chatter, four pairs of lips no longer smiled, and all eyes -were turned with a look of expectation, though •scarcely of pleasure, on the fretful-looking man who had disturbed some pleasant chatter. " Is tea ready, Patience?" he said, addressing the girl who had exclaimed on his entrance. She was a little creature, with a slight figure, and brown softly tinted face ; her eyes and hair were also of a gentle tone of brown ; her man ner was bright and unassuming.

" Patty, we are starving for tea ! " said Ethel, the eldest sister; while Constance got up from where she was kneeling on the rug, and began to smooth and arrange her hair before a small glass which stood over the mantelpiece. Patty darted off apologetically, saying she would see about tea at once, and then a fourth figure rose very slowly out of the depths of an easy-chair, and a full, rich, pleasant voice said very brightly : " Have you brought us any good news, Uncle Egbert ? " "No, Elizabeth, I have not," he replied. " Publishers have no discernment, no knowledge, no wisdom, these days. There, my dear," he added, looking with a suddenly softened expression into the beautiful face of his young questioner, " I did not mean to worry you with my affairs. One of you girls let me know YOU HAVE LOTS OF MONEY 5 when tea is ready — I am going down to my study."

He left the room and the three girls looked at one another. "There!" said Constance, "it's just as I thought — he has been disappointed again. Why won't he try to get some steady work in his profession, instead of dabbling in literature ? Of course I knew that poem would never be accepted ! Who wants long, stupid, tiresome poems these days ? Oh, I have no patience with father, frittering away his talents as he does ! " " Still, you might be a little sorry for his disappointment," said Elizabeth, sinking grace fully once more into an easy-chair. " I do wish the publishers would be lenient — he'd have been so delighted, the dear old man ! " " It's very easy for you to be sorry for him, Betty," said Ethel, the eldest of the girls, " but you are not a fair judge — you are an outsider and independent — you have lots of money of your own, and can get no end of pretty dresses — and whatever you wear you look lovely in — oh, dear ! — whereas we " " Poor old Ethel !

" said Betty, springing to her feet, running to her cousin, and kissing her affectionately : " I am so sorry ! I wish I could divide my money amongst you all ; but I thought you were very glad to be in the Post Office." " I'm not," said Ethel ; " I hate it — it's a most grinding life, and in this hot weather it is quite intolerable. No, sixty pounds a year is not worth the suffering of earning it." " We are hardly treated," broke in Con stance; "I don't think girls ought to have to earn their living ; and, I repeat again, I have no patience with father. You are not a fair judge, Elizabeth, and it is very tiresome your taking his part." " But Patty takes his part too," said Eliza beth ; " and she has much the dullest life of you all." THEN SHE ROSE 7 " Oh ! Patty — poor little thing ! she'd pity any one who even wore a frown ; but she is quite a child still, and she will be wiser by-and-by."

" Never, I hope," said Elizabeth, with fer vour ; " I love her for her tender heart." Then she rose and went out of the room, walking across the little drawing-room in indo lent but graceful fashion, and stepping up the narrow stairs to her own bedroom, which was fairly large, and was on the first floor, with the air of a young princess. Here she changed her morning dress for a very pretty evening one — put some choice cut flowers into her hair ; and when Ethel and Constance were going into the room where Patty had prepared the tea, Elizabeth was seen sailing downstairs in her lovely dress, ready to go off with her chaperon, a lady who was now waiting for her at the door in a brougham. "It is hard on us," said Constance; "I al most wish we did not live in the same house ; it keeps me in a continual fret to see Elizabeth looking so beautiful and happy, and having such a good time."

"Hush!" said Ethel, "she may hear you ; you know we could not do without her money." " Good-bye, girls," called out Elizabeth in her gay voice ; " I'll bring you back all the stories I can to cheer you up. Good-bye, Patty-pan ! " " Good-bye, dear Betty," said Patty, running eagerly out of the little sitting-room where tea was waiting. " I hope you'll have a lovely, lovely time. You do look so sweet ! "

Chapter II

A CONSOLER .||Jn|fSf HE girls took their places at the tea llsw $ML ta^e> an<^ looked round for their *£*** father. " He's not coming," said Patty ; " I took him down his tea to the study ; he's not very well ; he's had another trouble." "Now look here, Patty," said Constance, speaking with energy, " Elizabeth is not here to take your part, and you really must listen to us. It's perfect folly your speaking of father's silly disappointments with publishers as troubles. If he would only take them to heart, and give up writing useless poetry, they might be regarded as blessings in disguise." " How can you, Constance," said Patty, her brown eyes flashing ; " how can you speak in that contemptuous tone of what our father writes ? his lovely, lovely thoughts ! It is a great sorrow to me their not appearing before the world.

This is my trouble as well as father's, and I cannot think how you can be so unkind as not to feel it also. Did you see his face this evening ? Why, he looked five years older." " Don't waste your temper, my dear," said Ethel in her most tantalising voice ; " we won't discuss the subject, Constance, how are you getting on at that type-writing office ? Are you likely to earn anything worth speaking of? You see, as our father will spend his time over poetry, and Patty will encourage him, you and I must put our shoulders to the wheel." "You are horrid," said Patty, letting the lids droop over her eyes, so that no one might see the quick tears which filled them ; but the next moment she was laughing merrily at some WHO IS THAT? n smart remark of Ethel's, and then her April face became full of sadness when Constance complained of headache, and said she knew she should lose her health unless she had some change.

Certainly, to look at her, outsiders would have said that Patty was far too sympa thising, and that she would undoubtedly wear herself out before her time if she took every body else's troubles so strongly to heart. In the course of that same evening, as Mr. Beaufort was sitting in his tiny study down stairs, with quires of loose manuscripts scattered before him, his pen in his hand, and deep meditation on his brow, he was roused by a gentle tap at the door. Who is that ? I don't want to be dis turbed ! " he called out. " I won't disturb you, father," said Patience, coming in with the air of a privileged child. " I have brought my work ; and if you are in clined to be kind to me " Mr. Beaufort's brow relaxed. Something like the dawning of a smile played round his lips. "Well, well, Patty, what a little trouble-the house you are !

What is your particular whim now, my dear ? You know this is my busiest hour. I have got the dawning of a great con ception, Patience, and I am jotting down my first rough ideas." " Yes, father ; I am sure it will be something lovely. Here, I will sit at your feet— that will be quite cosy. Now, won't you tell me about it?" " No, my dear ; no. To speak of an un formed idea takes the bloom off it." Here Mr. Beaufort's hand stroked his young daughter's brown head indulgently. " This will be a great work, Patience," he continued ; " this new idea must succeed." " Of course it must, father." " Your sisters don't believe in me, Patty ; but you and Elizabeth do." " Oh, yes ; and we admire your writing so NOT DISCOURAGED 13 much ! Con and Ethel will quite agree with us some clay. I think, father, it's rather a good sign of a work for the publishers to refuse it."

"Well, my dear, I am not discouraged. I was for an hour or two, but I have got over it. It is, on the whole, the best thing that could have happened to me. The poem on Troy rejected by Messrs. Santley and Gibbs is nothing like as great as the poem about — ahem ! the poem which is to be written. When I appear before the world, Patience, it will be as the author of something vigorous, unique, magnificent. You will be proud of your father some day, my little girl ! " " I am now," said Patty, with fervour ; "only I'm sorry you are tired of the poem about Troy, for I am not ; I love it. I thought you would read me some more to-night. That was what I came to ask you." " No, my dear, I cannot ; it would upset my embryo thoughts. The new poem is to be something altogether different. It is to be modern, satirical ; it will contain some lashes to punish the sins of the multitude.

There, there ! I will not speak of it, my child, only I must hasten to perfect my ideas, and then get them into verse. I shall use occasional rhyme in this poem ; blank verse, the finest of all, is above the heads of the poor triflers of the nineteenth century. I must stoop to be popular, Patience ; but I can afford this slight concession, for my theme is splendid. Ah ! the publishers won't refuse this poem ! Fame and money and all will come with it, never fear ! " "We do want money," said Patty, with a little sigh — hastily suppressed. " I am awfully sorry to trouble you, father, but the quarter's rent has been due for over a month now, and Mr. Payne sent round for it again this afternoon. " My dear Patience ! how indiscreet you are ; nothing so disturbs the flow of imagination as allusion to these sordid cares.

Now, my child, I really must beg of you to leave me in peace." LEAVE ME IN PEACE 15 Patty's brown cheeks grew a little pale " But Mr. Payne said " she began. " My dear, you must consult with your sisters ; they are both earning, and must con trive to make up the amount between them. Long before next quarter-day I can pay it back. A poem such as I am about to be engaged on will be worth hundreds of pounds. Speak to Ethel and Constance about the rent, and leave me in peace. Patty slowly, very slowly, left the room. As wearily as if her small feet were weighted with lead, she crept up the basement stairs, and crossing the hall, once more entered the drawing-room. Constance was reading a story by the light of a shaded lamp. Ethel was put ting clean frills on the dress she wore at her office. " Oh, Patty," she exclaimed, as her young sister appeared, " you might finish this for me.

It would be a delicious luxury to sit doing nothing. I do ache all over ! " Patty might have remarked that Ethel generally indulged in the luxury of doing nothing every evening ; she was not fond of reading, and considered that her toils at the Post Office abundantly entitled her to any amount of idling at home. " There, you little thing ! you'll be glad of something to do," she said, tossing the yards of frilling and the black cashmere body into Patty's lap. " I think," said Constance, suddenly raising her eyes, and speaking abruptly, " that the style of wearing ribands round the neck and sleeves is much more economical, and prettier, than frilling. Why don't you adopt it, Ethel ? Those constant frills of yours really act on my nerves." Ethel tossed her head, and leaning back lazily in her chair, stifled a yawn.

Patty worked for bare life ; suddenly she flung down the body of the dress, let all the frilling stream in wild confusion on the floor, and spoke with desperate energy : BLESS THE CHILD 17 "Sisters, do tell me! have you any of your last monthly salaries left ? " " Bless the child ! " said Ethel, "what is she after now ? A new frock, eh ? Oh, come now, Patty-pan, that last grenadine is quite present able still." " No, no," said Patty, tears springing to her eyes, "it's the rent — it's the dreadful, dreadful quarter's rent — it has been overdue for a month, and Mr. Payne is so angry, and father has no money to give to it, and he said I was to — ask - — you " Well, here's a pretty state of things," said Constance, flinging down her book and begin ning to pace the floor. " Father buries himself in his rubbishing poems, and expects us to keep the roof over him.

You know perfectly, Patty.. it's most unfair. I pay fifteen shillings a week, as it is, to the house expenses, and Ethel does even more than that — don't you, Ethel ? " " I give eighteen shillings," said Ethel; "it's the most monstrous thing I ever heard in my B life. Did he really and truly say you were to come to us, Patty ? " " Yes." said Patty, in a very tearful voice. " He said next time he could meet it ; he ex pects to be quite rich next quarter." "So likely!" replied Constance. "Well, look here, Patty : I have got no money — not a penny. How much is the quarter's rent ? " " It's ten pounds twelve," said Patty. " The landlord says it's very little, and that when the lease is up next vear he must raise it ; and there's the gas and the water-rate, too. I don't know what's to be done."

" Nor do I," said Ethel. " I really and truly think this is too hard en us ; father buries himself in his books, and does not give a single thought to how the roof is kept over his head, nor how the bread and butter and beef and mutton get on his table. How can he suppose that I can do much on sixty pounds a year ? And as to poor Con, she has not even that." " I'm very unhappy about it," said Patty. POSSIBLE GENIUSES 19 " There, Ethel darling, the frills are sewn in so nicely ! I do think, sisters, that if we could make a great effort just for this one quarter that things might be better next. I have a reason for this — a great reason. You know, Ethel and Con, our father is a genius, and you know, too, that all the books of story and history tell of the darkness and misery which accompany genius, until, all of a sudden, the world sees the real, beautiful thing, and then !

That will be the way with father ; concluded Patty, her eyes shining. " Really, Patience," exclaimed Ethel, " you do talk the most absolute rubbish ! We have all got to live, and not to think about possible geniuses. "Yes," said Patty, sobering down instantly; " and we must pay the quarter's rent. I wonder how much I could get for my pretty little pearl ring ? I'm quite willing to sell it, and the gold chain that my godmother gave me." " You wouldn't get much for either of them, child. Oh, what an awful nuisance this is ! Con, my dear, there's our last chance of a little summer trip shattered at a blow ! " " I'll tell you what it is," said Constance ; " if this kind of thing goes on, I'll go into lodgings on my own account. I will call my earnings my own, and not render myself liable to be deprived of them at a fell swoop any moment.

Well, Ethel, we are in for it, I suppose. I'd better go round to the dressmaker the first thing in the morning, and countermand that new dress ; and please, Patty, go into the hall, and bring me back that letter which waits to be posted. I meant to have gone to Richmond with Edith Grey and her brother on Saturday, but, of course, I should have had to pay my share, and now I shall have no money. There, Patty, don't stare at me with those round eyes. I am going to finish my book, whatever hap pens ; only I do wish — yes, I do, that I was not Constance Beaufort, but her rich and lucky ccusin, Elizabeth Cunningham."

Chapter III. The Worth Of

A BREAKFAST FTER all her trouble, Patty Beaufort slept soundly. She was quite accustomed to these periodical outbursts about the quarter's rent. She never remem bered the time when the gas was paid before the supply was threatened to be cut off. She never could recall her father bringing back much money, nor the family purse being any thing but very, very slightly provided for. Mr. Beaufort was a barrister by profession but he infinitely preferred literature to law and as, notwithstanding all his efforts, the successful in literature had never come to him, so also, because he so utterly neglected them, the briefs which might have been his gradually ceased to arrive. His wife had died when Patty was a baby. During her lifetime. and for some years after her death, the family lived on the capital of her very small fortune.

When that at last was expended, Ethel and Constance were supposed to have finished their education. Ethel obtained a situation in the General Post Office, and Constance found a rather precarious living by shorthand and type writing. Patty stayed at home and kept house, but it was Elizabeth Cunningham who in reality kept the house going. She was an heiress on a small scale, and when she came of age would of course become completely her own mistress. At Dresent her guardians washed her to live with her uncle, Mr. Beaufort, and they paid ,{, 200 a year for the scant comforts she was to receive in his household. She was a very warm-hearted and affectionate girl, however, and it never occurred to her to complain of the often badly provided board, and the many evi- OH, THAT RENT ! 23 dences of poverty which were all too apparent in No. 24 Beatrice Gardens, Bayswater.

The next morning Pattv rose with the lark ; it was the middle of summer, and fresh and joyous as the birds the young girl awoke. "Oh, that rent!" she said to herself, as she hastily dressed, and brushed out her curling brown hair — " how cross the girls are about it ! Poor darlings, I really don't wonder— they have to work so hard ; and Ethel looks very pale, and wants a change. Con will be bitterly disappointed, too, without her new dress, and her expedition with the Greys on Saturday- Poor old Con ! poor old Ethel ! Still, the rent must be paid, and father will be able to do it all himself, and pay the girls back this loan by next quarter-day. I wish Ethel and Con would believe in father. I know he feels their want of sympathy. Oh, what a lovely morning this is_notwithstanding that horrid rent, I feel as if I must dance."

Patty skipped about her room, hummed a favourite air in a very untrained little voice, put her head out of her bedroom window, which was very high up, but had all the better air for being so, and having got a good fresh draught of the delicious summer breeze into her lungs, she ran briskly downstairs. Patty had a reason for getting up when the rest of the household was sleeping. She and old Jane (their one servant) had a good deal to do at this hour. Jane was a very old and rather feeble domestic, and could not have got through the household work, nor prepared a breakfast sit for that important young person, Miss Cun ningham, to eat, without Patty's help. But this early rising on the part of the youngest Miss Beaufort was kept a profound secret from the rest of her family. If any of them suspected it, they certainly never spoke of the fact.

" Here I am, Jane," said Patty, on this brilliant morning. " I have dusted the dining room, and put father's study in order. Now what have we for breakfast ? " GIVE THEM THE USUAL 25 Jane happened to have a touch of rheumatism, and was a little tart in consequence. ' There's the ' as usual ' for breakfast, Miss Patty," she replied ; " 'am and cooking eggs — them eggs you get twenty to the shilling — ■ there's the bread and the Dorset. Now, Miss Patty, you're not going to make up any fallals this morning ! Give them the usual — fried heggs and fried 'am — what more need they be wanting ? " " I'm going to make an omelette," said Patty with decision. ' Fetch me the herbs, Jane dear, and then you can sit down on your chair by the fire and nurse your poor stiff knee." "It isn't right, Miss Patty," said Jane; "it isn't as it should be.

The kitchen is too hot for young things like you on a summer's morning. If I was you, Miss, I'd let Miss Cunningham eat what I can cook for her, instead of flushing up your cheeks and reddening your eyes over the fire with that omelette. There, there ! dear sakes ! you're not going to put three eggs into it! Why, wherever are we going to get any more ?" "It must be made properly," said Patty firmly ; " I am going to make a large omelette, enough for every one's breakfast." " Oh yes, Miss Patty, I know how much of it you'll eat. It's sinful waste, my dear — sinful w-aste ! And tell me, lovey — have you spoke about the water-rate to your pa, yet ? It's to-morrow they're coming to cut off the supply." "Oh, is it really?" said Patty, her young face flushing. "Oh, what a worry money is! I'll see about it, Jane, of course.

Thank you for reminding me." " Dear heart, you'll grow old before your time ; what with the cooking, which is well known to wither up the youngest complexion, and what with the money worrits, which is also known to bring forward the grey hairs most plentiful, there'll be nothing young about you soon. A DELICIOUS SCHEME 27 " Oh, won't there ! " said Patty, as she dished up her omelette. " See here, Jane ! I feel like a baby this morning, and not ail the money cares in Europe could oppress me." "Bless you, dear!" said the old servant. " Now I'll take up the breakfast, and y-ou run up to your room and make yourself fit to be seen." When the Beaufort family assembled at breakfast there was no trace of last night's disturbance visible on any one's brow. Patty was her usual brown-eyed, bright little self.

Ethel and Constance were both in a hurry, and drank up their coffee and ate their share of the delicately prepared omelette in business fashion. Mr. Beaufort buried himself behind his newspaper, and Elizabeth toyed with her breakfast, and looked more beautiful even than usual in a white washing dress. " Patty," she said suddenly, towards the close of the meal, " I have a delicious scheme in my head. I want to consult you about it after breakfast." " And I want to speak to you, too, Patty," said Ethel; "just come with me into the drawing-room for a minute." When Ethel said this, Constance sighed profoundly, and Mr. Beaufort raised his head from his paper. " My dear," he said, arousing himself, and bringing back a look of reality to his dreamy eyes, " are you ill ? That sigh sounded quite sepulchral."

" I want a little pleasure," said Constance fretfully, "and I can't have it — that's why I sigh." " My dear child, can't have pleasure ! and you not yet one-and-twenty ! Take it, my dear Constance ; don't devote all your time to that useless type-writing and shorthand. Young girls are made for pleasure, my dear — remember that." Here Mr. Beaufort rose from the table. "Have you any message, Elizabeth?" he said. " I am just going round to my club." CUT FLOWERS 29 "None, thank you, Uncle Egbert," replied Elizabeth — " or, yes, you may bring me in a shilling's worth of cut flowers from the florist's on your way home." She took the money out of a dainty little purse, and handed it to her uncle. He took it abstractedly, slipped it into his waistcoat pocket, and once more stopped to glance at Constance.