A Passion in Tatters. A novel

Chapter I

After that evening Stella believed tbat she saw Piupert Lyon very much more as he was than she had ever seen him before. He was a man now with whom the world wagged easily, and he was well con tented with such easy wagging. He had strongly developed that latent power of satisfied endurance which had characterised his submission to the en gagement with Barbara. He had clearly shown to Stella, without intending to show it — so rendering the sight all the more painful — that he had been able to do very well, and to find life a pleasant and profitable thing, without her. He was happy ! He was happy ! AU the agonies of fidelity, all the agonies of disappointment, all tbe agonies of remorse, were hers. They were the chief component parts of her woman's portion, of her sex's heritage. It only behoved her to bear them as bravely as she VOL. III. b might ; it only behoved her to pray that if she had daughters, she might, by virtue of her experience, teach them to guard themselves against themselves, as — she had not done.

The beautiful vivacious little Ninon — the child of the dull lymphatic woman who was dead — became a great pet of Stella's in these days ; and sometimes she allowed the thought, " Our children at least may be united," to dwell hi her mind, entertaining it with pleasure that had a slight alloy of pain in it. But she never spoke of this possibility even to her husband, regarding it as a thing that could only happen when the glory of life had quite gone off from herself and Arthur and Rupert, leaving them grey, and glad of the interest of their children's loves. AVatching these two children at play on the sands one day, she saw Ethel Huntingdon again, the centre of what looked very much like a family party. And a feeling of bitterness crept into her heart once more about the girl. " It was hard," she told herself, " that this girl, who had gone to such lengths " (SteUa could not tell herself exactly what she meant by this phrase — she only " used it," as we are all apt to do) — " it was hard that she should have such bulwarks of respectability reared around her now, and be treated as if they were her natural boundaries; while she ■(Stella), the woman who had never done anything wrong, who had never flirted, never defied society, should be scouted by it, and put out of its con sideration."

The mere aspect of the group which excited this bitter feeling, almost justified it. There was the elderly clergyman, Mr. Arden, walking on one side of Ethel, while Hugo and his sister supported her on the other side. It all looked fair and promising enough — a pleasant family picture with the animus left out. But Ethel knew what Stella did not know, namely, that she (Ethel) was on her trial that day, and that the chances were very much in favour of lier being found guilty. Mrs. Arden had accepted the pill of her brother's projected marriage, and had swallowed it with a very bad grace. The evil flavour of it was very much in her mouth still ; and Ethel knew that her future sister-in-law's snaky dislike to her was rscotched, not killed. She knew it intuitively the moment Mr. and Mrs. Arden joined them at this watering-place.

She had further conviction afforded her, though that was unnecessary, in the tone in which Mrs. Arden said — " Oh, Hugo, I see that Ethel's old friends, the Carhayeses, are staying here. I suppose you see a ■great deal of them, don't you ? " B The attack had been made suddenly, and Ethel1 had been off guard to-day. For once confusion made her cowardly. " AVe haven't seen much of them yet," she replied,. keenly remembering that rencontre, and fondly pray ing that she might never see them again, since the sight had brought about her first humiliation. " Not seen much of them yet ? I am surprised at that ; for they've been here some time, the people at the hotel say. I want to meet your admirable Crichton, Ethel. Can't you get Sir Roland to ask them to dinner ? " " I never; propose guests to papa."

Ethel spoke a little stiffly. " Don't you ? Oh, to be sure not. You invite them yourself." "And it's her place to do it; she is mistress in her father's house," Hugo interposed. " AVell, then, do ask the Carhayeses now, Ethel — we really want to meet them ; and, after your great intimacy, what can be more natural than that you should wish to introduce them to your future husband's family ? " " Mrs. Carhayes won't visit." Ethel was begin ning to feel very much baited. " AVhat nonsense ! — won't visit, indeed ! I have very good authority for saying that Mrs. -Carhayes would be uncommonly glad to be visited." Don't get vicious, Gracie," her brother said. " AVhat an unfortunate choice of words you make, Hugo ! I cannot call it ' vicious ' to wish to be in troduced to a woman to whom the majority of women •are cool.

I consider it Christian charity." " A most becoming quality in a clergyman's wife," Hugo said, carelessly ; " but I don't believe you'll have the opportunity of displaying it towards Mrs. Carhayes. I beUeve they are gone." " They are not," Gracie cried, triumphantly ; " I saw him this morning." And Ethel might have put in, "And I see her now," for at that moment they came in sight of SteUa and the children. But Ethel did not say it. A burning sense of most undeserved shame had seized the girl, and her cowardice increased. How could she brave the cutting remarks of Hugo's sister by saying, " There is the wife of the man I treated like a brother — and she will not speak to me ! " She could not do it. She could not voluntarily drink the dregs of such a humiliating cup. It was enough for her to know in bitter sadness that such was the fact.

She could not fling it as prey to Mrs. Arden. " AVho is that very striking-looking woman ? " Mrs. Arden asked ; and Hugo, in mercy, answered, though the question was addressed to* Ethel— " The mother of those jolly little cubs, I imagine. How lovely the girl is ! Are you tired, sir ? " this to his brother-in-law. Mr. Arden was not tired yet. He would like to walk a hundred yards further, and get the view of the town from that projecting point. Accordingly they walked on, and talked landscape and sea-view, and Ethel fondly hoped that the topic of the Car hayeses was done with. The view of the town from that projecting point was a very satisfactory one. The quartette in question stood and looked at it, and suggested a few im provements that they could have made in it if Nature had only consulted them, and made resolutions to come there again and sketch it, and finally got tired of it, and came away and forgot it.

On their way back they passed Stella again, and now her husband was with her. " AVhy, there is the admirable Crichton talking to that lady." Mrs. Arden's lynx eyes saw him at once. " There he is — that is Mr. Carhayes, isn't it, Ethel ? Is that his wife he is talking to ? Did you know who it was, Hugo ? How odd of you not to have told me ! " "AVhen you let me speak, I will tell you," he answered, coldly. " Very odd indeed, I think," Mrs. Arden went on, looking suspiciously from one to the other. " Aren't you going to speak now — or — I beg pardon — am I pressing on some painful point ? " The taunt roused Ethel's courage. " I don't ' speak ' as you call it, because appa rently Mr. and Mrs. Carhayes don't care to speak to me." " How very odd ! " Mrs. Arden repeated. " Do j*ou think it 'odd' for people to be malicious and ungrateful, Gracie '?

I should have thought it seemed quite natural to you," Hugo said, angrily. " How very rude ! " Mrs. Arden replied, slightly altering her formula. But though she called her brother " very rude," there was no annoyance in her voice or manner. There was a flush of pleasure on her fair cheek as she counted up the trumps that Fate had kindly dealt into her hand this day. A slight additional dullness in her manner was the only token she gave Ethel of the direction in which her (Mrs. Arden's) mind was working. She smiled when they parted in the corridor of the hotel to take off their hats before luncheon — smiled and nodded ; but there was murder of a certain sort in her eye, if Ethel had only known it. Dimly, in a half-unconscious way, Ethel was aware that mischief was brewing. There was something almost plaintive in the way in which, as they were about to part for half an hour, the groom having just intercepted them for orders, she said — " Perhaps we shall not ride to-day, Hugo 2" " Oh, yes, we will ; certainly we will, if you are not tired," he said, quickly.

" I thought possibly Mrs. Arden might want you. She has only just come, and you must have a great deal to talk about." " I have a great deal to talk to Hugo about, but he is quite at liberty to ride with you when I have done with him, if he thinks fit." " ' If he thinks fit.' There surely was a menace in those words," Ethel thought, as she took off her hat, and pushed her fingers through the wavy hair on her temples, lifting it off, and so giving herself a better view of the sparkling beauty of her face. " Supposing he should not 'think fit/ after that talk with Mrs. Arden ? Why should he not turn out cruel and ungrateful as well as another 2" Then she nerved herself to bear it, whatever it might be, and went down to luncheon with her father. Unwillingly enough Hugo had follow*ed his sister into their private sitting-room, where the two Miss Parkhams were sitting, the one knitting an unnecessary antimacassar, the other writing an equally unnecessary letter to a friend.

" I am quite upset, Aunt Eliza—quite upset," Mrs. Arden rejoined, in answer to Aunt Eliza's stereo typed remark — " I hope you enjoyed your walk on tbe sands, my dear ; the sea air is so remarkably bracing, that it makes me quite sleepy, I declare, though of course it is very healthy." " I am quite upset, Aunt Eliza — quite upset ; " and Mrs. Arden let herself limply down upon a sofa, and began taking off her hat with a fatigued air. Abruptly the fatigued air altered, and she flung the unoffending hat upon the floor. "I must speak plainly, Hugo — I must ; I feel it my duty, as your nearest female relative, poor mamma being dead, to ask, what are you going to do now ? " Hugo had taken up the paper at once on entering the room. His prophetic soul had warned him of what was to come from that fair sisterly quarter, and now that the storm was about to burst, he was not utterly unprepared.

" AVhat am I going to do ? I am going to read the paper for a few minutes, if you will let me, and then I am going to ride with Ethel. In the evening I hope to dine." " It is very well for j*ou to laugh, Hugo. To dine indeed ! I have heard of men supping the night before they are executed, but to talk about ' dining ' the day you are dishonoured is a little too much." " Now what do you mean, you sybil, you ringer of the bell of doom?" He tried to say it lightly, but his sister saw that she had aroused his attention and his anger ; accordingly she prepared herself to do and to dare all things with a trifle more circum spection than she had hitherto employed. " I mean that you have a painful duty before you with regard to Miss Huntingdon." " You are uncommonly fond of putting ' painful duties' well in front of a fellow, Gracie ; but if you have anything unpleasant to say, let me suggest that you say it when we are alone."

" In such a matter as I am going to speak about," Mrs. Arden went on, obstinately, " there ought to be no concealments from our aunts." The aunts pricked up their ears. They heard the trumpet blast from afar, and scented carnage — with pain of course, but still with that sort of pain in which there is a strong alloy of pleasure. " Do out with it, then, don't beat about the bush," he muttered, impatiently. " Well, of course you will ask her in time — but I think you ought to do it with as little delay as possible — if she can account for the extraordinary wa}* in which the Carhayeses treated her to-day ; it calls for an explanation." " Scarcely for one to be given to you, I think," he said, coldly, though his heart was hot within him. " I disagree with you, Hugo. As your sister, you can hardly wish me to be callous to anything con cerning you, however infatuated you may be : you can hardly wish that, I think.

I am quite upset, miserably upset, by what has occurred; and I tell you fairly that I will not help you to commit moral suicide, by receiving Miss Huntingdon as I have received her, until she has quite satisfied you that there was no cause for such conduct." " Supposing that she has already done so," he said, as calmly as his sorely chafed spirit would suffer him to speak ; " you really must give me credit for being competent to manage my own affairs, Gracie." " I can only say, then, that you are very easily satisfied, Hugo — very easily indeed ; for she didn't offer a word of explanation as we came home." Mrs. Arden spoke with a sorrowful sneer on her lip and a spiteful light in her eye that was infinitely irritating to see. " AVhat are women made of, that they are so ready to hunt each other down ?

" Hugo thought, but his meditations on the subject were cut short by a remark from the elder Miss Parkham. " You don't sufficiently consider, my dear, when you say that Hugo is easily satisfied, and that Miss Huntingdon has not had time to sa}* a word. Per haps a similar unhappy scene has taken place before." " I cannot conceive Hugo suffering me to come here and brave a repetition of it, if it has." Mrs. Arden flushed and bridled her head, and altogether loosened the reins of her wrath as she spoke. " Hugo has some respect left for his family, I hope, aunt." " And some respect left for himself, too." Hugo said, savagely. And then he went out of the room to see if Ethel was ready for her ride. He was so angiy, as he walked along to the public ladies' saloon in which he was to meet her, that he ■could hardly tell against whom his anger was chief!}' directed.

His sister had been bitingly cruel in her remarks. But she was his sister, and surely she could only have been so cruel in the hope of curing. His aunt had interposed an unwanted finger of warning as it were. But, however unwanted, she was of his own nearest blood, and the warning must have been kindly meant. He knew, none better, how brave and bright and courageously true a creature Ethel was in reality. But, unquestionably, to-day she had been just a little bit cowardly. AVhy had she not boldly avowed at once, " Mrs. Carhayes dis trusts me because I was her husband's most fami liar friend while she was at odds with him. She distrusts me ; and for that reason, wisely or not, she shuns me?" AVhy hadn't Ethel said that ? AVhy in the world hadn't she boldly faced the situation, and fought her way out of it ?

She was utterly wrong in not having done so. Gracie was right after aU, since she could only judge by outward ap pearances. Gracie was right, and Carhayes — the man whom Ethel had put upon a pedestal and wor shipped as a god — was a cur. His mood softened for a moment when he went into the room and saw the slender well-rounded figure in a perfectly appointed riding-dress, standing there by the window waiting for him. Private con versation was out of tbe question ; for at the table three or four ladies sat reading and writing, and there were several groups gathered about the room. But, though he could not say anything, Ethel marked that his aspect was altered. " AVould you rather not ride to-day, Hugo ?" she asked ; and he saw by the quivering of her sensitive lips that she was conscious of the change in him — perhaps she was conscious of the cause.

" No. If you will try some of the country lanes about here, I shall be glad of a quiet time ; we won't go on the high road." " Very well." Something whispered to Ethel that it would be better to be brief. She might need all her power of language by-and-by. So she went down silently, and out to where the horses were waiting, and then he helped her to mount — to mount in that way of hers that connois seurs in the art pronounced so perfect a study. Then they rode on through sun and shade out into a quiet by-lane, that led they knew not whither. It was a solitary, unfrequented lane, winding in land between high, thick, overgrown hedges, that shut out all view of the world beyond — hedges that were beautiful enough in themselves, wreathed as they were now with the big, bright, red, ripe briony berries, and studded with the children's real " black diamonds," blackberries ; but still hedges that, beautiful as they were, gave Ethel a feeling of being fettered and shut in this day.

For a hundred yards or so there had been no word spoken between them ; then Hugo broke tbe silence by saying — " My sister has been talking with me since we came in from the sands, Ethel." " 1 know it." He drew his rein impatiently, in order that he might have a fair excuse for cutting into his horse for fidgeting, since he must needs cut into some thing. " She has been saying — and I must say I think that she is partly right — that things can't go on in this way between the Carhayses and you, without something being said." " You must think her altogether right, or alto gether wrong; there is no such thing as being ' partly right ' in such cases. And as to something being ' said about it,' I have no doubt but that Mrs. Arden and your aunts will say all and a great deal more than is necessary."

"You needn't jeer at their scruples, Ethel," he said, in an offended tone ; " and you carry your writing habit of laying down the law as if there were no appeal, rather too far, I fancy." " Hugo, you must admit that it is a little too hard that I should be made to feel myself under Mrs. Arden's jurisdiction." " You must, in a measure, be under the jurisdiction of the members of a family into which you marry." "That I will not be!" she cried, hotly. "If I please you, and satisfy you, and explain to you, it is because I love you, and can have no secrets and no thoughts that I care to hide from you ; but I will not pander to any woman's ill-natured curiosity, simply because she happens to be your sister." " Gracie would like to know the Carhayeses," he said, deprecatingly ; " that is why she is nettled, I believe."

" And so, because she would like to know the Carhayeses, and I can't further her views, she puts you up to finding fault with me about a matter that I thought we had fully canvassed and quite done with the other day." " I can hardly allow you to suppose that she put me up to it," he said, uneasily. " Surely you would hardly like me to suppose that you have been saying what you have said to me to day of your own free will?" He felt desperately in love with briUiant spirited-looking Ethel, as she asked this, and desperately angry with her too. " No man has a right to put a girl in such a false position as Carhayes is putting you in, and allowing his wife to put you in." " I know that, and feel it as strongly as you do. And now listen to me, Hugo, and don't try to answer me, because I won't hear your answer until you have had time to take counsel with some one — your sister and aunts, if you like.

I feel that I am in a false position ; and I feel that if you say * agreed ' to my proposition that we should part here to-day, and never meet again as anything but friends, you would be perfectly justified." "Ethel, how lightly you speak of giving me up !" " Do I speak of it lightly ? No, no, you know I don't. I speak of it because I ought to speak of it -at any cost to myself. Please don't say anything. AVe'll ride back now, and I will tell papa that I must go home to my work. AVhen I am gone — not before, if you please — tell your sister what I have said. If, after hearing all she will, say, you can come to Clyst Abbott, and tell me with a light heart -that my ' false position ' has been weighed in the balance, and found wanting, I will marry you. If you never come, I will never blame you."

They turned homewards then, and the quiet lane resounded with the sharp strokes of gaUoping iron hoofs. AVhen Ethel and Hugo reached the hotel, they shook hands and parted. VOL. III. c

Chapter II

There was quite a pleased, bright expression on* Stella's face one day when she came in from a walk with her boy and his nurse. She had that air of being eager to impart information which people are apt to have when events are of rare occurrence in their lives, and the current of their life-stream is running very slowly. Her husband reflected her brightness at once in the gladness of his eyes — eyes that were always joyful when SteUa looked happy. " This sojourn at a strange watering-place was doing her, mentally and bodUy, good indeed," he thought, with a twinge of self-satisfaction for having brought her there. " I have made quite a pleasant acquaintance out on the sands to-day, Arthur," she began. " Have you ? You are not much given to picking up people promiscuously." " And this was quite a promiscuous affair.

Little Archie was playing at being a black pig, and he ran grunting into the folds of a much-puffed serge tunic that was worn by one of the best-tempered of women. Instead of repulsing tbe child, she picked him up and kissed him — winning his heart, and mine as well." " And forthwith you fell into each other's arms — after the manner of women, but not after the man ner of Stella." " No — but forthwith we fraternised ; and I found her sufficiently amusing to stay listening to the lap ping waves and her conversation for more than an hour." " You were not used to be too easily pleased with any woman's conversation ; who may she be ? Arthur asked, a little of the Carhayes's curiosity cropping up. "I was not used to be too easily pleased; but it is a long time since I have had a woman to talk to," SteUa said, a little sadly ; and Arthur Carhayes knew that " still the memory rankled " at the many slights that many women had put upon her.

" She is a clergyman's wife — a Mrs. Arden," SteUa continued presently after a pause ; for her husband was heartsore at the recollections which her manner called up, and being heartsore he could not bring himself to speak. " She has begged me c to let her call on me, and, Arthur, I couldn't say 'No'; was I wrong?" " AVrong ! no dear." And then he began taxing his memory as to when and where he had heard Mrs. Arden' s name before. Suddenly his memory served him. She had been mentioned at Clyst Abbott ! She was Hugo Grey's sister ! " I hope she is not malicious," he thought ; " if she is, and if she happens not to like Ethel, she may be very nasty." Then he remembered that he had seen her driving about the Clyst Abbott neighbourhood, and that he had thought of her as a fair, placid, amiable looking woman, whom it was natural to credit with more heart than mind.

On the whole he deemed it better to say nothin*'* about Mrs. Arden — or rather to say nothing about his recollections of Mrs. Arden — to his wife ; if Stella found any pleasure in the stranger's society, why disturb it ? Meanwhile Mrs. Arden had gone to her hotel with her little round fair-haired head very full of plans. It was a serious matter to the mother of many ■children that her rich, lavish young brother should think of taking to himself a wife. Especially was it a serious matter to her, since she had permitted herself to display antagonism to Ethel. In her present mood, ready as she was to catch at any straw, however brittle it might be, she did look upon it as a happy thing that chance or Providence, as she termed it, should have caused little Archie Carhayes to butt into her tunic, and so enable her to effect an introduction to his mother.

"It will be my bounden duty to acquaint Hugo with it, if in the course of conversation she does let anything fall that doesn't speak well for Ethel. Of course I shall be grieved to do it, but it will be my bounden duty." She turned her fair flushed face eagerly from one aunt to the other as she spoke, and they applauded the sentiment. " AVe all have painful duties to perform at some period or other of our lives," Aunt Eliza said, heroi cally ; " I have always made a point of unflinchingly telling people the truth, however unpleasant it may be to them." She spoke with that air of self-approbation which people are apt to portray when they are speaking of applying the knife to the heart of another. It is easy to be heroic when we are not going to be hurt ourselves. " I am sure I have said enough to Hugo about those books she writes," the younger Miss Parkbam struck in, with all the heat and force she was accustomed to develop if she fancied that she was being left behind when a sortie upon somebody else was contemplated.

" But Hugo is obstinate enough to declare that he likes them, and that he likes the idea of her writing. Poor mamma's father and mother would as soon he had married an actress at once as a professional writer. AVouldn't they, Aunt Eliza ? " " Gracie, my dear, papa and mamma would never have recovered the blow of their grandson so de grading himself ; the fact of her being a baronet's daughter is quite lost sight of, while the fact that she is the writer of those abominable books is ever before the public. I can't think how it is that 3*0111* brother is so deficient in proper pride." " And in common sense, too," Grace said, impatiently. " I have only one comfort in the affair," the eldest surviving scion of the house of Parkbam went on ; " and that is, that he does not bear our name ; if he had been a Parkbam, it would have been worse.

In that case I firmly believe that dear papa and mamma would have risen from their graves." The vision of the deceased Mr. Parkham in his burial cerements would not have been a pleasant one, inasmuch as he had been dead at least fifty years, therefore the cordial satisfaction the two sisters evinced might have been genuine. But, genuine as it was, it hurt Mrs. Gracie. " The name of Grey is not an utterly insignifi cant one," she said, testily. " Dear papa never boasted, nor made a fuss about his family ; but it -was a very good one." " Very good, my dear, very respectable, but not like the Parkhams. The Parkhams were brought ■up, as you may have heard your mamma say, never to do a thing for themselves — the girls were, I mean ; there was a servant for this, and a servant for that, and a servant for the other thing.