Dinna Forget. A novel

Front matter

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DINNA FOEGET. 31 gabtl IN ONE VOLUME. BY JOHN STRANGE WINTER, AUTHOR OF " BOOTLES' BABY," " HARVEST," " BEAUTIFUL JIM," "THAT IMP 1 " "MIGNON'S HUSBAND," " JIY POOR DICK," "A LITTLE FOOL," "BUTTONS," "MRS. BOB," ETC, ETC. ALL RIGHTS RESER VED. foitbott: TRISCHLER AND COMPANY, 18, NEW BRIDGE STREET, E.C. 1890. THE MOST VALUABLE ACQUISITION tth°e TOILET Which has been discovered for many years is POND'S AMERICAN "WHITE" AREGA-NUT Tooth Paste. Unprecedented as a Cleanser for the TEETH, and a sweetener to the breath ; its antiseptic properties in arrest ing decay, and its peculiar preservative qualities, are indisputable. Price Is., 2s. 6d., and 4s., Free by Post, OR ORDER OF YOUR CHEMIST. PREPARED ONLY BY ZPOlsHD &c SOIT, 68, FLEET STREET, LONDON. Broadway, 2N'ew York; Vineland, New Jersey; and Hamilton (City), Canada ; Madras ; Bombay ; Calcutta.

Chapter I. In Sweet September

IT was in tbe sweet month of September, the soft afternoon of a day tbat bad been hot even on tbe borders of tbe North Sea, which sends its breezes flying over the part of Essex which is not flat and. marshy, but ricb and undulating, and fair and pleasant to look upon. In London tbe people were gasping for breath, but here, thougb the day had been fairly bot, it was now at six o'clock soft and balmy, and by nightfall the air would be sharp and fresh. It was such a fair day and such a fair view I Be hind on tbe higher ground stood a rambling old house, half hall, half farmhouse — a house with a long red-brick front, and a sort of terrace-garden from which you might look across the fields and the long green stretches of land over which thp bold sea B came and went at ebb and flow of the tides.

It wa3 a quaint old garden, with turf like velvet, and raised beds cut in it here and there, gay with blazing scarlet geraniums and blue lobelias, and kept neat and tidy by a quaint bordering of red tiles set edgeways into th» ground. There were tall trees too about this domain, Avhich hid the farm-buildings from sight, and also helped to shield tbe house from the fierce winter blasts, and in front there lay a rich and verdant meadow sloping gently down to tbe high-road, where just then a man and a young girl had stopped for a moment as they walked along together. " Mayn't I come iu ? " the man said imploringly. " No, I dou't think you must," the girl answered. " You see, Auutie has gone to Colchester, and she wouldn't like me to ask you in when I knew sho wasn't there. No, I dou't think you must come in this time."

" Perhaps she will be back by this time," he urged; but the girl shook her head resolutely. "No; for the train does not get to Wrabness till twenty-four minutes past seven — it is not as much past six yet," she said simply. " But," he said, finding that there was no chance of his effecting an entrance within the fortress, " are you bound to go in just yet? " " No, I am not ; but you are bound to go back to Lady Jane's for your dog-cart. She knows that you came with me, and she knows that Auntie is in Colchester." " Lady Jane knows too much," he said vexedly. " Yes, I suppose I must go back. But I may carry your racket as far as the door, eh ? " " Oh, I think you may do that," answered the girl demurely. So together they turned and walked on. The road took a curve to the right, skirting the sloping meadow and rising gradually until they reached the gates of the old house, with its quaint red front and its many gables and dormer windows, and at the gate Dorothy Strode stopped and held out her hand for the racket.

" Thank you very much for bringing me home," she said shyly, but with an upward glance of her blue eyes that went straight to the man's perhaps rather susceptible heart; " it was very good of you." "Yes, but tell me," he answered, not letting go his hold of the racket, " the aunt has gone to Colchester, you say ? " " Yes." " Does she often go ? " '• Oh, no, not often." " But how often ? Once a week ? " " Ouce a week — oh no, not once a month. Why do you ask ? " " Because, for the present, I live in Colchester. I am quartered there, you know, and I thought that perhaps sometimes when the auntie was coming you might be coming too, and I might show you round a little — the lions and all that, you know. That was all." " But I don't think," said Dorothy Strode, taking him literally, " that Auntie would ever want to be shown round Colchester, or the lions, or anything.

You see, she has lived at the Hall for more than fifty years and probably knows Colchester a thousand times as well as you do." "True! I might have thought of that," and he laughed a little at his own mistake, then added suddenly, " But don't you think your aunt might like to come and have afternoon tea in my quarters ? Old ladies generally love a bachelor tea." •' I don't think she would," said Dorothy honestly. " You see, Mr. Harris, my aunt is rather strict, and she never does anything unusual, and " At that moment she broke off short as a fairly smart dog-cart driven by a young man passed them, and returned the salute of the occupant, who had lifted his hat as soon as he saw her. " Who is that?" asked the soldier rather jealously, frowning a little as he noticed the girl's heightened colour.

" That is Mr. Stevenson," she answered, looking straight in front of her. " Oh, Mr. Stevenson. And who is he when he's at home ? " the soldier demanded. " Very much the same as when he is not at home," answered Dorothy with a gay laugh. He laughed too. " But tell me, who is he ? " " Oh, one of the gentlemen farmers round about." It was evident that she did not want to talk about the owner of the dog-cart, but the soldier went on without heeding, " And you know him well ? " " I have known him all my life," she said, with studied carelessness. In the face of her evident unwillingness to enlarge upon the subject, the soldier had no choice but to let her take the racket from him. " Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand to him. " Good-bye," he answered, holding it a good deal longer than was necessary; "but tell me I may come and call ?

" " Yes, I think you might do that." " You will tell your aunt that you met me, and that I am coming to call to-morrow?" " That is a little soon, isn't it? " she said, laughing. " Besides, to-morrow there is a sewing-meeting." " And you go ? " " Always." "And you like it? " incredulously. " No, candidly I don't ; but in this world, at least in Graveleigh, one has to do a great many things that one does not like.'' "And you might have to do worse things than go to a sewing-meeting, eh ? " he suggested, for it suddenly flashed into his mind that there would be uo gentlemen farmers in smart dog-carts at 6uch very feminine functions as sewing-meetings. " That is so. Well, good-bye.' " But you haven't said when I may come," he cried. " No ; say one day next week," with a gay laugh. "But which day?"

" Oh, you must take your chance of that. Good bye," and then she passed in at the wide old gate, and disappeared among the bushes and shrubs which lined the short and crooked carriage-drive leading to the house. For a moment he stood there looking after her, then turned on his heel and retraced the steps which he had taken in Dorothy Strode's company, and as he went along he went again over all that she had said, thought of her beauty, her soft blue eyes, and fair wind-tossed hair, of the grace of her movements, the strength and skill of her play, the sweet half-shy voice, the gentle manner with now aud then just a touch of roguish fun to relieve its softness. Then ha recalled bow she had looked up at him, and how softly she had spoken his name, " Mr. Harris," just aa that farmer-fellow came along to distract her attention and bring the bright colour into her cheeks, and, by Jove ! he had come away and never told her that his name was not Harris at all, but Aylmer — Richard Aylmer, commonly known as " Dick," not only in his regiment, but in every place where he was known at all.

Now how, his thoughts ran, could the little woman have got hold of an idea that his name was Harris ? Dick Harris ! Well, to be sure, it didn't sound bad, but then it did not suit him. Dick Aylmer he was, and Dick Aylmer he would be to the end of the chapter, except — except — ah, well, well, that was a contingency he need not trouble himself about at present. It was but a contingency and a remote one, and he could let it take care of itself until the time came for him to fairly look it in the face, when probably matters would conveniently and comfortably arrange themselves. And then he fell to thinking about her again, and what a pretty name hers was — Dorothy Strode 1 Such a pretty name, only Dorothy Aylmer would look even prettier — Mrs. Richard Aylmer the prettiest of all, except, perhaps, to hear his men friends calling her " Mrs. Dick."

And then he pulled himself up with a laugh to think how fast his thoughts had been running ou — why, he had actually married himself already, after an hour and a half's acquaintance and before even he had begun his wooing ! And with another laugh he turned in at the gates of Lady Jane's place, where he must say his farewells and get his dog-cart. Lady Jane was still out on the lawn, and welcomed him with a smile. She was a stout motherly woman, still young enough to be sympathetic. " Ah, you are back," she said. " Now, is not that a nice girl ? " " Charming," returned Dick, sitting down beside her and answering in his most conventional manner. Lady Jane frowned a little, being quite, deceived by the tone. She was fond of Dorothy herself and would dearly like to make a match up for her. She had seen with joy that Mr. Aylmer seemed very attentive to her, and had encouraged him in his offer to escort her down the road to her aunt's house — and now he had come back again with his cold con ventional tones as if Dorothy was the tenth charming girl he had taken home that afternoon, and he had not cared much about the task.

" I heard you say a little time ago that you were going away," he remarked, after a moment's pause. " Yes, we are off to-night by the boat from Harwich," she answered. " Yes, it is rather a long passage — twelve hours — but the boats are big and the weather is smooth, and it is a great convenience being able to drive from one's own door to the boat itself — one starts so much fresher, you know." " Yes, that must be so," he replied, " though i never went over by this route. And how long do you stay ? " "All the winter," Lady Jane answered. "We go to Kissingen, though it is a trifle late for the place. Then on by the Engadine, Italian Lakes, ancl to Mar seilles. After that to Algiers for several months." "Algiers," he said in surprise, "really?" " Yes, I need a warm climate in the winter, and it gives Mr. Sturt a change both of life and of sport, so that he does not really feel being out of England for so long."

"And you come back next spring? " " Yes ; sometime next spring," she answered. Dick Aylmer got up then and began to make his adieux. "Then good-bye, Mr. Harris," said Lady Jane, with much cordiality, "and I hope to find you still at Colchester when we come back again. If not, you must come and see me in London during tlie season." " Thanks, very many," he said, " but my — " Oh ! " cried Lady Jane, in dismay, " look, look ! the fox-terrier is worrying the Persian kitten. Do rescue it somebody, do, do ! " In a moment the kitten, a little the worse for wear and tear, was safely in her mistress's arms, and a great fuss did she make over it. In the midst of it, Dick Aylmer, knowing that his fretful horse was dancing about on the other side of the house, said good-bye again and escaped. " And, by Jove," he said, as he turned out of the gates, " she does not know my name either.

I seem bound to be mysterious to-day, somehow or other. Evidently she mistook me for Haines — or, rather, she mistook me for the other in tbe matter of names. Ah, well, she's going away to-morrow, and I don't suppose I shall see her again, or that it matters in the least whether she calls me Harris, or Haines, or Aylmer," and then he added to the horse, " Get along, old man, will you? " He slackened the pace, however, when they got to the turn of the road which skirted the sloping meadow in front of the Hall where she lived, and the good horse crawled up the side of the hill as if it had been an Alpine height instead of a mere bend of the road. But there was no sign of her. As he passed he caught a glimpse of the gay flower-beds and of a big tabby cat walking leisurely across the terrace, but Dorothy Strode was not to be seen, and when Richard Aylmer recognised that fact as a fact, he gave a jerk to the reins and sent the horse flying along in the direction of Colchester as fast as his four good legs would carry him.

CHAPTER IL DAVID STEVENSON.

DOROTHY STRODE said very little to her aunt about the gentleman who had brought her home from Lady Jane's tennis party. Not that she volun tarily kept anything back, but in truth there was very little for her to tell, very little that she could tell. The language of love is an eloquent one, but when you are one of the principal persons concerned, you can not give to another the history of a pressure of the hand, or a look of the eyes, and still less of a tone of the voice which tells you all too eloquently of the state of feelings which you cause in that other one. Yet when Miss Dimsdale came home from Col chester, having been fetched from Wrabnens Station in an ancient victoria which had seen better days, drawn by a pair of cobs which, let us mercifully hope, would never see worse than they enjoyed in sleek comfort at present, she dutifully — ay, and with pleasure, gave her an animated description of the party.

How Lady Jane had specially asked for her and had sent her dear love to her ; how sorry she was, and everybody else, that Miss Dimsdale had had to go and see that tiresome lawyer on that particular afternoon ; how Lady Jane had told her that her new white frock was exquisite, and that she ought always to wear full sleeves because they -1 i became her so well, and finally how thero had been one of the officers from Colchester at the party and she had been his partner in several games of tennis, and finally that Lady Jane had sent him to see her safely to the gate. " Our gate, I mean, Auntie," said Dorothy, not wishing to convey a false impression. "And David Stevenson, he wasn't there, I suppose?" said Miss Dimsdale, as she sipped her claret. " No, Auntie, he wasn't," Dorothy answered. "You see, Lady Jane does not like David Stevenson very much."

" I know that," said Miss Dimsdale shortly. On the whole Miss Dimsdale would have liked Dorothy to marry David Stevenson, who was young and a good-enough fellow to make a good husband. He had a well-kept valuable farm of four hundred acres a mile or two from Graveleigh, with a con venient and spacious house thereon, of which he was very anxious to make Dorothy the mistress. But Dorothy had, with a strange perversity, said nay over aud over again, and she seemed in no desire to change her mind now. Miss Dimsdale gave a sigh as she thought of it — for David Stevenson's mother had been her dearest friend — but all the same, she was not the woman to try to force the child's inclination. " Mr. Harris asked me if he might call — if he might come and see me," said Dorothy presently, after a pause.

" Mr. Harris ! and who is Mr. Hams ? " asked Miss Dimsdale, startled out of a reverie about David Stevenson's mother, who, by-the-bye, unconsciously and dear friend as she was of Marion Dimsdale's, had stepped in and married the man of Marion's heart. " Mr. Harris ! He is tho officer I told you about, Auntie, the one who brought me home," said Dorothy, in surprise that her aunt should not remember. " Oh, yes — yes. And what did you say ? " " I told him that I thought he might." " And when ? " " Oh, I told him to take his chance," Dorothy answered. " Quite right," said Miss Dimsdale, who had no notion of making the way of a gallant too easy and pleasant to him. " Well, we shall see what he is like when he comes, if we happen to be at home." She began then to tell Dorothy all about her day in Colchester.

What the lawyer had said, how she had been to the bank, and had looked in at the saddler's to say that the harness of the little cob which ran in the village cart must be overhauled and generally looked to. Then how she had found time to go in the fancy-work shop and had bought one or two new things in that line, and last of all how she had been in to the jeweller's to get a new watch-key and had there seen a wonderful belt of silver coins which some one had sold for melting down, and this had been offered to her at such a reasonable price that she had been tempted to buy it. " Auntie ! " cried Dorothy. " Oh, I did not say it was for you, child," said Miss Dimsdale promptly. Dorothy's face fell, and Miss Dimsdale laughed. i " There, child, there, I won't tease you about it. There it is ou the chimney-shelf."

And Dorothy naturally enough jumped up and ran to open the box in which the belt was packed, opening it eagerly, and uttering a cry of delight when she saw the beautiful ornament lying within. It was a lovely thing, and in her pleasure and pride at the possession of it Dorothy almost forgot her new admirer, Mr. Harris. Not quite though, for when she slipped it on over her pretty white dress and ran to the pier-glass between the windows of the drawing-room to see the effect of it, she suddenly found herself wondering how he would think she looked in it, and instantly the swift colour flashed into her cheeks, so that she hardly liked to turn back to face the gaze of her aunt's calm far-seeing eyes. Miss Dimsdale meanwhile had walked to the window, and was looking out into the soft evening dusk.

" Some one is coming along the drive," she said. " I think it is David Stevenson." A gesture of impatience was Dorothy's answer, a gesture accompanied by an equally impatient sound, but she never thought of making good use of her time and escaping out of the room, as a girl brought up in a town might have clone. No, she left the glass and went across the room to the table where her work-basket stood, and took up an elaborate table-cover which she had been working at in a more or less desultory fashion for six months past, and by the time David Stevenson was shown in she was stitching away as if for dear life. Miss Dimsdale, ou the contrary, did not move from the window until she heard the door open, then sho went a few steps to meet him. " Good evening, David," she said very kindly. " How very nice of you to come in to-night I We have not seen you for a long time."

" No, I've been dreadfully busy," he answered, " and I am still, for the matter of that. But I hadn't seen you for a long time, and I thought I'd come over and see how you were getting on." " That was very good of you," said Miss Dimsdale ; then she moved to the bell and rang it. " We will have a hght, the evenings are closing in very fast." " Yes," he answered. Then he went across where already his eyes had wandered to Dorothy, who was bravely sewing away in the dusk. " How are you, Dorothy? " he asked. " I am quite well, thank you, David," she replied, just letting her hand rest for a moment in his. " I saw you this afternoon," he went on, seating himself on a chair just in front of her. " Why, yes," said Dorothy, "you took you: hat off to me." He was a fine-grown, good-looking fellow, big and strong and young, with the unmistakable air of a man who is his own master; but in Dorothy's mind a vision rose up at that moment of another young man,' who was also big and strong, and very unlike David Stevenson.

David frowned at the remembrance of the after noon and of her companion, and just then a neat maid-servant came in with a lamp, and the dusk vanished. She set the lamp down beside Dorothy, so that David Stevenson was enabled to see her face clearly. " If you please, ma'am," said Barbara to her mistress, " Janet Benham has come up to speak to you, She's in great trouble about something." " Janet Benham in trouble ! " cried Miss Dimsdale, in dismay. " Oh, I will come at once. Dorothy, stay and talk to David," she added, for Dorothy had made a movement as if she, too, wanted to go and hear more about Janet's trouble. However, in the face of her aunt's distinct com mand, she had no choice but to remain where she was, and she took up the work again and began a-stitching vehemently as if she would fain sew her vexation into the pretty pattern.

David Stevenson, on the contrary, was more than well satisfied at the way in which matters had fallen, and inwardly blessed that trouble of Janet Benham's as much as Dorothy did the contrary. He jerked his chair an inch or so nearer to hers, and leaned for ward with his elbows upon his knees. Dorothy sat up very straight indeed, and kept her attention strictly upon her work. " Who was that fellow I saw you talking to this afternoon, Dorothy ? " he asked. "A man that Lady Jane asked to see me home." answered Dorothy, promptly. " Oh, you had been to Lady Jane's ? " in a distinctly mollified tone. " Yes, I had been to Lady Jane's," returned Dorothy, matching a bit of yellow silk with minute care. " Why didn't you go ? " DINNA FORGEf. " Because I wasn't asked," said he curtly. " Lady Jane never asks me now — she's taken a dislike to me."

"Well, I can't help that," said Dorothy indifferently. " I don't know so much about that," he said rather gloomily. " I think you might if you liked. Not that I want you to trouble about it, or that I care a single brass farthing about Lady Jane or her parties. Iu any case, I should only go because I might meet you there." " Oh, that's a poor enough reason," cried Dorothy, flippantly. There was very little of the mute lover about David Stevenson, and whenever he found that Dorothy was, in spite of good opportunities, slipping further and further away from him, he always got impatient and angry. " Well, I don't know that you're far wrong there," he retorted, in a tone which he tried with the most indifferent success to make cool and slighting. "However, her ladyship has left off asking me to her entertainments of late, and I don't know that I feel any the worse man for that.

So you met that fellow there, did you ? " " You don't suppose I picked him up on the road, do you?" demanded Dorothy, who was getting angry too. David drew in his horns a little. "No, no, of course not," he said soothingly. " I had no right to ask anything about him, only everything you do and everyone you speak to interest me. I wanted to know who he was, tbat was all." " Then," said Dorothy, with a very dignified air, "you had better go and ask Lady Jane herself. She can tell you, and I am sure she will. I know very little about the gentleman — just his name and very httle besides." David Stevenson sat back in his chair with a groan; Dorothy Strode stitched away furiously; and so they sat until Miss Dimsdale came back again. " H'm," her thoughts ran, " quarrelling again." Dorothy looked up at her aunt and spoke in her softest voice.

" What was the matter with Janet, Auntie?" she asked. "Oh, poor thing! Joe came home drunk and knocked her about, and one of the neighbours, who couldn't bear it any longer, went and fetched the policeman, and Joe was marched off, to poor Janet's unutterable dismay," Miss Dimsdale replied. " Poor Janet ! " murmured Dorothy softly. "By-the-bye, Joe Benham works for you, David, does he not? " Miss Dimsdale asked. " Yes, he does. " I wonder couldn t you do something? Poor Janet is in the most dreadful trouble about him." " Well, I'll go round and see if you like," David answered ; " but Benham's an awful brute, and will drink all he can get hold of to tha end of the chapter. I don't know whether you have ever noticed it, Miss Dimsdale, but somehow it seems to me that almost invariably the women prefer to marry the wrong men, and vice versa.

Look at my own mother, for instance: a sweeter creature did not live, but she was never the right wife for my father, and nobody knew it better than himeelf. Yes, and o ■22, DINNA FORGET. she knew it too. She always used to tell my father that when he went from Graveleigh Hall to Dover court, he made the greatest mistake of his life." " Past Graveleigh Hall, you mean, David," put in Dorothy, sharply. " I dare say he knew very well what he was about, and took the one because he could not get the other." " My dears, my dears," cried Miss Dimsdale, to whom all this was untold agony, " let bygones be bygones. I am sure, David, that your father was iu love with your mother to the very end. Really, the young people of to-day take too much upon themselves and settle the affairs of their elders in an off-hand way which is positively indecent."