His Egyptian wife; an Anglo-Egyptian romance

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Class 2i .3

Book

Gpiglitfl?.

Chapter I. A Happy Dinner-party

On a delightful afternoon late in May, not long after the year of Her Majesty’s Jubilee, two men seated in a first-class carriage on the five o’clock Windsor express, were seen to be in animated conversation.

The elder traveller, with the shiny bald head, was Sir Richard Brattle, Q. C., a fresh-faced, clean-shaven, sandy-gray haired, keen-looking little man of five-andfifty. The younger was his godson, Lieutenant Sidney Dane, who had just returned from a long cruise in H. M. S. Psyche . They were on their way to the eminent advocate’s country mansion on the Thames, opposite Chertsey.

Sir Richard regarded his companion with a look of pleasure ; and, in a doting, paternal tone, said : “ Well, well, Sidney, I’m really glad to see you back again.”

“ You are very kind to say so, Sir Richard.”

“ How long have you been gone ? ”

“ Two years.”

“Is it so long? And you have been round the world ? ”

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“ Not quite, but nearly. We crossed the Equator twice. If we had come home by Suez, we should have completed the circle.”

“ And how do you like Her Majesty’s service?”

“Fairly well.”

“ Which means, I suppose, that you are not in love with it, eh ? ”

“Well, no, I’m not. The Navy’s an idle life ; it’s no place for a poor, ambitious man. There are so few opportunities for advancement, that when the slightest chance for an exploit presents itself, we all go for it as sharks go for a dead coolie.”

“Yes, yes, I can quite understand that, my boy. I always say that our next naval battle will either be a dashing, brilliant victory, or a disastrous defeat, probably the latter ; for our sea-dogs of war have been so long held in check, that when the time comes, their impetuous valour will outrun their prudence.”

“ We don’t think so ; we’d like to try, at any rate.”

“You all pray for war, I daresay, as regularly as the clergy pray for peace.”

“We hope for it, at all events.”

“ Well, well, Sidney, I can’t help looking at you. You’re so like your lamented father. It seems to me as if I were again chatting with my old chum of thirty years ago. For it’s just thirty years since your father and I came down from the North country together ; he a poor doctor, and I a briefless barrister. Ha, what glorious careers we had planned for ourselves ! ”

“ And you have achieved yours, Sir Richard.”

“Well, yes! I should be satisfied — and I am. He, poor chap, was just mounting the steps of fame, when he fell by the way. Ah, well ! one can’t help lamenting sometimes. For it is a rare and gratifying privilege

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to share and enjoy the sweet success of maturity with the companions of our youth.”

There was a pathetic sadness in the senior’s voice that caused the two men to look in opposite directions. Sidney’s dark blue eyes moistened at this tender reminder of his beloved father.

Lieutenant Dane was a sturdy, open-faced young fellow of three-and-twenty. His naturally dark skin was bronzed like a russet pear. He was well above the medium height, but his muscular frame misled one as to his real stature.

After the brief silence, caused by the sympathetic allusion to the past, the young man said :

“ I beg your pardon, Sir Richard, but I quite forgot to inquire after Lady Brattle ; I hope she is quite well.”

“Yes, thank you ; at least, she was so the last time I heard from her. She’s away from home at present, on a short visit to Lady August.”

“ Oh, then we shall be quite alone ? ” observed Sidney.

“ Oh, no, my niece is at home.”

“ Your niece ? I didn’t know you had a niece.”

“ My wife’s niece, Elsie Lisle. She was at school in Switzerland when you visited us three years ago.”

“ Oh, yes. I remember now Lady Brattle showing me her photograph. A plump, round-cheeked little school-girl.”

“ She’s improved on that form now. But here we are at Staines,” cried Sir Richard, as the train dashed into the station ; “ you shall soon judge for yourself, for she drives over for me in the phaeton every night, rain or shine. She’s a Viking to face the weather.”

When they got out of the station, there were about

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a dozen family vehicles, — the smart coupe of the great brewer, the open victoria and pair of the stockbroker, the showy trap of the turf commission agent, and the modest pony phaeton of the Q. C., — all drawn up by the roadside to meet the home-coming City men who lived in the neighbourhood.

There was a general bowing to and greeting of the famous Q. C., as he and Sidney made their way among the throng.

“ There she is, Sidney. She doesn’t see us, though, for young Tom Pleet is talking to her,” said Sir Richard, indicating a fair young woman, by a nod of his head. “ Pleet’s a bit mashed, as you youngsters say, I fancy.”

As they approached the phaeton, the girl turned and recognized them.

“ Oh, Uncle Dick,” she cried, “ I thought you had missed your train.”

“No. We stopped a moment to order Sidney’s trap to be sent over.” Then he introduced the young couple.

“This is Sidney Dane, Elsie, and this Fraulein Elsie Lisle, Sidney ”

“ Now, Uncle, please don’t call me Fraulein,” said the girl, with a charmingly petulant protest. “ It’s all well enough among ourselves, but ”

“Well, pet, it is among ourselves, for Sidney I almost look upon as my own lad. Now drive on, my pretty whip, for to-day I shall relish my dinner.”

The young people had murmured the usual complimentary words of greeting, and Sidney had been seated beside the fair creature who held the reins, her uncle facing them.

Sidney wondered if this could possibly be the awkward, chubby-faced girl, whose photo he had seen

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three years before. Elsie Lisle, while not altogether a beauty, was now a plump, but still shapely, charming, light-haired girl of nineteen. Her hair was not exactly the fashionable blonde, between straw and amber ; its crinkly strands gleamed golden in the sunlight. Her eyes were light-hazel, round as a fawn’s, and her complexion was fresh and healthy, even to her neck and throat, which were somewhat tanned, but her cheeks were tinted as a pippin is tinted by wholesome exposure to sun and air. She was not above the medium stature, Sidney thought, as he regarded her, and her hands were not very small, but her nose took his fancy, for it was almost a perfect Grecian.

She managed the spirited little pony with such dextrous ease, that, Sidney after some general remarks, ventured to say :

“ You’re fond of driving, I should judge, Miss Lisle.”

“ Oh, yes, I like all outdoor sports. And it’s great fun to drive Ginger ; he fancies himself so much that he thinks he should distance every nag on the road. He’s a bundle of conceit. If his legs were only equal to his vanity, he’d be a priceless pony — but they’re not.”

“ You handle him with the skill and ease of an experienced whip,” observed Sidney.

“ Oh, we know each other, Ginger and I.”

“ But does he never attempt to bolt with you ? *’

“ He tried it once, but he knows better than to attempt it again.”

“ She nearly broke his jaw,” broke in Sir Richard. “ She’s got arms as sinewy as a blacksmith’s.”

“ Well, Uncle, I ought to have ; I had gymnastic training enough at school.”

“ She rows, and punts, and swims, and plays tennis

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— and thinks she can play cricket — but she can’t,” added her uncle with a good-humoured laugh.

“ I don’t profess to — only with you. It’s not a ladies’ game.”

This two-mile drive, over one of the best roads, in one of the most charming valleys in the world, with its dark-green, neatly-trimmed private hedges, its wavy grass meadows, spotted with blue and white and yellow flowers, its vistas of quaint old manors and modern, ornate villas, its glimpses of the placid Thames with its perpetual green banks, with reeds and brook-willows gracefully nodding to the summer breeze ; all this was like a vision of paradise to the young sailor who had been confined to a “ cruiser ” for two years. Sidney sniffed the fragrant air with a long-drawn breath, and exclaimed : “ How sweet and fresh the air is this evening ! ”

“ Yes,” answered Elsie; “there was a shower this morning, then the sun came out with great force, which, I notice, always makes the air deliciously fragrant.”

“ Ha ! ” exclaimed Sidney, with the fervour of gratification, “ there is nothing in the world like it, after all.”

“ I’m glad to hear you say so, my boy ; you like your own country best, with all its fogs and other faults.”

“Yes, decidedly. I wish I could always remain in it.”

“ Why can’t you ? ” asked Elsie, turning her warm brown eyes upon him.

The young fellow hesitated, so her uncle answered : “ Because he’s subject to the whims of the Admiralty, my dear.”

They now turned off the river road, and up a com-

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paratively short avenue of fine old chestnuts, elms and copper-beeches. Oxley House, Sir Richard’s country seat, was by no means a large place. It was of the Elizabethan style of architecture, built by a rich Anglo- Indian nabob in the early part of the last century ; the sixteen rooms were large and lofty, with dark oak panels, and beautifully frescoed. The estate comprised ten acres, studded, here and there, with fine old firs and cypress trees, rare shrubs, palms, and costly picturesque plants, and clumps of holly, trimmed into all sorts of odd cones, pyramids and domes ; here and there were sturdy standard rose-bushes, with trunks as thick as a man’s wrist, laden with the first buds and blooms of early summer.

The close-cut green velvet lawns sloped to the river, and on the bank was a modern boat-house, built in imitation of a Swiss chalet ; while, near by, in marked contrast, was a miniature Roman temple of stone, partly covered with ivy and other creeping vines, which served as a summer-house.

It was an ideal little home, with such natural beauties as only patience, time and wealth can produce. As they drove up to the ivy-covered portal of the house, a groom took charge of Ginger, and a portly, middle-aged butler held the door open for them to enter. As Sidney was going up the staircase to be shown to his room, his host called cheerily to him :

“ Don’t dress for dinner, my boy ! I never do, except when Lady Brattle has some of her literary set here. I detest all ceremony, you know, that detracts from my comfort.”

This was characteristic of the little man. There was a genial bonhomie , an effervescent gaiety, a perpetual jesting spirit about “ Dick Brattle” with his intimates

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when away from business that made him universally liked.

When they sat down to dinner, Sidney noticed that Sir Richard had exchanged his black business coat for an old, easy-fitting, blue serge jacket. Elsie had put on a pale-blue muslin blouse ; through its gauzy sleeves he saw the outlines of her shapely arms ; the lace collar was low and rolling, revealing to advantage the perfect contour of her neck and throat. Her complexion, it seemed to Sidney, had softened, now that she was indoors, and her eyes looked deeper, rounder, and more fawn-like, perhaps in association with the pale-blue garment.

Elsie sat in her aunt’s place, directing the meal with the gentle dignity, ease and grace, of an experienced matron.

“ Now, then, Fraulein,” said the host, smacking his lips, as they took their seats, “ what have you provided ? ”

“ Oh, nothing very elaborate, the usual five,” replied Elsie. “ Why, are you hungry ? ”

“Yes, I am. I believe Sidney has brought back my youth, and, with it, a youthful appetite.”

“ Ah, Uncle, your youth doesn’t need much bringing back, it’s almost perpetual. When you are eighty, I believe you’ll still want to play leap-frog and cricket.”

“ I hope so, my dear, I hope so. Sidney, claret or burgundy ? ”

“ Claret, Sir Richard, please.”

“ Mottle,” to the butler, “ fill Mr. Dane’s glass. I prefer burgundy myself. It puts me in that cosy, comfortable, soporific condition, which leads to half an hour’s oblivion after dinner. When I recover, I’m as fresh as a lark until midnight.”

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What a delightful dinner it was to the young fellow, who mentally compared it with that which he was accustomed to in the cramped, stuffy mess-room of the Psyche. The casements were open, and a light, balmy breeze drifted into the room, laden with the delicious fragrance of blooming roses.

Sidney was thoughtful and silent, for his eyes and mind were constantly recurring to the radiant girl near him, so much so indeed, that between every course Sir Richard started a new subject of conversation, for he noticed the formal constraint between them, and did his best to dispel it.

“Well, Fraulein, what did Tom Pleet have to say? I saw him talking to you.”

“ Oh, he wished me to join him at tennis after dinner. Flossie and her fiance want to play us ; but I told him it was out of the question.”

“ Oh, you could take Sidney over — the Pleets are neighbours of ours — he explained to Sidney. It would amuse you to see them playing together, for Tom’s knock-kneed and Elsie’s left handed.”

“ Now, Uncle Dick, I wish you wouldn’t be quite so personal. It’s cruel of you. I’m sure, Tom can’t help it ”

“ Nor you, my dear. Do you play, Sidney ?”

“Very badly. I’ve never had much practice, you know.”

“ Then don’t play with Elsie, for she’s a demon with that left arm of hers.”

“ If Miss Lisle will tolerate me, I should like to be her victim.”

“ Ah, I daresay you’re only depreciating your ability, for my future discomfiture,” she said, smilingly.

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“ Oh, no, I assure you, I was always too studious to acquire any ability at the game.”

After dinner the young people left Sir Richard to his cigar, and Elsie led the way to the tennis-court. The girl won three sets to nil , before the fading twilight gave place to the silvery rays of the moon, and Sidney was thinking what a duffer she must consider him for having said that he could play at all.

Just as they were finishing the last set, Tom Pleet, a flabby, pale-faced, long, dark-haired young man of twenty-five, joined them. Elsie introduced the young men, and they all three strolled down to the river bank, and there sat chatting in the moonlight (Pleet often wishing Sidney in Timbuctoo), until Sir Richard joined them. Then they went back to the house and played whist until close upon midnight.

When Elsie had retired for the night, and the two men were alone, smoking a last cigar, Sidney asked :

“ Who is Tom Pleet, Sir Richard ? ”

“ His father’s the head of the great limited brewery, ‘ Pleet, Birkins and Co.’ Tom’s a literary genius.”

“ By Jove ! I thought so, by his style,” cried Sidney. “ His long, oily hair, his low, rolling shirt-collar, his round, dreamy, ogling eyes, and his fondness for metaphorical phrases would mark him out for a poet.”

“Yes, he’s a popular poet.”

“ Popular? I never heard of him.”

“ Popular with his relations,” said the old gentlemen drily.

“Ha! How so?”

“ Well, every year, he publishes by subscription, chiefly his mother’s and his own, a volume of verse and margin — well, it’s principally margin.”

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II

“ Ha, ha ! I see what you mean. He’s a poet at his own expense.”

“And at the expense of those who read him. He’s a modest young fellow ; he classes himself only with Keats.”

“ He is very confidential with Els — with your niece.” The young fellow checked himself, as he was about to say Elsie ; but the break did not escape his alert host.

“ Yes,” the Q. C. replied, “ poets, parsons, and policemen, I notice, are natural magnets for the various grades of feminine intellect.”

Sidney smiled at the sarcasm, and when they finished their cigars, they went reluctantly to rest.

That night, as Sidney lay in bed, musing over the agreeable events of the day, his mind dwelt on Tom Fleet with positive aversion.

“ But, why should I dislike him ? ” he asked himself. “ He treated me well enough, though with an air of superiority. How familiar he was with Elsie — how he held her hand when he said good-night. I wonder if he has a right to ? ” Then he gradually drifted into a happy dream, wherein a fair girl, in a blue, gauzy blouse, with tender, light-brown eyes, a finely chiselled Grecian nose, and a delicate patrician point to it, was the central figure.

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Chapter II. We Meet Nelly Shy, Of Chicago

On Monday morning, at breakfast, Sir Richard and Elsie both got letters from Lady Brattle, saying she would return home that day, and bring with her an American lady of distinction, whom she had met whilst visiting Lady August.

Sir Richard and Sidney went to town together, as the young man had some business matters to attend to; and the Q. C. had to finish his closing speech for the plaintiff, in the divorce case of Ganty versus Ganty and Schonerstein.”

“ How long will your business detain you, Sidney? ” asked Sir Richard, when seated in the train.

“ I can’t say exactly. In fact, I was about to ask your advice on the matter, Sir Richard,” said the young fellow, with some hesitation.

“ It is at your service, my boy. Proceed.”

“Well,” began Sidney, “Tuttle, our chief gunner and I have invented an electrical appliance for marine guns, that we believe will be invaluable to the Navy. If we patent it while in the service, the Admiralty will claim it, and remunerate us according to their own more or less liberal views.”

“ I see. I see. Whose idea is it ? ”

“ Originally mine, but Tuttle, being a practical man, helped me to develop it. We have now perfected the

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invention, and Tuttle intends to resign from the service and take out the patent.”

“ In his name, or jointly ? ”

“ If jointly, the Government may still claim my interest, you see.”

“ Of course. Of course. Well?”

“ So I — I — wished to ask you, sir, if you will act as — • as a sort of trustee, for my half of the invention.”

“ That is, allow you to assign your share to me.”

“ Without liability. For we have ample funds to patent it, and Tuttle will attend to the business afterwards.”

“ Certainly, my lad. I’m glad to be able to assist and encourage you.”

“ Oh, thank you, Sir Richard. I hesitated to ask you, because I know you are a very busy man ; but I know of no one else I could trust.”

“ Will this invention be of much value ? ”

“If the Admiralty accept it, it will make us both very rich men.”

“ I’m pleased to find you so ambitious, Sidney. I’ll do all I can to help you.”

The young fellow again thanked him, and went about his business that day with a light heart.

In the evening, when Sir Richard and his prot£g£ returned from the city, they found that Lady Brattle and her American guest had already arrived.

Sidney was kindly welcomed by Lady Brattle, then he and Sir Richard were introduced to the famous Nelly Shy, of Chicago.

“ Glad to know you, Sir Richard,” said Miss Shy, briskly, “and you, Mr.' Dane,” shaking them both cordially by the hand. “ Great speech of yours, Sir Richard, in the Ganty divorce case — read it in the u

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Globe coming out — how you did go for that Jezebel, Schonerstein — eh ? ”

“ Miss Shy,” broke in Lady Brattle, “ my husband dislikes to mention his law cases at home.”

“ Oh ! Too modest, I suppose. Wal, I find all smart men are modest.”

“ It’s not exactly modesty, Miss Shy,” said Sir Richard, smiling, “ but from the same feeling that a hospital surgeon does not care to discuss the hideous operations of the dissecting-room in his family circle.”

“ I git on to the idea, the divorce court is your dissecting-room. I hope you’ll excuse my Chicago density.”

“ Oh, don’t say that,” replied the Q. C. courteously, “ for I understand Chicago leads the world in alertness and commercial enterprise.”

“ We come pretty nigh feeding it, at any rate,” replied Miss Shy, as she accepted Sir Richard’s arm to the dining-room.

Elsie regarded Nelly Shy with some curiosity, for she was a tall, lithe, vivacious woman of perhaps thirty ; her large bright eyes were black and glossy as jet, while her dull raven hair had a rebellious tendency to kinkling and curling in an ungovernable, fluffy mass. She had a light, warm creole complexion, almost of a copper hue, when excitement brought the hot Southern blood to her cheeks ; for her mother was a Quadroon, and her father (Colonel Shy, of New Orleans,), sacrificed his life in the Confederate cause. There was, in Nelly’s manner, a self-reliant, off-hand assurance, which at first blush seemed to many unwomanly ; but her jocular, fraternising habit of ignoring chilling rebuffs and social distinctions, her quaint accent and odd mingling of trenchant, picturesque English with Western idioms, in her shrewd observations, amused her listeners ; while

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T S

her imperturbable good nature ultimately compelled them to regard her with favour, and accept her for what she was — a pushing, energetic American lady journalist.

“ Miss Shy is going round the world,” observed Lady Brattle to her husband, at the end of the first course.

“ Ah, indeed. For pleasure, Miss Shy? ”

“ No. For ‘ The Ladies Journal] of Chicago.”

“ She is writing a series of illustrated articles, on ‘ Women of the World,’ Richard.” Lady Brattle always called her husband “ Richard ” in company, and “ Dick ” in private.

“ Oh ! You must have found many unique and spicy varieties in London.”

“Yes. I’ve seen some fast trotters, in single and double harness there. But it’s the domesticated, homeloving variety I’m after.”

“ Isn’t it curious, Richard, that Miss Shy should be engaged writing of one class, and I making a book on the other ? ”

“ It is an odd coincidence. I should imagine you to be of much assistance to each other.”

“ We have already discovered that,” said the American. “ From what I had read and heard of the doings and sayings of English society women, before leaving the West, I came to the conclusion they must be chiefly the progeny of broken-down turf sports, united to ex-music-hall artists. But, thanks to Lady August and Lady Brattle, I have been introduced to English homes, where the golden flower of womanhood blooms in all its purity, and where the nauseous, flaunting, flimsy, weak-stemmed poppy of turfy, music-hall society is unknown, or justly ignored.”

“ And I,” observed her hostess, “ have learned that i6

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the middle-class, well-bred American women are thoroughly proficient in housekeeping, and vie with each other in inventing delicacies for the table, beautifying their homes, and encouraging the social and domestic virtues. And their girls, while given a greater liberty than ours, are not all the capricious, title-worshipping dolls, or tyrannical wives, the superficial novelist would lead us to believe.”

“ Quite a mutual and satisfactory discovery,” said the host. “ What did you think of the American girls, Sidney?”

“We only touched at Frisco. I had little opportunity of judging.”

“ I guess you’re not a ladies’-man,” observed Miss Shy, flashing her dark eyes upon the young lieutenant.

“ Well, no, I don’t think I am,” replied the young fellow, flushing.

“ I hope you’re not,” said Lady Brattle severely, “ for the so-called ‘ladies’-man’ is no judge of woman. He is too selfish ; he can see only the frivolous side of her nature, and cares nothing for the true nobility of womanhood.”

“ Then, I certainly am not,” rejoined Sidney. “ For if there is one characteristic I admire in a woman, it is sedate, domestic contentment.”

Lady Brattle was gratified at this expression, for she was one of those rigidly virtuous women who mistrust the morals of all men. She was a handsome, portly woman of fifty, with a light, warm complexion, and beautiful silvery blonde hair, which, in younger days, had been a delicate amber. Her eyes were blue and penetrating ; and there was in her manner a stately expression of power and authority, which caused the young lieutenant to respect her, though he never felt the

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same feeling of attachment for her that he did for her husband, Sir Richard.

It may be as well to acquaint the reader at once with Lady Brattle’s early history. She was the fifth and oldest daughter of Sir Rodric Bevis, who for many years held a high government position in India. There “ Betsy” Bevis was brought up, and, at the desperate age of thirty, while in a fit of pique at a recreant lover, accepted, and married in hot haste, Commander Victor Le Zaras, of the French Navy, a man about ten years her senior. Some five years after the birth of their only child, M. Le Zaras resigned his position under the Tri-colour, took service with a Burmese prince, and became the Commodore of the prince’s naval flotilla. Leaving his wife in India with her sister (Mrs. Colonel Lisle), the newly-made Commodore rapidly grew rich under the lax Burmese administration. He visited his family from time to time, during the first few years of his new career, but refused to take them abroad with him, because, as he said, his station in Burmah was a most unhealthy one. Ultimately, the licentious scamp, for this he was, threw off the mask, and wrote to his wife that he had adopted the Burmese religion and set up an establishment in accordance with the custom of the country. He, however, offered to provide a separate home for his wife and her child, if they would come to him. This his spirited wife scornfully refused, and at once applied for a divorce. Finally, the cruelly-treated lady returned to her father in England, and after some difficulty a divorce was obtained.

Richard Brattle, Q. C., her present husband, had been her leading counsel, and seeing much of the still handsome woman, he became fascinated by her, so that, soon after the decree had been made abso- 2 i8

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lute, “ Dick Brattle,” as his intimates called him, succumbed to the charms of his fair client, and Madame Le Zaras became Mrs. Brattle. A year or two later, through the prestige of his wife’s friends, among whom were some influential political relations, and his own great ability, he was made a baronet.

As a bachelor, Dick Brattle had spent a life of restless gaiety. Without being heartless or cruel, he had become satiated with the attentions of, and his own gallantry towards, ladies of easy virtue, so that, now that he had found his ideal of a woman, he was quite ready for a life of connubial repose — as frequently happens to gay bachelors. Their ten years of married life had been all that could be desired ; for there was a deep and genuine attachment between them. Lady Brattle’s frequent outbursts of irritability were dissolved like vapour in the sun of her husband’s genial good-humour. Her very proneness to fits of ill-temper charmed the man who had encountered but few thorns in the rosy paths of love he had heretofore traversed.

It rained that night, so the guests were entertained indoors. But the next evening, after dinner, Lady Brattle and Miss Shy sat chatting together, watching the young people at tennis, for Tom Pleet and his sister had come over for their usual game, and were playing against Sidney and Elsie.

“ I admire your niece immensely,” said Miss Shy, impulsively to her hostess, as the game proceeded. “ What a charming, dashing girl she is ! How her eyes glow with the zest of the game. She hasn’t been presented yet, I suppose?”

“No, I don’t intend her to be,” replied Lady Brattle.

“ No ! Why ? ”

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“ I think it all a mistake, in the present condition of society.”

“ I guess you’re about right,” was Miss Shy’s characteristic rejoinder.

“ She’s perfectly contented as she is. We take her occasionally to the galleries, operas, concerts, theatres, and small social functions in the neighbourhood here, that is all.”