THE BUBAL WEW-YOBKEB. 
SEPT.20 
“ My dear mother, for two reasons your deter¬ 
mination will never bo put to the test. Firstly, 
because you have no son ; and secondly, because, 
ir you had a hundred, Monselgueur lialph would 
never deign to take take notice of one of them.” 
“Do be quiet for a single minute, Charlotte,” 
said Minnie. “ You talk on, and on, and no one 
else can get In a word. Mamma, what made you 
say that about Pauline ?” 
“ What made you guess what I was going to 
say?” 
“ Oh,” replied Minnie astutely, “ because 1 had 
heard you say It before.” 
“ To whom ?” 
“To Aunt Camilla. I heard you hinting about, 
him. I wanted to know how you took up the Idea 
at first.” 
“ Little things put together,” replied her moth¬ 
er, rather hastily, as a little thing In the shape of 
Dot entered. “Nothing In particular, I assure 
you. Now we have been Idling here long enough. 
Come, Dot, and nold this skein of worsted for 
me." 
She was not to he entrapped Into further com¬ 
munications; and wttJi an uneasy sensation of 
something wrong, she was aware, tor the first 
time, that she would prefer none being made by 
any one else. 
Charlotte’s hurst of indignation she could not 
face. _ 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
81 r John Finch. 
rr may ha ve been observed that, Mrs. Jennyn, 
whenever she had an opportunity of Introducing 
the name of Sir John and Lady Finch Into her 
conversation, did not fall to take advantage of It. 
As usually happens In such eases, where the 
acquaintanceship Is assumed, on one side, to he 
especially close, her real knowledge or them was 
slight. 
Hhe had no true perception into the character 
or habits of either; but she had tlielr visiting- 
cards on her table, she could describe the Interior 
of their mansion-house, and she could command 
a bow when their carriage passed hers In the 
village. 
On this foundation she romaneed at large to her 
less fortunate acquaintance; for the Jerrnyns, 
although occasionally admitted to the neighbor¬ 
ing country-houses, could not be said to be inti¬ 
mate at any, but lived chiefly in a small world of 
their own, composed uf the occupants of villas 
ami river-side cottages, of which a considerable 
number clustered roupd the hamlet, at their 
gates. 
By these they were admired, envied, and Imi¬ 
tated. 
To them would Mrs. Jermyn lay down the law, 
fearless of correction; and her favorite topic was 
seldom far from her Ups. 
Sir John's “little ways" were alluded to, and 
hts “old-fashioned, foibles" apologised for. In a 
way that, could lie have heard It, would have 
brought some of them strongly to the front. 
Lady Finch's “unfortunate shyness” was like¬ 
wise tenderly dealt with. She was really more 
to he pitted than anyone else. It. wore off en¬ 
tirely, entirely, when alone with her friends. Peo- i 
plo called her proud, but such an appellation was, 
she need hardly assure them, altogether unde- j 
ftenml. She was a sweet woman. 
Even In allowing such lit tle shortcomings, Mrs. 
Jermyn would appear to have a struggle with i 
herself. Kho could not but be partial, be blind to 
anything amiss in such mends. Their interests, 
she owned were hers, she called on all to par- I 
tlelpate in their anxieties, demanded elation for 
their successes, mournfully claimed sympathy for 
their bereavements. i 
Titbits of gossip concerning their “ kind neigh- 1 
hors at the IUU” must always, she felt, have a ] 
superior interest to any other subject, for the 
little coteries of which she had constituted her¬ 
self the queen. ] 
Mrs. Jermyn also enjoyed much satisfaction 
from recounting details of the menage, and i 
enumerating the servants, the horses, the ear- i 
rlages, and tho visitors of Mrs. Wyndham. i 
The Finches had called, of course. They had t 
called among the very first, So thoughtful— so I 
like themselves. 
Mrs. Jermyn, however, did not know to whom 1 
she was ascribing honor. 1 
Dolly Finch had not only instigated his parents E 
to tho visit, but he had accompanied thorn. f 
He had been loud in his praises afterwards. 
What charming people they were! What a de- £ 
lightful house it was to go to! Mrs. Wyndhum 1 
so friendly, so easy 1 Buch a nice, well-mannered 1 
woman ! 
,, Why are there not more like her?” cried the 1 
young man, enthusiastically, “Usually if there ‘ 
Is one thing in the world I hate more than 1 
another, It Is to make a call. You give up your c 
afternoon, and you ride four or live miles, and c 
yon have to get down and open half-a-dozen v 
gates U you go up by a side entrance—besides the 
nuisance of the door-bell at the end—and all you c 
get for your pains Is a pair of cold lingers, and a s 
seat on the ottoman, In the worst part of the & 
whole room to get away from." 
“Humph!" returned his father, dryly. “It J 
seems to me there was another part of the room, r 
very far from the ottoman, which you found still 
worse to get, away from to-day. 1 found no dllU* * 
culty In getting away from the ottoman, but ] 1 
thought, you were never coming out or that s 
corner. And as for the house, it Is all one abotul- c 
nnble draught. I have been shivering ever since n 
1 came out, of it.” a 
“You were shivering before you went, sir; c 
you complained of It this morning. You have 
caught cold, standing about in the farmyard, k 
yesterday.” • « 
“ Jt was not the farmyard ; there was nothing 
, In tho farmyard to give me cold. It was those 
■, hot., unwholesome rooms—” 
1 "Unwholesome? They were delicious The 
scent of t he flowers—” 
"I tell you It was that made mo 111; I know It 
2 was, Nasty, sickly atmosphere—enough to poi- 
i son any human being! And every time the door 
opened, a gale blew along the ground, and froze 
) one’s feet till they were like stones, f would not 
live In t hat house If I were paid for It.” 
1 Dolly differed from him entirely. He liked the 
place and everything about It. 
Ills mother agreed with him. Yes. Mrs. 
Wyndham was agreeable—certainly agreeable, 
l kind and friendly. Good-looking too. 
Dolly thought her uncommonly good-looking. 
A little bit made up, you know, but what of that ? 
Miss La Suite Is not made up, at all events. Khe 
■ Is—ah—rather handsome, Is she not ‘t 
Not rather—very. A lovely girl, so graceful, 
so retiring! .Such a contrast to those awkward 
Miss Jermyr.sj! Lady Finch protests that she 
cannot imagine how they come to belong to the 
same race. 
Hereupon Dolly grows quite excited. There Is 
no relationship, none of any sort. Mrs. Wynd¬ 
ham had made a low sort of marriage, and hud 
got a lot of money, and her husband was dead, 
and there was no more to be said about It. But 
with Miss I.a Sarte, the Jenny ns have nothing 
to do; MIkb La KarU* belongs to a good old family. 
He Is so Intelligible, and 80 deeply in earnest, 
that Sir John’s two gray eyebrows come to the 
front, aud make a dead point. 
Beauty, birth, money ? He thinks II might do. 
lie will not say more uf the discomforts he Inn-; 
undergone; and If that Invitation Mrs. Wyndham 
talked about should come, it must certainly be 
accepted, even If he should slip out of the engage¬ 
ment afterwards. 
There proved to he some cause lor the latter 
provision. 
The next day he sat In Ids great arm-chair by 
the lire, in all the dignity of sickness. 
Slippers encased his feet, a dressing-gown 
buttoned to ills chin, and a shawl overspread his 
shoulders, ills grey locks of hair, Instead of 
curling crisply round each temple as was their 
wont, were brushed straight. They had nor. 
boon plunged Into water that morning, nor had 
hts heard been trimmed. He was really unwell, 
and unnaturally docile and meek. 
By midday Lady Finch sent, for tho doctor. 
He allowed that she had done right. Perhaps 
the doctor could do him some little good, lie 
was 111 —he was exceedingly ill. Headache, and a 
nasty depression. He didn't know where, (every¬ 
where. Then he Closed his hand and boat his 
breast sorrowfully, “Pain, pain, pain!" 
" 1 told you you had got a cold, sir,” said Dolly, 
smiling, but not undutlfully. “ You never would 
have made such a fuss about those rooms, If there 
hail not been something the matter with you. ' 
You don't care what a room Is like, us a rule.” 
“I dare say you are right,” mildly rejoined the 
invalid. “ This attack was coining upon me, and 
that must, have been why i relt out of sorts alto* 
gether; 1 ought never to have been out of doors; 
I know i ought not. What the doctor will say to 
me—” 
“Oh, you'll be all light again In a day or two. 
You ha ve only to take some gruel, and that sort 1 
of thing. What’s this?” as a servant entered 
with a tray. 
“ Your soup, Sir John,” said the man, arranging 
It by his side. 
“My soup? Eh? I didn’t order any soup. 
What am to do with It? Who sent It?” de¬ 
manded his master, eyeing the basin, but without 
ill-will. “1 don't know that 1 want that soup,” 1 
he continued, Irresolutely. 
“ The best thing in the world for a cold,” said < 
Dolly. "And uncommonly good it smells, too. ' 
iieigh-bo 1 l w ish it was dinner-time.’' 
“Do you? Perhaps l may take a Utile; a 
mouthful or two. What made you say It was i 
good ? I don't know t hat It's good. I don’t like I 
eating soup at tills hour; ft Is Just some of Cub- ( 
turd’s nonsense, sending it," breaking some bread i 
Into the bowl as he spoke. ( 
“Don’t have It, if you don’t want It,” said 
Dolly, whose appetite had been sharpened by a < 
long ride In tho cold air. “ If you are going to c 
send It down again, give it to me. i’ll soon make <. 
short work of It." 
ills evident partiality was as stimulating ms a 1 
good sauce; more so, Indeed, to Sir John, who 1 
hated sauces, as he hated everything that, was 
not solid, substantial, and John Bull to the core, l 
‘‘Oh, 1 suppose I had better take it,” replied t 
he, lifting a spoonful with an air or resignation. I 
“ When one Is weak and 111, ay I am, It sets one u 
up a little. 1 wonder that Dr. Tyndall has not 1 
come yet! He should not have been so long In i 
coming, when I sent for him. Did lie know It c 
was lor me, Anne V” to his wife, who entered. t 
“Oh, how comfortable you look, my dear!” 
cried she, disregarding him. “ l am so glad to 
see you can enjoy your soup. Custard told me 
she hud ordered it for you." a 
“Humph! I’m playing with It a little.” Sir 
John hung his head, and almost blushed for the s 
relish he had evinced. ( ] 
••I knew it, was that. Custard,” he continued, v 
“As if I am to he cured by anything she can do! 1 
If 1 were on my death-bed she would concoct, 
some t rash of a Jelly, and Imagine nothing more \ 
could be needed 1 The only person who might do i 
me some little good is Dr. Tyndall, and he keeps f 
away. Send for a doctor, and you have as good a 1 
chance of getting a policeman when he’s wanted." I 
“ He has sent a messenger Just now, to say that 
he had been called away, but will look in here 1 
this evening,” said Lady Finch. i 
; “ This evening! That’s not when I want him. 
3 Ami to wait ail that time to know what lathe 
matter with rnc ? Till this cvonulng, Indeed! 
3 Dr. Tyndall can have no Idea how ill 1 am. 
“ And what does ‘ this evening’ mean, 1 should 
L like to know V” muttered the Invalid, relapsing Into 
testinoss. “It may mean any time. Eight o’clock, 
p nine o’clock, ten o'clock. It Is too bad” (with 
i lining sharpness) "of Dr. TyndaU to put me oil, 
\> with * this evening.’ ” 
Eight o'clock Lady Finch pronounced to be the 
i fated hour. Dr. Tyndall was rarely out after 
eight o'clock. He probably Intended to take Finch 
Hall on hla way home. 
Kir John humphed, grunted, and fretted as he 
listened to her. 
Three hours still to wait! Three mortal hours, 
In which there was nothing to be done but sit, sit, 
sit, and listen to the clock ticking; He did not 
w a nl any more of the newspaper, lie never went 
to sleep at that hour. He spurned every overture 
made to him. 
Suddenly tho door-bell rang, with a sharp, au¬ 
thoritative demand. 
" Dr. Tyndall’s ring. Sir John,” said the man, 
w ith a smile ; and In a few moments afterwards, 
l>r. Tyndall walked In. 
Finding that he should have to be out again 
that night, he had come, on second thoughts, to 
Finch Hall first. He was sorry to hear that sir 
John was unwell, and then followed professional 
inquiries. 
At, t he end of a quarter of an hour the patient 
was more composed ; he had been dlciated to, 
sympathized with, and prescribed for. 
All wasgolngon satisfactorily, when, as ill luck 
would have it, the visitor rose. 
“ You are not going yet!” cried Kir John, from 
t he depths of hts arm-chair. " You have hardly 
come In ! Do you mean to say you can't sit down 
lor live minutes ?" He was hurt, and a sense or 
desertion stole over him. “Can't you stay and 
have some dinner 7 ” he continued, almost plain¬ 
tively. “ Let your carriage go, and wo will send 
you home.” 
But Dr. Tyndall arrested the order. 
It must be owned that he had a certain plea¬ 
sure In saying “ No that he felt all the Impor¬ 
tance of being hurried from one great house to 
another,as he announced that “home” was not 
his destination ; he had been summoned to Blun- 
delisayo. 
It was this visit which he had feared would de¬ 
tain him until the evening. He had been actu¬ 
ally on the way there, when Sir John’s messenger 
overtook him, and it was not until after it was 
too late to recall t he man, that It had occurred 
to him to alter the arrangement. 
sir John Inquired, still with something or the 
peevishness of an injured man, which of the 
madcaps had sent for litin. 
The doctor was unable to say. In fact—with a 
little lrrtabillty—no proper message had been 
' despatched. 
He bad met the drag, with a party fn It, near 
the station, and the footman had Jumped down 
and run after him, with a request that lie would 
go up to t he house at once. 
Not ha ving the pleasure of Mr. Ralph Blundell's 
acquaintance, he had not looked Into the carriage. 
Someone had bawled out to the man that they 
would be late for the train, and they had rattled 
off before he could understand clearly what was 
required of him. 
Nevertheless, he must go, and with a motion of 
his hand he put aside further entreaties. They 
had to yield ; and a dull evening, unenlivened by 
his cheerful chat, was endured by all. 
It was late ere the doctor lefL Blundellsaye that 
night, and ho was there again betimes on the 
following morning. On hla way he was overtaken 
by Mrs. Jermyn and her daughter, who were 
driving over to spend a few days at the Grange. 
The ladles pulled up, and he was consulted about 
Dot’s second teetli, and the Illness of a servant. 
Then the wuggouetto took the lead, for the day 
was raw, and the doctor had enclosed himself in 
his brougham, which could not keep pace with 
the lighter vehicle. Also, he had hulls to make, 
at. one house and another. He made his bow and 
drove on. 
“ You have Indeed been well received, my dear 
Camilla,” began Mrs. Jermyn after luncheon, 
during which full accounts of the past fortnight’s 
doings had been given and harkened to. “ You 
are now fairly established as one or ourselves. 
But I said how it would he. it is the selge, you 
know, the selge that was prognosticated." 
" Come along with me,” said Charlotte to Pau¬ 
line. " Mamma and Aunt, Camilla like to palaver 
to each other with nobody hv, to listen or Inter¬ 
fere with them. They will ‘ dear, »and ‘ Quite, ’ 
and • so, ’ as happily as possible, lor the next two 
hours. Now tell me all you have got to tell. 
What have you been about since you came ? now 
do you get on together? Aud has she sent for 
the hat, yet v" 
Pauline could not choose but stnllc. 
“ You have no Idea how kind she Is, Charlotte ; 
nor how little silly she can be, when—when we 
are quite alone.” 
“ When mamma is not with her ? Eh? I dare¬ 
say. And so you are not absolutely bored to 
death, yet? Y r ou poor soul < I do pity you. Aud 
what says the Little Fennel to it all ? And did 
Dolly come with the Finches?” 
“ Dolly v Oh, yes,” said Pauline, dreamily, “ I 
wonder Jwho Is 111 in this direction ? Aunt Ca¬ 
milla allows Dr, Tyndall to drive through the 
grounds, as he used to do before she came, as If he 
has to go that Way ; and this is the second time 
he has passed up the Long Avenue to-day.” 
“ I can tell you,” said Charlotte, with an odd 1 
look In her face. “ Mamma would say you would < 
not thank me, but of course that's nonsense. 
. Only I know,” she added, looking, with an as- 
' sumption of entire carelessness, the other way, 
! “ that It Is not pleasant hearing of anything hap¬ 
pening to—one’s brother’s friends. Mr. Blundell 
I has got typhoid fever." 
i ___ 
CHAPTER XIX. 
The Doctor’s Carriage. 
For it is with feelings as with waters. 
, The shallow murmur, and the deep are dumb. 
“ Mamma, you were wrong altogether! ” cried 
Charlotte, afterwards. “ Kho did not caro a 
straw. Hie said, * Indeed ! I am sorry,' and then 
walked to her wardrobe, a hd took out her shawl 
as composedly as 1 should Lave done. T fore¬ 
stalled you with the Intelligence, In casts the ef¬ 
fect might he too much for your tender heart; 
but 1 might have saved myself the trouble. Mr! 
Blundell has no chief mourner—at present, at all 
events. Are you going out ? ” 
“No, indeed! not on such a day. It would 
bring my neuralgia back again directly. I shall 
stay with your aunt, and you can take a walk 
With Pauline.” 
“ We are going to drive,” said Charlotte. 
“Aunt Camilla wants some shopping done in 
Bexley, and wo are going In the pony-carriage. 
There It Is coming out of the stables. Wliat, a 
smart Uttlo turn-out! Look, mammai; that Is 
surely a new kind of carriage; I don’t think I 
have seen one like It before." 
" Who Is going to drive ? ” 
“ Pauline, of course. Tills Is her carriage. Aunt 
Camilla never goes out in It.” 
“It is quite absurd the way your aunt spoils 
Pauline,” cried Mjs. Jermyn. “ I hear she is get¬ 
ting down an Erard grand piano on purpose for 
her. And she is to have masters in the spring. 
It is really quite—quite ridiculous. A poor de¬ 
pendant girl! an Absolute pauper! Most unsuit¬ 
able, when she may have to earn her own 
bread-” 
“ Not. she ! " 
“ You can’t tell; it ts quite possible. Accus¬ 
toming her to all this luxury Is no kindness. It 
—oh, come in, come la, my dear," In answer to a 
tap at tnc door. “ Come In, Pauline; so you and 
Charlotte are going to have a little drive togeth¬ 
er. If you want Cluirlolte to drive, she Is not at 
all nervous, aud perhaps rather moro accustomed 
to ponies than you are-” 
“ Would charlotte like to drive ? ” said Paul¬ 
ine. 
“ Of course she would,” said Charlotte, readily 
—“ and so would Pauline; so you drive one way 
and 1 the other, and we shall both bo happy. As 
for my being accustomed to ponies," she confided 
on their way down-slabs, •* that is one of mam¬ 
ma's Utile lllghfis. I have never driven anything 
In my life but OUT old Tommy, who can by no 
means be started, unless some ono runs In front 
ot him all tho way down t.ho drive. But as I 
dearly lovo to handle the reins, aud as you have 
got such a sweet little rat, of a thing to take 
along, 1 can't find It In my heart to refuse the 
polite invitation. Wo look picturesque, don’t we ? 
you In your scarlet shawl, and 1 In my blue 
cloak ? Something ulce-und bright to look at on 
this deplorable day. Don’t you wear gloves ? ” 
“ Of course,” said Pauline, absently. 
“Where are they then? Why, I declare you 
thought they were on jour hands I Your wits are 
wool-gathering, I think, or you are dreaming of 
some one far away. ‘ Over the hills and far away.’ 
Let me see ! Who can it be ? ” 
“ You had better drive first, Charlotte. Roger 
isapt to pull, coming home.” 
“ Then you must, wuke up if you are going to 
hold him in, my dear. Where Is the button tor 
this apron ? ” Lower, “ We don’t need a man, do 
wc ? " 
“Not when there are two of us. r have one 
when I go alone. What are you waiting for ? ” 
“ He has gone for umbrellas. Not that mere Is 
the slightest chance of rain, but,f however, they 
do no harm. Now, shall I set off ? ” 
They had not started many minutes when 
Pauline uttered a low ejaculation. 
“ What is It ? ’’Inquired' Charlotte. 
“ The doctor's carriage coming back. Don’t you 
think—we might-” 
" What ? ” 
lu" Nothing. I ton’t drive quite so fast, Charlotte. 
Don’t let us be in his way. Let him overtake U 3 
while the road is broad enough for the brougham 
to pass. It takes up some room.” 
“ We need not be In his way,” said Charlotte. 
“ We could run away from his old rumble-tumble 
easily. I can hardly hold the pony in as It Is.. 
Get on, Roger.” 
“ Give me the ielns. I forgot that he had been 
111 the stables the whole ol yesterday. Of course 
he Is too fresh tor you.” 
Khe attempted to take them, but Charlotte 
laughed, and held them fast. 
“ No, no—none of that, if he pulls when he Is 
coming home, and If he is too fresh for me when 
he Is going out, I sha’nt get much driving between 
the two. Ifle, Roger ! That Is the proper pace 
to take. There, you see, tho carriage Is not even 
In sight, behind us.” 
Paulino said not a word. 
A few minutes later they came in sight of the 
lodge. 
“ Oh, l wonder how the baby Is to-day ? ” cried 
Miss La Sarte. “ There Is such a dear little baby 
here, Charlotte—only a week old ; and I am to 
be godmother. I must look after my baby. It 
was pot quite well when I was down on Tuesday. 
Stop, and let me ask how It Is.” 
“ We can call when we come back,” said Char¬ 
lotte. “Would that not do as well, as the gate Is 
open now '/ ” 
“ Oh, you can puU up Just outside,” said Paul- 
