NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES.

HEART OF OAK: A Three-Stranded Yarn. By W. Clark Russell. 3 vols.

THE PROFESSOR’S EXPERIMENT. By Mrs. Hungerford. 3 vols.

THE WOMAN IN THE DARK. By F. W. Robinson. 2 vols.

THE VOICE OF THE CHARMER. By L. T. Meade. 3 vols.

SONS OF BELIAL. By William Westall. 2 vols.

LILITH. By George MacDonald. 1 vol.

LADY KILPATRICK. By Robert Buchanan. 1 vol.

CLARENCE. By Bret Harte. 1 vol.

THE IMPRESSIONS OF AUREOLE. A Diary of To-Day. 1 vol.

DAGONET ABROAD. By George R. Sims. 1 vol.

THE KING IN YELLOW. By Robert W. Chambers. 1 vol.

IN THE QUARTER. By Robert W. Chambers. 1 vol.

London: CHATTO & WINDUS, Piccadilly.

[Pg iii]

MARRIED OR SINGLE?

BY B. M. CROKER AUTHOR OF “DIANA BARRINGTON,” “A FAMILY LIKENESS,” ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES VOL. III.

LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1895

[Pg v]

[Pg iv]

CONTENTS OF VOL. III.

[Pg 1]

MARRIED OR SINGLE?

CHAPTER XXIX.“MR. WYNNE!”

A few days before their departure for the sunny south, Miss West, her father, and several visitors were sitting in the drawing-room, the tall shaded lamps were lit, the fragrant five-o’clock cup was being dispensed by Madeline; who was not, as Lady Rachel remarked, in her usual good spirits. Lady Rachel had thrown off her furs, she had secured a comfortable seat in a becoming light, and was flirting audaciously with a congenial spirit. Mrs. Leach was of course present,[Pg 2] and an elderly colonel, Mrs. Veryphast (a smart society matron), her sister, and a couple of Guardsmen—quite a gathering. Mrs. Veryphast was laughing uproariously, Mrs. Leach was solemnly comparing notes respecting dressmakers with Mrs. Veryphast’s sister. The colonel, Mr. West, and Lord Tony, were discussing the share list. The Guardsmen were devoting themselves to the fair tea-maker, when the anteroom door was flung open with a flourish, and a footman announced “Mr. Wynne!”

This name was merely that of an ordinary visitor—one of the multitude who flocked to offer incense to his daughter, a partner and a slave, in fact, in the ears of every one save two—Lord Tony’s, and Mrs. Wynne’s. The latter felt as if she had been turned to stone.[Pg 3] Had Laurence come to make a scene? to claim her? She breathed hard, living a whole year of anxiety in a few seconds of time. The hand that held the sugar-tongs actually became rigid through fear. She glanced at her father. He, poor innocent individual, was totally unconscious of the crisis, and little supposed that the good-looking young fellow now shaking hands with Madeline was actually his son-in-law!

“Oh, how do you do?” faltered Miss West, and raising a swift, appealing, half-terrified look to the stranger. “Papa, let me introduce Mr. Wynne.”

Mr. Wynne bowed, uttered a few commonplaces to the invalid, and stood talking to him for some time.

Meanwhile, Mr. West noticed with satisfaction the air of refinement and of blue blood (which he adored) in the[Pg 4] visitor’s appearance and carriage. Wynne was a good name.

No one guessed at the situation, except Lord Tony. His breath was taken away, he looked, he gaped, he repeated the same thing four times over to Mrs. Veryphast—who began to think that this jovial little nobleman was a fool. To see Miss West thus calmly (it looked so at a distance) present her husband to her father, as he afterwards expressed it, “completely floored him.” And the old chap, innocent as an infant, and Wynne as cool as a cucumber, as self-possessed as it was possible to be!

And then suddenly Lady Rachel turned round and saw him, and called out in her shrill, clear voice, “Why, Mr. Wynne, is it possible! who would have thought of seeing you here? Come over and sit[Pg 5] beside me,” making room on the Chesterfield couch, “and amuse me.”

“I’m afraid I’m not a very amusing person,” he replied, accepting her beringed fingers, and standing before her.

“You can be, if you like; but perhaps you now reserve all your witty sayings for your stories. Are you writing anything at present?” (Stereotyped question to author.)

“No, not at present,” rather stiffly.

“I did not know you knew the Wests. Maddie, dear,” raising her voice, “you never told me that you and Mr. Wynne were acquaintances.”

Madeline affected not to hear, and stooped to pick up the tea-cosy, and hide a face which had grown haggard; whilst Mr. West, who had gathered that Wynne was a rising man, and that his books were getting talked about, invited[Pg 6] him to come and sit near him, and tell him if there was anything going on—anything in the evening papers?

“You see, I’m still a bit of an invalid,” indicating a walking-stick; “shaky on my pins, and not allowed to go to my club. I’ve had a very sharp attack, and I’m only waiting till the weather is a little milder to start for the south of France.” He had taken quite a fancy to this Wynne (and he did not often fall in love at first sight).

Madeline looked on as she handed her husband a cup of tea, by her parent’s orders, and was spellbound with amazement and trepidation to see Laurence and her father, seated side by side, amiably talking politics, both being, as it providentially happened, of the same party. This was to her almost as startling a spectacle as if an actual[Pg 7] miracle had been performed in the drawing-room before her eyes.

That her attention strayed in one particular direction did not escape Mrs. Leach’s observation. Could this be——But no, he was far too presentable, he was evidently one of the Wynnes of Rivals Wynne; she herself saw the strong family likeness. He was absolutely at his ease, he scarcely noticed Miss West, though she glanced repeatedly at him, was looking pale and agitated, talked extreme nonsense, and filled cups at random.

No, no; this man was not the mysterious friend. No such luck for Madeline; and, if he had been, he never could have had the nerve to walk boldly and alone into the very lion’s den. But he probably knew the real Simon Pure, and was a go-between and messenger. Yes, that was it. Having thus disposed of her[Pg 8] question to her entire satisfaction, and carefully studied Mr. Wynne, from the parting of his hair to the buttons of his boots, she turned and exercised her fascinations on the colonel, who was one of her sworn admirers.

Lady Rachel, who had wearied of her companion, threw him off with an airy grace—which is one of the finest products of civilization—and, on pretence of having a little talk with Mr. West, cleverly managed to monopolize Mr. West’s companion, chatting away most volubly—though now and then Mr. West, who was well on the road to recovery, insisted on having his say; and, as he discoursed, Laurence had leisure to take in the magnificence of his surroundings. The lofty rooms, silken hangings, velvet pile carpets, priceless old china, and wealth of exotic flowers. Everything[Pg 9] seemed to cry out in chorus, “Money! money! money! Money everywhere.” Madeline, in a velvet gown, sitting in the midst of it, mistress of all she surveyed, with a young baronet on one side and a duke’s heir on the other absolutely hanging on her words. Her beauty, in its setting of brilliant dress, soft light, and a thousand feminine surroundings, failed to impress him. It was for this—looking about, and taking in footmen, pictures, gildings, silver tea equipage, the heavy scented flowers, soft

shaded lamps, the sparkle of diamonds, the titled, appreciative friends in one searching glance—that she had deserted—yes, that was the proper word—deserted him and Harry. Even as he watched her, she was nursing a Chinese lap dog (a hideous beast in his opinion), and calling the attention of her companions[Pg 10] to her darling Chow-chow’s charms. “Look at his lovely curled tail!” he heard her exclaim, “and his beautiful little black tongue!” And, meanwhile, the farmer’s wife was nursing her child, who did not recognize his mother when he saw her.

[Pg 11]

CHAPTER XXX.MARRIED OR SINGLE?

Mr. West and his new acquaintance had apparently an inexhaustible capital of conversation, and still kept up the ball, as other people departed one after the other. Madeline knew that Laurence was resolved to sit them all out, for, as he laid his cup and saucer beside her, he said, in a whisper only audible to her, “I’m going to wait, I must have a word with you alone.”

After a time, when he was positively the last visitor, and the clock was pointing to half past six, he too rose and took[Pg 12] leave of Mr. West—who expressed a cordial hope that they would see him whenever they came back to town—and of Madeline, who instead of ringing the bell, crossed the room with the visitor, airily remarking to her father, “I’m just going to show Mr. Wynne that last little picture you bought at Christy’s—he is so fond of paintings. I’ll be back immediately”—effecting her escape at the same moment by opening another door, through which she waved her husband, saying hurriedly, “In here, in here, the picture is there. Come along and stand before it; and now what is it?”

The room was dimly lit, and there was not much light upon the painting, but that was of no consequence to Laurence Wynne. He, however, took his stand before it, glanced at it, and then, turning to his companion, said gravely, “All[Pg 13] right. I’ve come to answer your letter in person.”

“Laurence! I never knew of such madness! Talk of my going to your chambers—it was nothing; but for you to venture here——” and her eyes and gesture became tragic. “Positively, when I saw you walk in, I felt on the point of fainting.”

“I am glad, however, that you did not get beyond that point. I was surprised to see your father so well; after your account of him——”

“Oh, that was written more than a fortnight ago; he is much better—but weather bound—on account of the snow in the south.

“Well, yes; and your letter was overlooked, and not forwarded. I’ve been away on circuit.”

“I believe you don’t care whether I[Pg 14] never write to you or not; nor to hear what I’m doing?”

“Oh, but, you know, I am always well posted in the society papers.”

“Society papers!”

“Yes; I see them at my club. Besides, I can actually rise to a couple of sixpences a week—and I read how the lovely Miss West was at a ball, looking very smart in straw colour; or had been observed at church parade wearing her new sables; or shopping in Bond Street, looking very bright and happy; or—at—the theatre glorified in diamonds and gold embroideries. However, I have at last made your father’s acquaintance; he does not seem to be such a terrible ogre! You may have noticed how pleasant he was to me; we got on like a house on fire. I do not think that your disclosure will have the awful consequence you anticipate,[Pg 15] and I am perfectly confident that it will be attended with no ill effects as regards his health. I am sure you have taken a wrong estimate of his character. He may fly into a passion just at first—I fancy you may expect that—but he will calm down, and we shall all be very good friends; and I am certain he will be delighted with Harry.”

“I am not at all so sanguine as to that,” returned his wife dubiously; “and you have not yet told me, Laurence—and we have no time to lose—what has brought you here?”

“I came, as I have said before, to answer your letter in person. I am glad I have done so, I have seen things with my own eyes, and I can realize your position more clearly than hitherto. I see you surrounded with luxury. A duchess could have no more. I see your[Pg 16] father, by no means the frail invalid that I was led to expect; I see your friends—your—pausing expressively—admirers! I’ve had, in short, a glimpse into your life, and realized the powerful cords—you call them claims—that bind you here, and have drawn you away from me.” He paused again for a moment, making a quick gesture with his hand to show that Madeline must hear him out. “And now I have come to tell you my last word. You will—or, if you wish, I will—tell your father the truth now—within the hour. It will then depend upon circumstances, whether you leave England or not. If your father wishes to have you and Harry with him, I shall say nothing against it.”

Madeline listened to this long and authoritative speech with some dismay. This plan would not suit her at all. What would all her gay society friends[Pg 17] say—and most of them were coming to the Riviera—if, instead of the brilliant Miss West, they found Mrs. Wynne—a prodigal daughter who had married without leave, and who was hampered with a teething baby? And Laurence was really becoming quite too overbearing! She would not give in—if she succumbed now, it was for always. What a fuss he was making, simply because she was going abroad for three months with her father.

“Surely you can wait until we come back. You see, papa is not in a state now for any sudden excitement. I will tell him if you wish in a month, when he has completely recovered——”

“I will wait no longer,” interrupted her husband. “I have already waited on your good pleasure for close upon a year; put off time after time, with excuse after excuse, until such a period as you[Pg 18] could manage to screw your courage to the sticking-point. I now apprehend that that period will be of the same epoch as the Greek Kalends! Frankly, Madeline, I am not going to stand any more nonsense. I am your husband; I can support you—certainly only in a very modest fashion compared to this,” looking round. “You will have no carriage, no maid, no fine clothes—at least not yet, they may come by-and-by. Your father is quite fit to travel alone; he ate a remarkably good tea, and told me that he had played two games of billiards this afternoon; were he really feeble, it would be a different affair. It is shameful—yes, that is the only word that will fit the subject—that I should have to remind you of your child! He should be your first care. Now, he is delicate, if you like;—he wants his mother, poor little chap![Pg 19] You will stay at home and look after him.

It may not be your pleasure, but it is unquestionably your duty. You can go to Mrs. Holt’s and remain there and be welcome as long as you like. You were very happy there once, Maddie,” he added rather wistfully. No answer; she merely raised her eyes, and surveyed him fixedly. “I will look about for a small furnished flat; a little villa at Norwood, or wherever you like. Lodgings, after this, would be too terrible a change—I must admit.”

“So would the villa, or even the small flat,” she said to herself. In one glance she beheld her future: two servants, perhaps; two sitting-rooms, perhaps; a strip of back garden with stockings on a line; Laurence absent from morning till night; nothing to do all day long, but attend to her frugal[Pg 20] housekeeping; no smart frocks; no smart friends; no excitement, amusements, or society.

She glanced at Laurence. Yes, his linen was frayed, there was a hole in one of his gloves, and in her heart there flared up a passionate hatred of genteel poverty; it was not life, it was a mere dragged-out existence, from Sunday to Sunday—from a sirloin of beef to a fore-quarter of mutton. Ugh! And, on the other hand, the trip on the Princesse de Lynxky’s yacht, the already made up party for the carnival, the dresses that she had ordered for both; the costumes that were to dazzle Nice; the sketch for her carriage at the battle of flowers. At last she said—

“The child is perfectly well, Laurence. I saw him a week ago, and he was then the picture of health. He[Pg 21] is too young to trouble any one yet, and Mrs. Holt is an excellent person. Pray how many children are sent out to nurse, and their parents never see them for two or three years? It is always done in France, where they manage things so much better than we do. When Harry is older, it will be quite different; at present it is all the same to a baby where he is, as long as he is well cared for. You have suddenly become most arbitrary and tyrannical; and as to my leaving you for a few months, what is it after all? Look how wives leave their husbands in India, and come home for years!” resolved that all the hard hitting should not be on his side. “You are not like what you used to be, and you are very cruel to call my conduct shameful—and very rude, too. You are not going the right way to work, if you want to recall[Pg 22] me home—to your home. I may be led, but I won’t be driven. I shall take my own way about papa, and tell him at my

own time; and, what is more, I shall certainly accompany him to the Riviera, and when I return I hope,” speaking breathlessly, and in little short gasps, “I hope that I shall find you in a more agreeable frame of mind.”

There was an appreciable pause, and then he said, in a tone of angry astonishment, “Are you in earnest, Madeline?”

“In earnest? Of course I am!”

She looked at him; he had grown visibly paler, and there was a strange expression in his eyes that she did not remember to have ever seen before. Then, speaking in a low repressed voice—

“In that case I must ask you now to make your choice, once for all, between your two characters. You must for the[Pg 23] future always be known as Miss West, or Mrs. Wynne. We will not have this double-dealing any longer. Now, which will you be, married or single?” keeping his eyes steadily fixed on her with a look of quiet determination. “If you wish, we can bury the past.”

No reply. Madeline’s mind was a battle-field of doubt, fear, amazement, anger, and self-will.

“Speak, Madeline!” he reiterated impatiently. “Married or single?”

“If it were not for the child,” she burst out passionately; “if my life is to be made a burthen to me like this; if you are always to be reproaching and scolding me——”

“I see,” he interrupted quickly, “you would rather be Miss West. The child, I know, is a flimsy excuse, and of no importance; but please to give me a direct[Pg 24] answer. I must have it from your own lips.”

At this critical juncture the door was opened, and Mr. West, somewhat irascible from having been left so long alone (Mrs. Leach was dressing for dinner) came in, saying, “Well—well—well—Madeline, what is the meaning of this? the room is half in darkness. What the deuce has kept you—has that fellow——? Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Wynne, I did not know you were still here. Can’t have seen much of the pictures, unless you and Madeline have eyes like cats.” (No, they had only been fighting like cats.)

“Answer me, Madeline,” whispered Laurence in a hurried undertone, holding her hand like a vice. This action was not seen by Mr. West, who had his back to them, and was occupied with the[Pg 25] poker. “Married or single? Now is the time—I shall tell him.”

“Single!” replied Madeline, hastily wrenching her hand away, spurred by immediate fears, and regardless of all but the present moment.

“So be it,” was the low rejoinder.

And Mr. West, as he vigorously poked the fire, and furiously pressed the bell, had no more idea than poker or button of the important tie that had just been severed.

Mr. Wynne, looking rather white and stern, came over, and again took his leave and, without any farewell to Madeline, who was still standing in the background in the dusk, he opened the door and departed.