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On this Page 28
rpHE residence of LORD DAMEREL, a reputed rake, at his Yorkshire home, the Priory, upsets a number of
. people, although VENETIA LANYON and her younger brother, AUBREY, find him a kindly friend and
neighbor, and Venetia in her secret heart is in love with him in spite of all the stories of his outrageous past.
Her two would-be suitors, sober EDWARD YARDLEY and young OSWALD DENNY, do not approve of Venetians
friendship with Damerel, and Oswald, who longs to be a dashing knight-errant, quarrels with him over an
imagined affront to Venetia's honor. His parents, SIR JOHN AND LADY DENNY, fearful he may challenge
Damerel to a duel, decide to send him away. Lady Denny warns Venetia she is the butt of gossip, but sees that
Venetia loves Damerel as much as he loves her. Aubrey casually mentions to his sister he would be happy, to
see her married to Damerel:
Before any more can be discussed, the Undershaw household is upset by the totally unexpected arrival of
MRS. SCORRIER and her pretty, vapid daughter, CHARLOTTE, who, her mother announces, married CONWAY
LANYON, abroad with the Army, in Paris and that he will be home by the end of the year. Charlotte is also
expecting a baby. In spite of her brother's lack of consideration in not warning her of the marriage. Venetia bids
the Scorrier s a warm welcome, but finds that Mrs. Scorrier is trying to take over the household, and further
trouble eventuates when Mrs. Scorrier finds that Venetia has a power of attorney to do as she wishes at Undershaw.
Venetia confides in Damerel and tells him she finds the situation intolerable and that she feels she should
leave ana go to London to live. Damerel begs her to see the foolishness of this and begs her, if go to London she
must, to stay with her aunt, MRS. HENDRED. He tells Venetia he loves her but that any proposal of his would
be disastrous. Further declarations on his part are halted by the entry into the room of Aubrey. NOW READ ON:
m __;_ m.
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DAMEREL had placed himself between
Venetia and th' door, but it was im-
mediately apparent that the precaution
was unnecessary Aubrey was looking
stormy, his thin cheeks Hushed. His interest
in his follow creatures was at the best of
times perfunctory; when in th* erip of anger
he had none whatsoever anti *» <>uld scarcely
have noticed it had he found his sister in
Damerel's arms. He said, in a brittle voice,
as he shut the door, "You'll like to know.
Venetia, that the Empress has issued a new
ukase! The dogs .- my dogs - must in
future be kept chained up! All but Bess
here, who is too savage to be kept at all!
Take care, Jasper: can't you see what an
i ;ly-tempered bitch she is?"
Danercl, who was gently pulling the
pointer's ears, while she stood with gracefully
waving tail and an expression on her fact
of idiotic bliss, laughed, and said: "What"
she been doing?"
"Endangering the succession!" Aubrey
snapped. "She came into the house-look
ing for me, of course!-and Charlotte findinj.
her lying at the foot of the stairs was s<
startled and appalled that she let out
screech, which made Bess lift up her hea«
and .stare at her.
"Oh, dear!" sighed Venetia. "T knox
Charlotte doesn't care for dogs, but if that
all that happened--"
"All! It was but the start of Bess' ferocious
assault! Understand, m'dear, that
her stare put Charlotte forcibl
in mind of a wild beast! Sf
knew not what to do, but decidí
on retreat-backwards and steal-
thily! Whereupon Bess, not ui
naturally intrigued, you may
think, rose and advanced towards
her. Charlotte then screamed i
good earnest and ran behii 1
a chair; Bess followed. Mrs. Scor-
rier burst out from the mornin
room and started scolding Ih'ss at 1
striking at her with the ihing s! :
had in her hand-what d'ye call
it, tambour frame? So Bess bcg;.n
to bark, Charlotte fell into hys-
terics, and-"
"Aubrey, how could you ha> e
allowed it?" exclaimed Veneti i,
between annoyance and amus
ment.
"You're mistaken: I wasn't thei
There was a slightly amused
smile on the handsome
woman's face as she leaned
forward in her box.

fourth instalment of our

delightful Regency romance

none Help

What I'm recounting I had from the lips of the afflicted
ladies." He grinned sardonically at his sister. "I was your
good little brother, m'dear! I arrived in the arena to find
Charlotte sunk into a chair, with Mrs. Scorrier waving her
vinaigrette under her nose. I told the hen-hearted little ninny
that she'd no need to be afraid, but all the thanks I got was
abuse from the Empress. I think I bore it pretty well. Only
when the Empress got to talking of Charlotte's delicate situa-
tion I couldn't resist! She said that perhaps I didn't realise,
to which I replied that indeed I did, for Bess was in the same
interesting condition."

' Fiend!" Venetia said, trying not to laugh.

"Yes, and what's more, one who thinks because he is a
cripple he may go his length," said Aubrey in a silken tone.
"Oh, don't look like that, stoopid! Do you imagine I haven't
known from the outset how abhorrent ray limp is to the pair
of them? I'm sure I don't blame them for that-but Nurse
did! By that time, you understand, she had come bustling
downstairs to discover what was the reason for all the com-
motion. You missed a high treat, m'dear!"

I'd back your nurse against fifty Mrs. Scorriers," remarked
Damerel.

"Well, the issue was undecided when I left, but I dare say
Nurse will come off best," agreed Aubrey. "The last of the
battle was a demand from Nurse to know what right the
Empress quite falsely supposed she had to dictate to a Lanyon
bprn in his own house."

"Oh, dear!" Venetia sighed. "I must go and do what I can
to settle the dispute."

"Do you mean to tell that woman the dogs shall be kept
on chains?" Aubrey demanded, a still angrier flush staining his
cheeks. "I give you fair warning, Venetia, that if you do
that I'll shut Flurry into her bedchamber with her best bonnet
to worry!"

)h, love, don't tempt me!" she said mischievously. "Of
course I don't mean to do any such thing! But I think it no
more than just to promise her that you'll bring the dogs only

into this room. It is nonsensical of Charlotte to be so much
afraid of them, but-oh, Aubrey, we must remember that it
is now her house, and not ours!"

"Remember it! When are we allowed to forget it?" he
flung at her.

She said nothing, but turned to the door. Damerel moved to
open it for her, and said, as she paused for a moment, looking
up at him in silent inquiry: "Decisive, I think! I shall see
you tomorrow, but not, I fear, before noon. My agent is at
the Priory. I've been closeted with him most of the day and
I fancy 1 shall be so again all the morning. It's important
or I'd let him go hang. Don't let that woman vex you to

death!"

She shook her head, his smile reflected in her eyes, and
hurried away across the anteroom.

He shut the door and turned, meditatively surveying Aubrey,
who had gone over to the fire. Aubrey gave a short laugh.
"I'd give a monkey to bc present when she tells Conway she
won't have his dogs in the house! As for Charlotte, she'd do
well to accustom herself to them, for she ain't likely ever to
see him without at least three at his heels. The devil con-

found him, beef-witted Jack Pudding that he is!"

"Come back to the Priory and we'll confound him in
unison!" invited Damerel. "I have, some worse epithets for
him under my tongue!"

He went away and Aubrey after a few minutes sat down at
the desk and expended his spleen on the composition of a
venomous Latin epigram. He achieved four neat and splen-
didly scurrilous lines, which pleased him so much that he
sat down to dinner in a mood of almost bland complaisance.

Little conversation was exchanged, Mrs. Scorner's loss of
temper having been succeeded by majestic sulks, and Char-
lotte's hysterical fit by a nervous despondency. On rising
from the table she went upstairs to bed; and as Venetia
accepted an invitation from Aubrey to play billiards Mrs.
Scorrier was left to enjoy her sulks in solitude.

Whether as a result of this treatment or from the inescap-
able realisation that in -ostracising the Lanyons she distressed
no one but Charlotte, she appeared next morning with so
firm a smile and so inexhaustible a flow of amiable common
places that she might have been supposed to have suffered
a complete loss 'of memory. It had been forcibly brought
home to Mrs. Scorrier that in her eagerness to ensure Char-
lo'supremacy at Undershaw she had gone too far. She
wanted to rid Undershaw of Venetia and Aubrey, but not
under such circumstances as must render herself and Charlotte

Finding Venetia unresponsive even to compliment, she
smiled more widely than before and forced her unwilling
tongue to describe the irresistible prompting of maternal
instinct to fly to the support -of a beloved child. The result
of this magnanimous gesture was disappointing, for after
staring blankly at her for a minute all Venetia said was:
Oh -Bess! Poor Charlotte! I do hope she will contrive to
overcome her fear of dogs. Conway's are always so bois-
terous and unruly that I'm afraid her life will be a misery
if she doesn't."

After that she went away, and was next heard desiring
Ribble to send a message to the stable that her mare was
to be brought up to the house. From what Mrs. Scorrier

presently overheard her saying to Aubrey she gathered that
she was going to visit some tenant or retainer who was ill,
and that at once deepened her resentment, because she felt
that it was for Charlotte to enact the role of lady bountiful.

At the time Aubrey's intrusion upon a scene that belonged
to herself and Damerel alone had not greatly disturbed
Venetia. She had been obliged immediately to grapple with
a crisis of a very different order; and it was not until much
later that she had had the opportunity to think over all that
had passed in the library, and to wonder what might have
been the meaning behind some of the things Damerel had

said to her.

She no more doubted that she was loved than the sun
would rise on the morrow; yet, as she lay wakeful in her bed,
her deep content, which neither the domestic brawl nor Mrs.

Scorner's sulks had the power to pene-
trate, became ruffled by a sense of
misgivings, too inchoate to be at first
recognisable, but gradually turning
content to a vague disquiet.

In the morning her fears abated.
The night had been stormy; Venetia
thought as she looked from her win-
dow at the withered leaves blown
in drifts across the lawn that it had
been the mournful howl of the wind

and the flurries of rain beating against
the window-panes which had kept
her awake and encourged her to in-
dulge morbidity. Damerel wis coming
to Undershaw, and the night's appre-
hensions had been nothing but lurid

fancies.

Then she had recalled that he had
said he had business to attend to which
would keep him at home all the morn-
ing, and was daunted again, until

M

Venetia said suddenly to
Mrs. Hendred, "Aunt, who
is that woman in the box

over there?"

she remembered that he had told her that he had summoned
his agent to the Priory. The agent was probably an attorney,
and must certainly have come from London to wait upon him,
and would as certainly be anxious to transact whatever business
was as speedily as might be. So she argued away the thought
that if Damerel were as lost in love as she believed him to be,
no business, however important, would have kept him away
from her for so many hours; but the serenity which had been
like a warm cloak wrapped about her was disturbed; she found
herself questioning what it had never before occurred to her
to doubt; could not bring her mind to bear on any other
problem than her own.

The farm she went to visit was in a distant part of the
estate; the. mare was fresh, and although the day was dull and

a sharpness in the wind reminded her that the loveliest autumn
within her memory was sliding into winter, the ride did much
to lighten the unaccountable oppression of her spirits. She
reached Undershaw again a few minutes before noon, knowing;
that today there was little chance that Aubrey would inter-
rupt a tete-a-tete, since he had gone shooting»

As Venetia slipped from the saddle and gathered up the
long skirt of her habit, Fingle came out of the harness-room
to take the mare's bridle. She saw at once that he was
big with news, and so indeed it proved: he disclosed that she
had not been gone from Undershaw above half an hour when
a chaise-and-four had driven up to the house and set down

To page 47

Continuing . . . VENETIA

no less . person than Mr. Philip

Htndred.

Shr »as amazed, for to far
from having had the least warn-
ing of this visit she had not yet
recru I .i reply to the letter she
n»d v itten to her aunt, to an
nounc the new» of Conway's
Dian She exclaimed: "My
uncle' so incredulously that
pingle was pleased with the
jensa' . n he had made, and
confie to her that he, too, had
pee, Lilarly sent to grass.

«Hr came all the way in his
own < liaise, miss," he told her,
appar tly feeling that this cir
cumst nee added lustre to the
unexpited visit, "and his own
postil.-ns. I suspicion, by the
way never offered to pay
them or gave them the money
for d ir board, but sent them
on sn ghi to the Red Lion."

"S :hem to the Red Lion!"
she ir rrupted, quite shocked.
"Goor. heavens, how did Ribble
-or you-come to allow such
a thing?"

p. it appeared that Mr.
Hencj' had silenced every
hospitable protest, which,
Fingie reminded Venetia, was
to h.v - been expected, seeing
that nen he had spent close
on a ' ennight at Undershaw,
when <he master took and died,
he WÍ J not for any persuasion
suffer them to house his pos-
tilions nor yet his catde. "But
he i< hed his valet up with
him it time, miss, which this
time e hasn't."

This information failed to
aston Venetia. She only said
that I must go at once to
greet -.-r guest, and hurried

away.

She did not stay to change
her riding-dress, but went im-
mediately to the drawing-room,
in which apartment Ribble

said . would find Mr. Hen
dred ing entertained by her
ladys! ip and Mrs. Scorrier.
Enter.. it, she paused for a
moment on the threshold, still
holding her whip in one hand,
her cheeks becomingly flushed
by the wind, and the tail of
her habit cast over her arm.
Then, as Mr. Hendred rose
from hair by the fire and
came towards her, she let her
skirt about her feet, cast
aside r whip, and advanced
to meet him with her hands
held out:

"My dear sir, of all the
charming surprises! I am so
happy to see you-but that, I
give you warning, shan't stop
me from plucking a crow with
you! Let me tell you that we
think ourselves insulted in
Yorkshire when our guests send
their servants and their horses
to rack up at an inn!"

Before he could answer Mrs.
Scorrier broke in, saying
archly: "Ah, did I not assure
you, sir, that Miss Lanyon
would cry out on you? But
you must know, dear Miss
Lanyon, that it has lately be-
come the rule in many estab-
lishments far larger than this
not to take in the horses of
visitors or more than one ser-
vant."

"That does not suit our nor-
thern notions of hospitality,"
said Venetia. "But tell me,
sir, what brings you to Under
shaw? I hope you mean to
make a respectable stay with
us on this occasion, and not
post off in a great hurry before
we have well realised that you
have arrived!"

H IS rather severe

countenance relaxed into a
slight smile; he replied in a dry,
precise voice: "My time, you
know, my dear Venetia, is not
as much my own as I could
sometimes wish. The purpose
of my visit concerns yourself,
as I hope presently to explain
to you."

She was a little surprised,
but since he was her principal
trustee supposed that he must
have come to discuss some
matter of business with her.
She twinkled at him, and said:
"If you are come to tell me
that my fortune has vanished
away on that mysterious thing
called 'Change, wait until I
have provided myself with a

few burnt feathers and some
sal volatile!"

He smiled again, but per-
functorily, because such a sug-
gestion was too shocking to be
humorous. Mrs. Scorrier again
insinuated herself into the con-
versation. "It is too bad of
you to keep her in suspense,

from page 29

Mr. Hendred, particularly
when you have such a delight-
ful treat in store for her! Don't
fear, Miss Lanyon! You have
my word for it that your uncle's
errand is such as must be more
likely to cast you into trans-
ports than into dismay!"

By this time two circum-
stances had been made plain

to Venetia. From Mrs. Scor-

ner's effusion she gathered
that she was well acquainted
with Mr. Hendred's social and
financial standing, and from the
cold glance with which her
efforts were received that Mr.
Hendred had taken her in
strong dislike.

Venetia thought it as well
to remove him from her
vicinity before he was provoked
into giving her an acid set
down, so she invited him to go
with her to the morning-room,
since there were one or two
matters of business she would
like to discuss with him. Mrs.
Scorrier took this in surpris-
ingly good part, explaining her
complaisance, to her daughter,
as soon as they were alone, by
the simple announcement that
Mr. Hendred was said to be
worth every penny of £20,000

p. year.

That made Charlotte stare,
for there was nothing in Mr.
Hendred's appearance to sug-
gest opulence. He was a thin
man with spindle-shanks, sparse
grey hair, and a sharp-featured
countenance which bore all the
marks of chronic dyspepsia. He
always dressed with neatness
and propriety, but since any
form of extravagance or dis-
play was abhorrent to him he
wore no other jewellery than
his signet-ring and a modest
eold pin securing the folds of

his neckcloth.

His avoidance of the ex-
tremes of fashion notwithstand-
ing, Mr. Hendred was a gentle-
man of the first consequence,
for besides possessing all the
advantages of a very large for-
tune he was so well connected
as to make it unwise to utter
disparaging remarks in his
presence about any member of

the nobility, since the chances
were that he was in some way
related to that particular peer.
Besides a mansion in Cavendish
Square he had a large estate
in Berkshire, and two less im-
portant ones in different parts
of the country.

Venetia had first made his
acquaintance when she had
been invited by her aunt to
spend a week at Harrogate,
where Mr. Hendred had been
advised to try what the famous
waters would do to cure him
of his stomachic disorders. In
spite of his ailments he had
been a kind and an attentive
host, promoting every scheme
for Venetia's entertainment and
contriving to make it plain to
her that he strongly dis-
approved of the restricted life
she was obliged to lead and
would be glad to rescue her
from it. That had not been
possible; and when, on Sir
Francis Lanyon's death, he had
renewed his offer of hospitality
it had seemed to her no more
possible than before.

She had declined it; he had
acquiesced in her decision; and
as the matter had then been
allowed to drop she had sup-
posed that he had accepted her
refusal as irrevocable. She was,
therefore, a good deal startled
to learn from him that his sole
purpose in coming to Under
shaw was to carry her off im-
mediately to Cavendish Square
as a welcome addition to his
family.

She was very much touched,
but he would not permit her
to express the sense of her
obligation. Speaking with
measured severity, he said:
"You are aware, I don't doubt,
my dear Venetia, of what my
sentiments have always been.
I hope it is not necessary for
me to add that both your aunt
and I hold you in affection and
esteem. In fact, my dear
niece," he added, warming to
his theme, "you are a very
good girl and have been shab-
bily used by those who should
have made your comfort their
first concern! Let, me assure
you that it will give me a great
deal of pleasure to do whatever
may be in my power to recom-
pense you for the years you

To page 52

Continuing . . . VENETIA

have sacrificed to what you saw
to bo your duty!"

She made a gesture of pro-
test, but he merely frowned at
her and said: "When, upon
your father's sudden demise,
you felt it to be your duty
to remain here during the thèn
unavoidable absence of your
elder brother, I could not deny
the force of your arguments, or
think it right to press you. Nor
did I renew my persuasions
when it became apparent that
Conway, instead of returning to
set you free from his responsi-
bilities, had no notion of con-
sulting anything but his own
pleasure, for I was well aware
that it would be useless.

''When, however, I was made
aware of the contents of the
letter you wrote to your aunt
Venetia, I do not scruple to say
that I have seldom been more
shocked, or that I consider
Conway's conduct in thrusting
upon you in such a fashion not
only his wife but also her
mother is outrageous, and such
as to release you from all obli-
gation to continue at Under

shaw!"

"Of course it is!" she agreed,
a good deal amused. "But I have
never believed it to be my duty
to stay here on his account, you
know. I remained for Aubrey's
sake-and pray don't imagine
that the least sacrifice was en-
tailed, my dear sir! He and I
are the best of good friends,
and have kept house very com-
fortably together, I assure you."

He regarded her with bleak
approval, but said, in his dryest
voice: "You will hardly do so
now that Mrs. Scorrier has
quartered herself upon you,

however."

"No, indeed we shan't! I
had already realised that the
sooner I make other arrange-
ments for us both the better it
will be. I fancy Mrs. Scorrier
has shown you her most concili-
ating face, so that you might
find it impossible to believe how

odious I find her!"

"My dear Venetia, you have
no need to tell me, for I am
well acquainted with her sort!
/ very pushing, overbearing
female, who wants both conduct
and manner. Depend upon it,
the un seemingly haste of this
marriage may be laid at her

door!"

But when he had delivered
himself of sundry pungent ob-
servations, and moralised briefly
on the evils of impetuosity, he
returned to the object of his
visit. "I do not wish to put you
to inconvenience, Venetia, but
it would be very agreeable to me
if you could be ready to go with
me tomorrow morning."

"But I could not! Even if
Dear sir, you must allow me
time to think! There are so
many considerations-Aubrey
Undershaw-Oh, sometimes I
think I shall be obliged to re-
main here until Conway returns,
for heaven only knows what that
woman might not do if she were

left in command here!"

"As to that, it will not be in
her power to overset your ar-
rangements, my dear. I do not
doubt that she has every disposi-
tion to do so, and so I thought
it prudent to inform her that
since Lady Lanyon has neither
the authority nor the experience
to assume the government of
her husband's affairs, all such
power will be left in Mytchett's
hands. For Aubrey, I should
have explained to you that my
invitation was naturally meant
for him as well as for you."

She pressed a hand to her
brow rather distractedly, for she
really knew not what to say. or
even what to do. To the ob-
jections she raised he returned
calm answers that demolished
them; and when she confided
to him her scheme of setting up
her own establishment be said,
after a moment's silence, that
he would bc happy to discuss
future plans with her when she
was living under his roof

"I shall leave you now," he
announced, rising to his feet.
"I am, as you know, an indif-
ferent traveller, and can never
go above a short distance with

from page 47

out bringing on my tic. Lady
Lanyon will, I must hope, c -
cuse me if I retire to my bed-
chamber until dinner-time. No,
do not put yourself to the
trouble of accompanying E ,
my dear niece! I know i y
way, and have already desir d
your excellent housekeeper ,
send up a hot brick when I
ring my bell. A hot brick o
the feet, you know, will fr -
quently alleviate cases of seve c

tic."

She knew him well enough
not to persist, and he went
away, leaving her to try to col-
lect her scattered wits. It v.

no easy task, and after a very
few moments the only ele r
thought in her head was th t
before trying to reach a dt -
cisión she must see Damerc .

This put her in mind of h s
promise to visit her as ne; r
noon as might be, and mace
her look quickly at the cloe-.
It wanted only a few minut i
to one o'clock. She thougt t
he might already be awaiting
her in the library, and wert
there immediately He was net
there. She hesitated, and
then went to the stables.

Nidd, who had served Dan

erel for almost as many year«
as had Marston, accepted the
charge of Venetia's mare witt,
out betraying that he saw an
thing remarkable in the visit

an unattended lady to a bach
eior's establishment. It was
otherwise with Imber, who with
reluctance ushered her ii!

one of the saloons while b
went off to inform Damerel
her arrival.

Il' was sever

minutes, before Damerel cam -
to her. The saloon seemed ur,
friendly, with no fire burnii
in the hearth and the furnitu

primly arranged. She had bc
gun to wonder whether she h.

missed Damerel, who miglv
have set out for Undershav.
when the door opened and h
came in, demanding: "Now
what in thunder has your
Empress been doing to dri\
you from home, Admir
Venetia ?"

He spoke lightly, yet with
hint of roughness in his voie
as though her visit was an u

welcome interruption. Sh.
turned, tying to read his faa
and said with a faint sm iii
"Were you busy? You don
sound as though you were gla
to see me!"

"I'm not glad to see you," h
replied. "You shouldn't b
here, you know."

"So Imber seemed to think
but I didn't care for that.'
She came slowly into the midd!

of the room and paused b1
the table that stood there

drawing off her gloves. "I
thought it best to come to yo
rather than to wait for you t
come to me. It might not b
easy for us to be private, and
must consult you. Somcthin
quite unlooked-for has hap
pened, and I need your advice
my dear friend. My uncle ha

come."

"Your uncle ?" he repeated.

"My Uncle Hendred - my
uncle by marriage, I should say
Damerel, he wishes to take mr
to London, and at once!"

"I see," he said, after a mo-
ment's silence. "Well - thu;
ends a charming autumn idyll

eh?"

"Do you think that that is
what I came to say to you ?" she

asked.

He glanced at her, his eyes ;-?
little narrowed. "Probably not

It is the truth, however. Un-
pleasant, I grant, but still the

truth."

She felt as though the blood
in her veins was slowly turning
to ice. He had turned abruptly
away, and walked over .to the
window; her eyes followed hùft.
but she did not speak.

He said harshly: "Yes, it's the

To page 53

end of an idyll. It has been a
golden autumn, hasn't it? In
another week there won't be a

leaf left hanging to the trees,
though Your uncle timed his
coming well. You don't think
so do you, my dear? But you
will think it, believe me."

She still said nothing, because
she could think of nothing it
was possible to say. She found
it difficult even to take in the
sense of what Damerel, incred-
ibly, had said, or to disentangle
the wisps of thought that jostled
and n ..! radie ted each other in
her brain. It was like a bad
dream in which people one
knew quite well behaved fan-
tastical , and one was powerless
to escape from some dreadful
doom. In a whisper, she asked:
"Why shall I think it?"

He shrugged. "I could tell

you, but not convince you.

You'll find out for yourself
when you're less green, my dear,
and know a little more of the

world than what you have
read."

"Will you think it?" she
asked. A faint flush rose to her
whitened cheeks; she added
humbly, "I shouldn't ask you
that, perhaps, but I wish to
understand, and I suppose I'm
too green--unless things are ex-
plained to me."

"I think it would have been
better if we had never met," he
replied sombrely.

"For you, or for me?"

"Oh for both of us! The end
of the idyll was implicit in the
beginning: I at least knew that,
though you might not. And also
that the more enchanted the
idyll the greater must be the
pain of its ending. That won't
endure. Hearts don't really
break, you know."

"They can be wounded," she
said simply.

"Many times-and be healed
again, as I have proved!"

She knit her brows. "Why
do you say that? It is as if
you wished to hurt me."

"No, I don't wish to hurt you.
I never wished to hurt you. The
devil of it was, my dear de-
light, you were too sweet, too
adorable, and what should have
been the lightest and gayest of
flirtations turned to something
more serious than I intended
or foresaw-or even desired! We
allowed ourselves to be too
much carried away, Venetia.
Did you never feel you were
living in a dream?"

"Not then. Now I do. This
doesn't seem real to me."

"You are too romantic! We

have been dwelling in Arcadia,
my green girl: the rest of the
world is not so golden as this
retired spot! Only in fantasy
does every circumstance con-
spire to make it inevitable. that
two ole should fall in love!

We should hardly have been

more isolated had we been cast
on a desert island together.
Nothing happened to disturb
our idyll, no person intruded on
us: for one magical month we
forgot - or I forgot - every
worldly consideration, even that
there are other things in real
life than being sunk in love!"

"But it was real, for it hap-
pened, Damerel."

"Yes, it happened, a lovely
interlude! It could never be
more than that, you know: we
must have come to earth-we

might even have grown a little
weary of each other. That's why
I say that your uncle's arrival
is well timed: 'parting is such

sweet sorrow'-but to fall out of

love oh, no, what a drab and
bitter ending that would be to
our autumn idyll!"

'Tell me one thing!" she
begged. "When you talk of
worldly considerations are you
thinking of your past life?"

"Why, yes - but of other
considerations, too! I don't
think I should make a good
husband, my dear, and nothing
*bc is possible. To be frank
with you, providence, in
Aubrey's shape, intervened yes-
terday just in time to save us
both from disaster."

She raised her eyes to his
face. "You told me yesterday
that you loved me - to the
edge of madness, you said. Was
that what you meant, that it

was not real and couldn't
endure?"

"Yes, that's what I meant,"
he said brusquely. He grasped
her wrists. "I told you also

that we would talk of it when
we were cooler: well, my love,
the night brings counsel. And
the day has brought your uncle

- and there let us leave it and
say nothing more than 'since
there's no help, come let us
kiss and part!' "

She lifted her face in mute
invitation; he kissed her
swiftly and roughly and almost
flung her away. "There! Now
go, before I take still worse
advantage of your innocence!"
He strode over to the door and
wrenched it open, shouting to
Imber to send a message to
Nidd to bring Miss Lanyon's
mare up to the house. He
turned and she saw the ugly,
mocking sneer on his face and
involuntarily looked away from
him.

He gave a jeering little
laugh and said: "Don't look
so tragic, my dear! I assure
you it won't be very long be-
fore you will be thanking
heaven to be well out of the
devil's own scrape. You won't
fall into another, so don't hate
me: be grateful to me for
opening your beautiful eyes a
little! So very beautiful they
are. You'll make a hit in
London: the young eagles will
say you are something like - a
diamond of the first water .
and so you are, my lovely one!"

The sense of struggling
through the thickets of a night-
mare again swept over her.
There was a way out, so her
heart's voice cried to her, and
could she find it she would
find also Damerel, her dear
friend. But time was slipping
away; in another minute it
would be too late; and urgency
acted not as a spur but as a
creeping paralysis which
clogged the mind and weighted
the tongue.

Suddenly Damerel spoke
again in his own voice, as it
seemed to her, and abrupdy:
"Does Aubrey go with you?"

She looked blindly at him.
"Aubrey . . ."

"To London!"

"To London," she repeated
vaguely. She passed her hand
across her eyes. "Yes, of
course - how foolish! I had
forgotten. I don't know. He
went out. He went out shoot-
ing before my uncle came."

"I see. Does your uncle in-
vite him?"

"Yes. But he won't go --I
think he won't go."

"Do you wish for him?"

c

SHE frowned, try-
ing to concentrate her mind,
and presently said in a decided
tone: "No. Not in Cavendish
Square. It wouldn't do for
him. Later, when I shall have
made arrangements - I told
you, didn't I? I must hire a
house - someone to lend me
countenance - make a home

for myself and Aubrey, for it is
so stupid to say, as Edward
does, that Aubrey ought to like
what he detests because other

boys do. Aubrey is himself and
no one can alter him, so what is
the use of saying he ought,
when he won't?"

"No use at all. Let him come
to me! If he were here you
wouldn't fret yourself to flin-
ders over him, would you?"

"No." Her smile went piti-
fully awry. "Oh, no, how could

I? But -"

"That's all!" he interrupted
harshly. "You won't be be-
holden to me, you know! I
shall be glad of his company."

"But - you are remaining

here?"

"Yes, I'm remaining here.

Come! Nidd should have

saddled up for you by now!"

She remembered that he had

Continuing . . . VEX ETI A

from page 52

sent for his agent on business
which he had said was import-
ant; and wondered if he had dis-
covered his .affairs to be in a
worse state than he had guessed.
She said diffidently: "I think
you never meant to do so, and
that makes me afraid that per-
haps the business you have been
engaged in hasn't prospered ?"

The sneer that mocked him-
self returned to his face; he re-
plied: "Don't trouble your head
over that, for it is not of the
smallest consequence!"

He was holding open the
door, a suggestion of impatience
in his attitude. The second linc
of the sonnet he had quoted

came into her mind: "Nay, I
have done: you get no more of
me." He had not spoken those
words; there was no need: a
golden autumn had ended in
storm and drizzling rain, an iri-
descent bubble had burst, and
nothing was left to her but
conduct to help her to behave
mannerly.

She picked up her gloves and
her whip, and walked out of the
saloon and across the flagged
hall to the open entrance-door.
Imber was standing by it, and
through it she could see Nidd,
holding her mare's bridle. She
was going to say goodbye to
Damerel, her friend and her
love, watched by these two, and
it did not seem to her as though
she would be able to speak at
all, because her throat was
aching. She stepped out into
the open, and turned to him,
drawing a painful breath.

He was not looking at her,
but at a black cloud looming to
the west. "The devil!" he ex-
claimed. "You'll never reach
Undershaw before that comes

down on you! What chance of
its clearing, Nidd?"

Nidd shook his head. "Setting
in wet, m'lord. Spitting al-
ready."

Damerel looked down at Ven-
etia, not sneering now, but con-
cerned, ruefully smiling. He
said, lowering his voice to reach
only her cars: "You must go
immediately, my dear. I can't
send you home in my carriage:

it wouldn't do! If that woman
knew-!"

"It is of no consequence."
She put out her hand; she was
very pale, but the flicker of her
sweet smile warmed her eyes.
"Goodbye-my dear friend!"

He did not answer, but only
kissed her hand, and, holding it
still, led her immediately to her
mare. He tossed her up into
the saddle, as he had done so
many times when she had come
to visit Aubrey, but today there
was no lingering to make a
plan for the morrow; he only
said: "Take the short way, and
don't dawdle! I only hope you

may not be drenched! Off with
you, my child!"

He stepped back as he spoke,
and the mare, needing no urging
to go home to her own stable,
started forward. Damerel lifted
a hand in farewell, but Venetia
was not looking at him, and he
let it fall, and turned sharply

on his heel. To Imber he said
in a curt voice: "Miss Lanyon
is going to London. It's probable
Mr. Aubrey will come here to-
morrow, to stay for some few
weeks. Tell Mrs. Imber to
make his room ready."

He strode away to the library,
and the door shut with a snap
behind him. Imber looked to
see what Nidd made of this, not
that he was likely to say, be-
cause he was as close as Mars-
ton, and dull as a beetle. Nidd
was walking off to the stables,
so there was nobody to gossip

with.

Only three people at Under
shaw saw Venetia upon her re-
turn, and neither the under
groom nor the young house-
maid who waited on her noticed
more than her dripping habit,
and the ruin of her hat, with
its curled feather hanging sod-
den and straight beside her rain
washed face. She went up the
backstairs to her room, and
opened the door to find the
maid there, with Nurse, and
the room a welter of silver
paper, and trunks, with gowns
and cloaks laid out on the
bed ready to be packed, the
linen in which her furs had
been stored all summer lying
in a heap on the floor, and the
sour apples which had kept the
moth at bay scenting the air.

Nurse broke instantly into
angry scolding, while Venetia
stood on the threshold, her
eyes, with that blind look in
them, wandering round the dis-
ordered room. Then, quite sud-
denly, Nurse rounded on Jenny,
driving her out of the room
with orders to fetch up a can
of hot water. She drew Venetia
to the fire, scolding; just as
years ago she had fondly
scolded a little girl, appalled by
some catastrophe, until she
stopped crying. Nurse stripped
off her wet habit and huddled
her into a dressing-gown, and
made her sit by the fire, while
she herself bustled about, first
trotting off to mix a cordial,
which she made Venetia drink,
then rubbing her chilled feet,
tidying the room, laying out an
evening gown, and all the time
talking, talking, but never wait-
ing for answers, and only look-
ing at Venetia out of the cor-
ners of her sharp old eyes.

Venetia, understanding, tried
to smile at her and clasped her
hand for a grateful moment.

"There, my poppet! there,
my dove!" Nurse crooned,
stroking her tumbled locks.
"Don't cry, my pretty, don't
cry!"

But it was Nurse who cried,
not Venetia; and presently, see-
ing how calm she was, Nurse
went away, hoping that she
might drop off to sleep for a
little while, so tired as she, was.

When Nurse came back to
help her to dress for dinner
she thought that she must have
enjoyed a nap, for she had got
a little color back into ber
cheeks and seemed more like
herself, able to decide what
must be packed to go to Lon-
don. She had made a list of
the people she must see before
she left and the things she must
attend to, and Nurse entered
briskly into these matters.

She had just fastened Vene
tia's dress when a knock fell
on the door, and was followed
by Aubrey's voice, demanding
admittance. Venetia called to
him to come in, but Nurse felt
her stiffen under her hands as
she laid a gauze scarf over her
shoulders, and said sharply,
when he did come in, "Now,
don't come worrying Miss
Venetia, Master Aubrey, for
she's tired, and has enough to
think of without you adding

to it!"

"I want to speak to you
before you come downstairs,"
he said, paying no heed to
Nurse.

Venetia's heart sank, for she
knew by the look in his face
that he was going to be diffi-
cult. She said, however, "Yes,
love, to be sure! Did you have

good sport? Were you caught

in the rain? I was! Thank

you, Nurse! I shall do now:
no one ever dresses my hair as
well as you. Oh, Aubrey, my

head is in such a whirl! I feel
quite distracted and can hardly
believe it's true, and I am
really going to London at last!"

She sat down at her dressing
table so that she was not
obliged to look at him, and be-
gan to select from her trinket
box the ornaments she wished
to wear.- As Nurse shut the
door, he said, "You mean to go,
then?"

"Yes, how can you ask me?
It is exactly what will suit me
best and you, too."

"It won't suit me to stay
with Aunt Hendred, if that's
what you're thinking."

"No, not that, although
Have you seen my uncle?"

"Oh, yes, I've seen him! I
told him I shouldn't go, unless
you particularly wished for
me."

"Aubrey, you weren't un-
civil?" she exclaimed.

"No, no!" he answered im-
patiently. "I said what was
proper, of course! I told him
that Appersett having been
away I was got behindhand
and must apply. He under-
stood. But he said you had
told him of your scheme to set
up house-wished me to pro-
mise I wouldn't encourage you
since it wouldn't do!"

"My dear, I hope you did no
such thing! It's quite nonsensi-
cal! That's why I am so glad
that this chance has come in
my way. I had made up my
mind to it that there can be
no staying at Undershaw
while Mrs. Scorrier remains
fixed, and how can I find a
house that will suit us unless
I go to town? Do you dislike

it?"

"That's not it!" he inter-
rupted.' "What I don't under-
stand- Venetia, does Jasper
know of this?"

"Yes, I rode over to tell him
-thinking that very likely you
wouldn't care to go to Caven-
dish Square and wishing to be

sure that--"

"What did he say to it?"
Aubrey demanded, frowning.

"Need you ask? He said in
stantly that he would be glad
to have you and for as long as
you choose to stay."

He broke in irritably.

"Is Jasper willing you should
go? I thought- Venetia, are
you going to marry him?"

"Good gracious, no! Oh, you
are thinking of a silly talk we
had once! I wish you will for-
get it, for I fancy I shall never
marry anyone. I thought at
one time I might marry Ed-
ward; then I wondered if
Damerel might not suit me bet-
ter; and now-well, now I can't

To page 55

think of anything but London,
so it's plain I am a hopeless case."
"I thought you were in love

__both ol you."

"Only flirting, stoopid!"

He stood looking at her for

a minute. "Well, I still think
I dare say I don't notice a
jjtat il, but I know when
you're araming it!"

"But. Aubrey, indeed-"

"Oh hold your tongue!" he

snapped -- his temper flaring up.
"If yon don't choose to tell me
it's all one to me, but stop

pitching that gammon! I don't
want to meddle: I detest
meddlers!"

"Do be vexed with me!
pray don't!" she managed to
say.

He limped to the door,
but paused and looked back.
"I'm not vexed. Not with you
__at least, I don't think so: I

suppose you must know what
you're about. Only I hoped
you would have settled it be
tween you. I like Jasper. Oh,
well!" He pulled open the door
and went away, banishing her,
the thought, from his mind.

Three days later Venetia
awoke, after a disturbed night,
to the sound of a strident

voice sentenously adjuring
the residents in Cavendish

Square to buy good silver-sand
for their kitchens. Mrs. Hendred
I ied, installing her niece in the

best spare bedchamber, over
looking the Square, had told

her that she would find it won

derfully quiet, quite unlike
rooms that looked on to a street,
but to one accustomed to the still-

ness of the country it nearly
resembled pandemonium. It
seemed as though no one ever
went bed in London; and
whenever, during a lull in the
apparently endless flow of traf-
fic, she dropped off to sleep,
the was verv soon jerked awake
by the voice of the watchman,
proclaiming the hour and the
state of the weather.

She could only suppose that
the ears of Londoners had
been bludgeoned into insensi-
tivity and trust that her own
would soon grow accustomed
to the ceaseless racket; and,
being a well-mannered girl,
presently assured her aunt that
she was feeling perfectly re-
stored from the effects of her

journey

Her heavy eyes belied her.
She had, in fact, enjoyed little
sleep during any of the past
three nights; and, since she was
wholly unused to travel, a
journey of nearly two hundred
miles had left her battered and
exhausted.

The expedition, once so
longed for, would live in her
memory, she thought, only as
a nightmare. Worst of all had
been the leave-takings, for
lune .Lid Mrs. Gurnard and
Ribble had wept, and when,
with her uncle standing by with
his watch in his hand, she came
to the final moment of parting
with Aubrey she was so much

overpowered that she could
only hug him, unable to see his
face for the tears that filled
her eyes.

There had been no time for
private reflection until she had
left York, where an hour had
had to be spent with Mr.
Mytchett; but when she had
signed the last of the docu-
ments spread before her there
was too much. Mr. Hendred,
resignng himself to an inevit-
able recurrence of his nervous
tic, wrapped a shawl about his
head and leaned back in his
corner of the chaise, resolutely
closim his eyes;-and his niece
was consequently at leisure to
indulge reflection. When at
last the chaise drew up in
Cavendish Square she was so
tired that she could reply to
her aunt's solicitudes only with
mechanical civility and force
herself to swallow no more
than a few mouthfuls of the
elegant supper provided for her
refreshment

Nothing could have exceeded Mrs

Hendred's kindness, or the
expressions of warm affection
with which the greeted the

niece she had not seen for

seven years.

Mrs. Hendred was a very
pretty woman of great good-
nature and much less than
commonsense. Her chief ob-
jects in life were to remain in
the forefront of fashion, and to
achieve advantageous marriages
for her five daughters within
the shortest possible time of
having expensively launched
each of these damsels, one after
the other, into society.

She had achieved an excel-
lent match for Louisa that very
year, and hoped to do no less
well for Theresa in the follow-
ing spring, provided that the
treatment she was at present
undergoing at the hands of the
dentist proved successful, and
she was not obliged to have
three front teeth extracted and
false ones screwed to their
stumps, and provided also that
before the date of her presenta-
tion a husband could be found
for her beautiful cousin.

Theresa was a pretty girl

and would have a handsome
portion, but Mrs. Hendred was
under no illusion: Venetia
might be handicapped by her
five-and-twenty years, but she
was not only so beautiful that
people turned their heads in
the street to stare at her but
she had more charm than all
the Hendred girls put together.
There were certain difficulties
attached to the task of marry-
ing her suitably, but that good
lady's optimism encouraged her
to hope that with the assets of
beauty, charm, and a consider-
able independence she might
be able to contrive a very re-
spectable alliance for her. But
she did think it a sad pity that
Venetia had not accepted Ed-
ward Yardley's offer, for it
would have been just thc thing
for her, since Mr. Yardley had
enjoyed her father's favor.

Sir Francis, in writing years
ago to decline his sister's offer
to present Venetia, had in-
formed her that Venetia's mar-
riage was as good as settled.
It was not long before she had
told Venetia of this circum-
stance, and great was her
shocked dismay when she
learned that so far from enter-
taining any notion of marriage
Venetia had come to town with
thc fixed resolve of establishing
herself and Aubrey in a house
in a quiet part of the town, or
even, perhaps, in the suburbs.

"Your uncle would never hear
of it!" she said.

Venetia, who found her
almost invariably comical,
could not help laughing, but
said affectionately: "Dear
ma'am, I would not, for the
world, distress you, but I'm of
full age, you know, and I'm
afraid it is not in my uncle's
power to prevent me!"

The most that could be got
from her was a half promise
not to think any more about
houses and chaperons until she
had had time to grow accus-
tomed to town life and cus

Continuing .

toms. It would be churlish to
make plans to leave her aunt's
'.louse almost as soon as she
entered it, she thought: as
churlish as it would be to be-
tray how little she cared for
the delightful schemes made for
her entertainment. Mrs. Hen
dred, to whom country life was
abhorrent, was so . determined
to make up to Venetia for thc
years she had spent in York-

shire.

Venetia soon discovered that
ease and enjoyment ranked only
second in Mrs. Hcndred's creed
to fashion. Knowing her to be
the mother of a numerous
progeny, Venetia had supposed
that she would have been con-
tinually busy with maternal
cares, and was at first aston-
ished to find that anyone so
overflowing with soft affection
should be content to surrender
her children to governesses and
nursemaids. When she became

better acquainted with her she
was amused to perceive that
although Mrs. Hendred had a
kinder heart she was, in her
own way, quite as selfish as
had been her eccentric brother.

Mr. Hendred, his ill-health
notwithstanding, was seldom in
Cavendish Square for many
days together, but seemed to
spend a large part of his time
in posting about the country on
errands either in private or of
public business. Upon install-
ing Venetia in his house, and
telling her that she was to apply
to him for such sums of money
as she required, he left her to
his wife to entertain, confining
his attendons to the expression
every now and then of his hope
that she was enjoying herself.

she was enjoying herself. It
would have been impossible for
her not to have been diverted
on the occasion of her first visit
to London. Her aunt might
wish that she could have taken
her to the Opera, and to Al
mark's. and say a dozen times a
week: "If you had only been
here during the season- !" but
country-bred Venetia was in a
puzzle to know how any more
amusements could be squeezed
into days already crammed with
engagements. Enough members
of the haut ton, who shared
Mrs. Hendred's opinion of coun-
try life, had flocked back to the
metropolis at thc beginning of
October and a very respec-
table number of gilt-edged in-
vitation-cards had been deliv-
ered in Cavendish Square.

Even thr shabbiest play was a

treat to one who had never lie
fore been inside a theatre; a
drive in Hyde Park could
hardly be accomplished without
Mrs. Hendred's pointing out to
her some notable figure: and a
walk down Bond Street, the
most fashionable lounge in town,
was fraught with interest and
amusement, since while on the
one hand one encountered then

Pinks of astonishing elegance,
there were also surely the finest

O a certain extent

VENETIA

from page 53

shops in th - world to be gazed

at.

Nor was Venetia's mind so
elevated as to disdain fashion:
she was possessed of natural
good taste, and the dresses she
brought with her from York-
shire quite relieved Mrs. Hen
dred's mind of its fear that she
might be a dowd, but she was
perfectly ready to add to her
wardrobe, and, indeed, took a
good deal of pleasure in rigging
herself out in thc first stare of
the mode. But under her en-
joyment there was a dull ache
of unhappiness, never forgotten,
and sometimes turning to acute
anguish. She could not banish
Damerel from her mind. She
lived for Aubrey's infrequent
letters, but they brought her
little comfort. He was a poor
correspondent; and such news
as he sent her was mostly con

cerned with Undershaw. When
he mentioned Damerel it was
only to say that he had been out
shooting with him, or had
beaten him three times in suc-
cession at chess.

Hers was not a demonstra-
tive nature, and she indulged
in no flood of tears, or fits of
lethargic abstraction. Only the
stricken look in her eyes some-
times betrayed her, and made
her aunt uneasy.

On the whole, she dealt very
agreeably with Mrs. Hendred,
and Mrs. Hendred was well
pleased with her. She was an
attentive companion; she
dressed in admirable taste; her
manners were graceful. She was
perfectly assured, and could
converse as easily with a clever
man as with a stupid one.

Mrs. Hendred had only one
fault to find with her behaviour,
and that was her incurable in-
dependence. Nothing could per-
suade her that it was unbecom-
ing in her to think she could
manage her life without refer-
ence to her seniors, and posi-
tively improper of her to walk
about London by herself. In
almost every other respect Ven-
etia was ready to oblige her, but
relinquish her freedom she
would not.

She went shopping alone; she
walked alone in the parks; and
no sooner did she discover that
her aunt visited historic monu-
ments only with extreme reluc-
tance, and was interested in no
pictures but those which were
painted by fashionable artists,
than she formed the appalling
habit of sallying forth in the
afternoons in a hack to such
places as Westminster Abbey, or
the Tower of London, or even
to the British Museum.

"Which, setting aside every
other consideration," said Mrs.
Hendred tragically, "is enough
to make everyone think you a
blue-stocking! - Nothing could
be more fatal!"

This conversation took place
at the luncheon table. Her aunt
went on to say that solitary ex-
peditions must never be under-
taken by young ladies of ton.
Venetia let her run on in her
discursive way, for she could not
tell her that she went sightsee-
ing in a dogged attempt to
occupy her mind, any more
than she could tell her that she
was never alone, because a ghost
walked beside her, soundless and
invisible, yet so real that she
feh sometimes that if she
stretched out her hand it would
find his.

". . . and it is so particularly
important, my love, that you_

should behave with the utmost
propriety!" pursued Mrs. Hend-

red.

"Why?" asked Venetia.

"Every unmarried lady
should do so. and in your situ-
ation. Venetia, you cannot be
too careful what you do! My
love, if you knew the world as I
do. which of course you can't be
expected to. and I dare say you
haven't a notion how spiteful
people i an lie, especially when
¡M »rirl is so very handsome, and
wi exactly I mean, so strik-

ing!" I

"Well, I don't think anyone
can say anything very spiteful
about me only because I go out
alone," replied Venetia. "Noth-
ing that I care for, at all

events."

"Oh, Venetia, I do beg of you
not to talk in that style! Only
think how dreadful if you
caused people to say you were
fast! You may depend upon it
they are on thc watch for the
least sign, and will be ready to
pounce on you, and one can't
wonder at it, after all! I dare
say I should myself, not, of
course, on you, dear child, but
in another girl in your situa-

tion!"

"But what is there in my situ-
ation to make people ready to
pounce on me ?" asked Venetia.

"Oh, dear, I wish you will not
-You quite put me out! Your
living with only Aubrey, I
mean, with no chaperon, and
good gracious, Venetia, even
you must know that it is not
at all the thing!"

"I don't, but I know better
than to argue with you on that
head, ma'am! I dare say there
may be many who would agree
with you, but how should any-
one in London know what my
situation has been? I am per-
suaded you can never have
divulged it!"

"No, no, indeed I never did!
But-well, such things become
known, I'm sure I don't know
how, but you may believe that
they do!"

But as Venetia found it im-
possible to believe that what
happened at Undershaw could
be known in London, she was
quite unimpressed by her aunt's
dark warnings. Fortunately it
was not difficult to divert Mrs.
Hendred's mind, so instead of

arguing with her she said that
she had overheard someone say-
ing, in Hookham's Library, that
very morning, that he had had
it on the best authority that the
Queen was not expected by her
physicians to live out the week.

As it was Mrs. Hendred's recur-

rent nightmare that Her Maj-
esty (whom everyone knew to be
?as tough as whitleather) would

survive the winter, and ruin all
Theresa's chances by dying in
the middle of the next season,
this gambit was very successful;
and in hoping, doubting, and
wondering for how long a per-
iod the Court (and of
course the ton) would go into
mourning, Mrs. Hendred forgot,
for the time being, that she had
failed to extract from her wil-
ful niece any promise of con-
formity.

The Queen died at Kew, in
the small hours of the morning
of November 17. Mr. Hendred
brought the news to his wife,
and it did much to raise her
spirits, sunk very low by the
outrageous behaviour of her
dressmaker, who had delivered
in Cavendish Square, instead of
a promised promenade dress, a
prevaricating note full of ex-
cuses for having been unable to
fulfil her obligation.

The only fault Mrs. Hendred
had to find in the news was
that the Queen should have
chosen to die on the 17 th in-
stead of November 18, for the
17th was thc day fixed for the
ball she was giving in Venetia's
honor. Few things could have
been more provoking, for all the
preparations had been made,
and after having been put to so
much exertion, arranging with

To page 57

Continuing . . . VENETIA

the French cook about the sup-
per, speaking to Woning about
the champagne, deciding what
shc should wear, and showing
Venetia how to direct the cards
0[ invitation, it was a great deal
too bad that it should all have
been for nothing.

However, after wondering
wh.u was to be done with the
creams and the aspics and the
stuffed birds, she hit upon the
happy, notion of inviting a few
0f the guests bidden to the ball
to come to dinner instead, quite
informally, of course.

"No more than half a dozen

persons; for any more would
give it the appearance of a
party." she told Venetia. "That
would never do! My dear, that
reminds me-black gloves! I
dare say you have none, and
tht'\ must be procured in-
stantly! Black ribbons, too,
and 1 think you should wear a
high frock, not one cut low at
the bosom-and I shall invite
none of the young people. Just
a few of my chiefest friends!
What do you say to Sir Mat-
thew Hallow? I dare say he
wouid be charmed to dine here,
and vou like him, don't you, my

love?''

very much,'" replied
Venetia absently.

"He is a most excellent per-
son He admires you exces
siveK : 1 saw that at a glance!"

"Well, as long as hp doesn't
take to paying me fulsome com-
pliments-which I don't think
he has the least intention of
doini.' he may admire me as
much as he chooses," said
\ depressingly.

Mrs. Hendred sighed, but
said no more. Sir Matthew
Hallow, though not quite the
ideal man for Venetia, had
much to recommend him, and
she had been very glad to see
how friendly he and Venetia

had become.

However, he was not the only
possible husband Mrs. Hendred
had found for her niece, so she
was not unduly cast down by
Venetia's lack of enthusiasm.
She decided that Mr. Armyn

also should be invited to dine:
he knew all about Roman re-
main or something of the sort,
and . tight iust suit a girl who
spent three hours at the British
Museum and selected from the
?helves of the lending library
a bool abou* the Middle Ages.

Venetia seemed to like Mr.
Armyn: she said that he had a
well-informed mind. She liked
two other eligible bachelors,
agreeing that one had very
good address and that the
other was extremely gentleman-
like Mrs. Hendred felt a

strone inclination to burst into

tears, and would probably have
don* so had she known that
Venetia had abandoned sight-
seeing and was devoting each
afternoon to house-hunting.

She found it an exhausting
and a dispiriting task, but she
had been living for a full
month with her aunt, and not
only did she feel that ?. month
constituted a very reasonable
visit but she was increasingly

anxious to form her own estab-

lishment. Perhaps, if she could
be busy all the time, as she
meant to be, she might not feel
so unhappy: perhaps in house-
hold cares she could forget her
love or grow at least accus-
tomed to desolation, as Aubrey
had grown accustomed to his
limp.

She returned one afternoon

from one of these expeditions
to be informed by the footman
who admitted her into the
house that a gentleman had
called to visit her, and was sit-
ting with Mrs. Hendred in the
drawing-room. She stood rooted,
feeling her heart miss a beat.

"A Mr. Yardley, miss," said
the footman.

Edward had come to London
with a double purpose. He
wished to consult a physician
recommended to him by their
good Dr. Huntspill-not that
ne believed there was any
cause for alarm, but he could
not deny that his cough still
hung about him, which set his
mother sadly on the fidgets;

and so, upon Huntspill's say-
ing, in his testy way, that if
she fancied there might be
more amiss than he could dis-
cover she had best call in a
physician from York, he had
taken the resolve to consult a
London physician instead.

"And I fancy, my dear Vene-
tia, I have no need to tell you
why 1 preferred to do so or
what was my other purpose in
visiting the metropolis!" he said
archly.

"I am sorry you should not
be quite recovered yet." she
replied. "Is Mrs. Yardley also

in town?"

No, he had come without his
mama. He was putting up at
Reddish's. which he had been
surprised to find it so much
larger than had been described
to him. He feared the bill
would make him open his eyes.

"However, when one goes on

holiday it is permissible to bc
a little extravagant."

When Mrs. Hendred left the

room, which she very soon
found an excuse to do, he told
Venetia how happy he was to
discover her in such comfort-
able circumstances. He had had

doubt of her aunt's being a most
estimable female, but he had
not been able to feel easy in

' mind until he should have seen

for himself how she went on.

He now perceived that she was
living in the first style of ele-
gance, no doubt in a regular
whirl of fashionable dissipation!
''Your aunt entertains a great
deal. 1 believe. You will have
been meeting quite a crowd of

new faces!"

IT was not diffi-

cult to see what was his real

purpose in coming to London.
Damerel he had not recognised
to be a danger: but the un-
known beaux and tulips of
fashion, on whom he quizzed
her, laughingly, yet watching
her pretty sharply, might weil
j dazzle the eyes of a country

innocent.

She interrupted his attempts
1 to discover if this had indeed

been the case by asking him if
he had seen Aubrey. His coun-
tenance became grave at once;
he replied: "Yes. I have seen
him. I knew you would wish
for news of him. and so I rode
over to the Priory - a little
against my inclination. I must
own, for Damerel is not a man
with whom I should wish to
stand on terms of more than
common civility. That was a
very awkward business, Ven-
etia: I was excessively vexed
when I heard of iti I wonder

your uncle should not have in-
vited Aubrey to come with you

to town."

"He did invite him. but Aub-
rey didn't wish to come. It
wouldn't have. answered, you
know. Is he well? Pray tell
me how-how you found every-
thing at the Priory! Aubrey is
the wretchedest correspondent!"

"Oh, he is very well! I need
not tell you I found him with
his nose in a book, and thc desk
all littered over with papers! I
ventured to joke him about his
barricades, as I called them. I
assure you, if he had pulled one
book from the shelves he had

pulled a dozen. I told him that

from page 55

I wondered that anyone who
cared as much as he docs for
books should leave them lying
all over-on the floor, even!
Does he never put away what
he has done with ?"

"No, never. Did you tell
him you were coming to Lon-

don ?"

"Certainly! I offered to be
the bearer of any message, or
letter, he might like to send
you, but he was in one of his
crotchety moods: you know his
way whenever one tries just to
give him a hint! He didn't like
my reminding him that they
were not his own books on the
floor, and so he wouldn't en-
trust any message to me!"

"Aubrey doesn't recognise
your authority, Edward."

"But it was no matter of

authority! One would suppose
that a boy of his age need not
be above accepting a little
friendly criticism!"

''Well, not if one knows Aub-
rey!'' she retorted. "The truth
is that you and he don't deal
well together."

"I shall dare to contradict
you, my dear Venetia!" he said,
smiling. "The truth is that
Master Aubrey is jealous, and
hasn't yet learned to overcome
it. He'll do so in time."

"You are wrong. Edw.srd."
she said, steadily regarding him.
"Aubrey is not jealous. lb
knows he has no need to be. I've
told you that before, but you
don't believe the things 1 tell
you. I don't wish to give you
pain, for we have been very
good friends, but pray believe
one thing at least!-I do not-"

"Now, if I were a young hot-
head, like Aubrey, I should let
you say what you would later
regret!" he interposed, holding
up a warning forefinger. "And
then, no doubt, we should in-

dulge ourselves with a stupid .
quarrel, when we might both
of us be led into saying what
we should regret! But I fancy
I have rather more sense than
you give me credit for, and also,
my dear, that I know you a
trifle better than you know
yourself! You will tell me that
i am impertinent, but so it is,
little though you may think it!
You are impetuous, your dis-
position is lively, you are en-
joying your first taste of what is
called society, and I dare say

indeed, I am sure! -that you
have met with a great deal of
admiration and flattery. I do
not at all grudge you your
treat, and you must not be
thinking, you know, that when
we are married you will not be.
granted a similar indulgence."

"Edward, if f ever led you to
suppose that I should marry
you I am sorry for it, and I
tell you now that I shall not!"
she said earnestly.

She saw with dismay that her
words had made no impression
on him. He was still smiling,
in a way that she found
peculiarly irritating, and he
said, in one of his rather pon-
derous essays in playfulness: "I
fancy I must be growing a trifle
deaf! But you have not told
me, Venetia, how you like Lon-
don, or what you have seen

here! I can picture your aston-
ishment when you first discov-
ered its size, the variety of the
aspects of life-the handsome
mansions of the affluent, the
wretched hovels of the destitute,
the crossing-sweeper in his rags,
and the nobleman in his silk
and purple!"

"I have never seen a noble-
man dressed in silk and purple.
1 believe they only wear such
things on State occasions."

But he only laughed heartily,
saying how well he knew her
literal mind, and promising to
show her some places of inter-
est which he ventured to think
she might »not yet have dis-
covered. He himself had twice

visited London, and although

on the occasion of his first visit
he had been too much amazed
and bemused to do more than
stare about him when he came
for the second time he provided
himself with an excellent guide-
book. He added that he had
brought this valuable book with
him, and had read it from cover
to cover on the journey, to re-
fresh his memory.

She could only marvel at
him. She did not believe him
to be desperately in love with
her; she could only suppose
that having once made up his
mind that she was the wife that
would best suit him he had
either grown too accustomed
to the idea to be able easily to
relinquish it or that the good
opinion he had of himself made
it impossible for him to believe
that she could in all seriousness
reject his offer.

He did not appear to be put
out by her blunt speech, and
he adopted an attitude of kindly
tolerance, such as a good
natured man might assume to-
wards a spoiled child. He could
not refrain from chiding her a
little for having gone away from
Undershaw without sending to
inform him of her intention: he
had heard the news from his
mother, who, in her turn, had
had it from Lady Denny, and

a severe shock it had been to

him. However, he forgave her,
for none could guess better
than he how distracted she
must have been.

That led him to Conway's
marriage, and on that subject
he spoke in more - forthright
language than it was his cus-
tom to employ when talking to
Venetia of her brother. He
owned that he had thought bet-
ter of Conway; and in discuss-
ing the affair expressed himself
so much like a sensible man
that Venetia began to be in
charity with him again. He had
thought it right to take his
mother to leave cards on Lady
Lanyon; they had stayed no
longer than twenty minutes, but
half that space of time would
have sufficed to provide him
with a pretty fair notion of
Mrs. Scorner's character. She
was an intolerable woman!

Ile found no harm in Char-
lotte, but it had caused him a
pang to see such a dab of a
girl supplanting Venetia as
m'stress of Undershaw. He was
sorry for her, but saw. nothing
to admire in hera Conway
would have done better to have
kept faith with Clara Denny.

"Poor Clara! If only she
could bring herself to see how
very well out of a bad bargain

she is!"

He said gravely: "I fancy
she does in part realise that
she was mistaken in Conway,
but it is too soon yet for her
to derive consolation from the
knowledge that he was un-
worthy. I had some conversa-
tion with her, and trust I may
have niven her thoughts a more
cheerful direction."

"I am glad you were kind to
her," Venetia saidj her lip
quivering involuntarily. "But
tell me how it is at Ündershaw!
Do they go on fairly well? 1
don't mean Charlotte and Mrs.
Scorrier, but our people!"

"Tolerably well, I think, but
it was not to be expected that
your people would be well
disposed towards Lady Lanyon
when her coming meant your
departure. From what Powick

To page 58

Continuing . . . VENETIA

said to me, a se'ennight ago,
they guess how it is and resent
it. You may be sure I said
nothing to Powick to encourage
such notions, but I could not
but reflect as I rode away from
him how much to blame -

though unwittingly-I am for

the awkwardness of the busi-
ness."

"You?" she exclaimed. "My
dear Edward, what can you
mean? Only one perspn is
blameworthy, and that is Con-
way! You had nothing to do

with it!"

"I had nothing to do with
Conway's marriage, nor could
I have prevented it: that was
not my meaning. But his con-
duct has shown me that the
scruples which forbade me to
urge you to consent to our

marriage, after Sir Francis'
death, have resulted in an un-
fortunate situation which, had
yoi', been already established at
Netherfold, would not have

arisen.

"The present arrangement is
to be lamented. I say nothing
of the undesirable gossip it
must give rise to-for although
Aubrey might naturally have
come with you to London it
cannot bc thought natural that

he should have chosen rather
to remove no more than a few
miles from Undershaw - but
while he is within reach, and
indeed frequently sees Powick,
and your keeper, your people
won't render allegiance to Con-
way's wife. I cannot think that
right, and I suspect, moreover,
that they are falling into the
wav of applying to him in any
little difficulty."

M USINGLY she

said, "I wonder what advice he
gives them? One never knows
with Aubrey! He might give
very good advice."

"He should not give any.
And however much cause he
has to feel obliged to Lord
Damerel he ought not to be
living under his roof. I do not
deny his lordship's good nature,
but his influence I must think
most undesirable, particularly
for Aubrey. He is a man of
few morals, and the tone of
his mind must render him a
most unfit companion for Aub-
rey."

It wai a struggle to suppress
her indignation, but she man-
aged to say with composure:
"You are mistaken if you
imagine that Aubrey stands in
danger of being corrupted by
his association with Damerel.
Damerel would no more dream
of such a thing than you would
yourself."

His smile was one of con-
scious superiority. He said: "I
am afraid that is a subject on
which you must allow me to be
a better judge than you, Vene-
tia. We won't argue about it,
however-indeed, I should be
sorry to engage in any sort of
discussion with you on a matter
that is not only beyond the
female comprehension but
which one could not wish to
see within it!"

"Then you were ill-advised

to mention it!"

He returned no other answer
than a slightly ironical bow,
and immediately began to talk
of something else. She was
thankful that her aunt just then
came back into the room,
affording her a chance to
escape, which she instantly
seized, saying that she had a
letter she must finish writing
before dinner and must there-

fore bid her visitor goodbye.

For how long he meant to
remain in London she had been
unable to discover, but she
feared he contemplated a visit
of indefinite duration. How to
bear his company with patience,
or how to convince him that
his was a useless errand,
were problems not made easier
to solve by Mrs. Hendred's
well-meaning efforts to further
his suit.

Venetia soon discovered that

during the period he had spent

from page 57

alone with her aunt he had
made an excellent impression
on her. She promoted his
plans for Venetia's entertain-
ment and instruction, included
him in her own schemes, and
invited him so many times to
take what she inaccurately
called his pot-luck in Cavendish
Square that Venetia was forced
to protest, and to disclose that
so far from having abandonee
her intention of setting up her
own establishment she was tht
more confirmed in it, and hao
inspected a house in Han
Town, which she though'
might be made into a comfort

able home for herself ant,
Aubrey.

She had not meant to maki
this announcement, which sht
knew would meet with much
opposition, until she had signed
the lease and engaged

chaperon; but when she founo
that her aunt had accepted ar
invitation from Edward fe-

hring her to dine with him a'
the Clarendon Hotel, and after
wards to go to the theatre a
his expense, she was so indi

nant (having herself déclinée
the invitation) that she coulu
no longer restrain her anno\

ance.

Mrs. Hendred received th
news with horrified incredulity
"Oh, my dearest child, indeed
indeed you must not do ii

You would regret it all you?
life-you can have no notion

you are still young, but on h.
think what it would be tiki
when you are growing old-\h<

loneliness-the mortification o:
-" She broke off as a quivc
ran over Venetia's face, anti
leaned forward in her chair

lay one of her plump little
hands on Venetia's. "My dear
marry Mr. Yardley!" she saiii
urgently. "I am persuaded yo

would be happy, for he is so
kind and good, and in everv
way so eligible!"

The slim hand under hi
was rigid; Venetia said ki

constricted voice: "Pray do n<

say any more, ma'am! I don';
love Edward-and that must
be the end of the matter."

"But, dearest, I assure you
you are mistaken! It is not in
the least necessary that you
should love him, for the hap-
piest marriages frequently stait
with only the most moderate
degree of affection! Indeed, !
have known several where the
couples were barely acquaim

but were content to let their
parents arrange the match.
You know, my love, girls can-
not bc better able to judge of
what will suit them than ther
parents!"

"But I am not a girl, ma'an;.
and I have no parents."

"No, but-? Oh, Venetia, you
don't know what a mistake you
would be making!" exclaimed
Mrs. Hendred despairingly, "it
would be better to marry a m .n
one positively disliked than o
remain a spinster! And he w
are you to make a respectable
match if you go to live in Hans
Town and in such a peculiar
style? I can't help feeling, dear
child. that Mr. Yardley is the
very man for you! He under-
stands you so well, and yoi'
wöuld be living near your
brother, and your friends, and
in just the style to which you
are accustomed, not only, ol
course, at Undershaw but still
in the country, you know! You
would feel yourself to be going

home!"

"I don't wish to go home!"
The words were wrung from
Venetia, and although quietly
spoken were charged with
anguish. She got up quickly,
saying: "I beg your pardon

pray excuse me! There are cir-
cumstances -? I can't explain.
Only believe that I do know
what must be the - the dis-
advantages of the course I am
determined to pursue! FBI not

To page 63

jo green that-" Her voice
failed, she turned to the door.

She was arrested by the
sound of a convulsive sob and
lookeJ back in startled dismay
to se? that her aunt had burst

into tears.

Mrs. Hendred did not like
the people around her to be
unhappy. What she had seen
I ¡n Venetia*! face overset her

ooo tely and, since she had
grow: very fond of her niece,

nu pierced her to the heart,
jfer pretty features were
crumpled; tears rolled down
her cheeki; and she uttered in
a sort of soft wail: "Oh. my
dearest child, don't look
like that! I cannot bear to see
v0 . wretched! Oh, Venetia,
you must not take it so much
to heart, indeed you must not!
It mikes me feel so dreadfully
low ir I do most sincerely pity
you. but it would not do - I
assui ? you it would not!"

\ 'tia had started solici-
tous towards her. but at these
words she checked and stif-
fen- "What would not do?"
she -ked.

"That man! Oh, don't ask
me! I didn't mean- Only
whci: 1 see you in such afflic-
tion ow can I help but-. Oh.
my ii "ar Venetia, I can't endure
tha- >u should think I don't
feel tor you, for I exactly enter
into >our sentiments! Oh, dear,
it bnngs it all back to me, but
I promise you I haven't thought
of him for years, which just
show- how soon you will lor-
ee! id be perfectly happy
agair?"

Very pale, Venetia said: "I
don't know how you should bo
aware of it-but what you have
said ! can't have misunder-
stood' You are speaking of
Damcrcl, aren't you, ma'am ?"

Mrs. Hendred's tears flowed
faster She dabbed ineffectñ ely
at her eyes. "Oh, dear, I ought
never Your uncle would be
so vexed!"

"Who told you, ma'am, that
Damerel and I-had become
acquainted ?"

"Pray don't ask me!" begged

Mrs Hendred. "I should not
have mentioned it-your uncle
particularly charged me-oh, I
believe I am going to have one
of nv spasms!"

"If ray uncle charged you
not to speak, of course I won't
press you to do so, but will
applv to him instead," said
Venetia. "I am glad I've learnt
of this in time to see him before
he sets out for Berkshire. I
believe he has not yet left the
house Excuse me, aunt! I
must go at once to find him."

"Venetia, no!" almost
shrieked her aunt. "I implore
you- ?.?'?sides it wouldn't be any
use, and everything is so un-
comfortable when he is dis-
pleased! Venetia, it was Lady
Denn-, but promise me you
won't say a word to your

uncle'"

"If you'll be frank with me,
there is no reason that I know
of why I should. Don't cry!
Lady Denny! Yes, I see. Did
she write to you?"

"Yes. though I never met
her in my life, for I was mar-
ried before Sir John, but it
was a very proper letter, and
showed her to be a woman of
excellent feeling, your uncle
said. Though it was very dis-
turbing and upset me so much
that I could scarcely swallow
a mouthful of food all that day
for thinking about it. For, you
know, my dear, Damerel-!
Not that you could possibly
? know poor child. and I am not

tn the lea-t surprised you
should have fallen in love with
him because he is fatally at-
tractive though I am not, of
course acquainted with him!
Still, ono sees him at parties,
and in the park, and at the
Opi .md Well, my dear,

scores of females

"But to think of marrying
him' Which your uncle said
W|s m the highest degree im-
probable - that such a notion
should cross his mind. I mean!
Only what to do I didn't know,
because your uncle thought it
useless to invite you to rome to
.own. and your being of age
made ¡; s<) very difficult besides

Continuing . - . VENETIA

that he was persuaded your
principles were too high to
allow of your-your accepting
a 'carte blanche.' as they say!"

"None was offered me!"
Venetia said, standing very
straight and still in the middle
of the room.

"No, my love, I know, but
although it seems a dreadful
thing to s¿iy, to have married
him would have been worse!
At least, I don't precisely mean

"D o n ' t distress yourself,
ma'am! Lady Denny was mis-
taken. Lord Damerel's affec-
tions-were not so deeply en-
gaged as she supposed. There
was nothing more between us
than - a little flirtation. He
made me no offer - of any
kind!"

"Oh, my poor, poor child,
don't!" cried Mrs. Hendred.

"No wonder you should be so
wretched! There is nothing so
mortifying as to fall in love
with someone who does not
share one's sentiments, but that
pain you need not be made to
suffer, whatever your uncle
says, and even he owned to
me that he had been mistaken
in Lord Damerel, so he may
just as easily be mistaken in
you!"

"Mistaken in Lord Dam-

erel?" Venetia interrupted.
"Then- Aunt, are you tellint;
me that my uncle saw Damerel
when he came to Undershaw?"

"Well, mv love, he - he
thought it his duty when you
have no father to protect you!
He considered it most carefully,
not at first perceiving how he
might be able- But then you
wrote me the news of Conway's
marriage, and it was the most
providential thing that ever
happened, though I was never
more shocked in my life, for it
furnished your uncle with an
excellent excuse to remove you
from Undershaw."

Venetia pressed a hand to
her brow. "But if he saw him
- Yes, it must have been be-
fore he reached Undershaw
before I saw- Aunt, what
passed between them? You
must tell me, if you please! If
you will not I shall ask my
uncle, and if he will not I'll
ask Damerel himself!"

"Venetia, don't talk in that
dreadful way! Your uncle was
most agreeably surprised, I
promise you! You must not
think that they quarrelled, or
that there was the least un-

pleasantness! Indeed, your

uncle told me that he felt most
sincerely for Lord Damerel. and
in general, you know, he never
does so. He even said to me
th.it it was a great pitv that it
should be out of the question

the marriagi . I mean i>c
rnusr he was bound to acknow-
ledge that he might have been
thc very But it is out of the
question, my dear, and so Lord
Damerel himself acknowledged

"Your uncle says that noth-
ing could have done him great-
er credit than the open wav he

from page 58

spoke, even saying that he had
done very ill in not going away
from Yorkshire. He said that
he knew well that it would be
infamous to take advantage of
you, when you knew nothing
about the world, and had never
been beyond Yorkshire, or met
any other men-well, only Mr.
Yardley!-so that you were
almost bound to have fallen in
love with him, and how could
you understand what it would
mean to be married to a man
of his reputation? And you
don't understand, dear child,
but indeed, indeed it would be
ruinous!"

She paused, largely for want
of breath, and was relieved to
see that the color was back in
Venetia's cheeks, and that her
eyes were full of light. She
heaved a thankful sigh and
said, "I knew you would not
feel so badly if you didn't think
yourself slighted! How glad I
am that I've told you ! For you
are not so unhappy now, are
you, my love ?"

"Unhappy?" Venetia re-
peated. "Oh, no, no! Not
unhappy ! If I had only known
-! But I did know! I did!"

Mrs. Hendred did not quite
understand what was meant by
that, nor. did she greatly care.
All that signified was that the
haunted look which made her
so uncomfortable had vanished

from Venetia's eyes. She gave
a final wipe to her own, and
beamed upon her suddenly
radiant niece, saying with
satisfaction: "One thing you
may plume yourself on. though,
of course, it will not do to say
so, for that would not be at all
becoming. But to have capti-

vated such a man as Damerel
into actually wishing to offer
for you is a triumph indeed!

For he must have meant to re-
form his way of life, you know!"

Venetia, who had been pay-
ing no attention, exclaimed:
"The wretch! The idiotish
wretch! How could he think
I could care a jot for such non-
sense? Oh, how angry I am
with the pair of them! How
dared they make me so un-
happy? Behaving as though I
were seventeen, and a stupid
little innocent! My dear aunt
-mv dear, dear aunt, thank
you!"

M RS. HENDRED,

emerging from an impulsive
embrace, and instinctively nut-
ting up a hand to straighten
her cap, began to be uneasy
again, for not even her optimism
could ascribe the joy throbbing
in Venetia's voice to mere pride
of conquest. "Yes, dear child.
but you are not thinking - I
mean, it cannot alter anything!
Such a marriage would utterly
ruin you!"

Venetia looked down at her
in a little amusement. "Would
it, indeed? Well, ma'am, when
Damerel came north it was to
escape the efforts of his aunts
to marry him to a lady of re-
spectable birth and fortune, so
that he might become re-estab-
lished in the eyes of the world.
I don't see how that was to bc
achieved if marriage to him
meant her social ruin, and I
can't believe that the plot was
being hatched without the
knowledge and approval of
Miss Ubley's parents!"

"What?" cried Mrs. Hen-
dred, momentarily diverted.
"Amelia Ubley? You don't

mean it!"

"But I do mean it, so now,
ma'am, will you explain to me
how it comes about that though
her credit would survive that
marriage mine would not?"

Mrs Hendrcd's brief period
of relief was over. She stared
at her niece with an expression
on her face of absurd chagrin,
fidgeted with her shawl, started

several sentences, and finished
none, and finally answered

lamely: "The cases are not the
same. Miss Ubley's situation
thc circumstances- Well, they
are quite different!"

"In what way?"

"Oh-oh, in a hundred ways!
Good gracious, for one thing
she's more than thirty years
old, with a deplorable figure
besides a pug-nose. And al-
though I don't mean to say
Miss Ubley is not respectable,
for she is dowdily respectable,
naturally she cannot be thought
an innocent, at her age, and
having always lived in town, so
that she must be up to snuff, as
they say! But in your case, my
dear, everyone knows what your
circumstances have been, and
how you cannot possibly have
had any experience!

"And," she added with a
flash of inspiration, "if Damerel
were to marry you, everyone
would say that it was the wick-
edest thing imaginable, and the
most shocking take-in! I as-
sure you, my love, there is
something particularly repug-
nant in the marriage of a rake
to a beautiful girl years young-
er than himself, and perfectly
innocent, as you are, my dear."

At the start of this speech a
disquietingly confident smile
glinted in Venetia's eyes, but
by the time Mrs. Hendred
reached her triumphant con-
clusion it had faded. Mrs.
Hendred, thankful to see that
she was now looking thoughtful,
slightly frowning, decided to
pursue her advantage. "You,
dear child, are not aware of
the way such things are looked
upon - indeed, I don't know
how you should be, any more
than a nun!-but you may de-
pend on it that he is!"

Venetia glanced at her.
"Yes," she said slowly, remem-
bering that interrupted scene
in the library at Undershaw,
and how troubled she had
afterwards been by Damerel's
reluctance. "You don't realise
what an advantage I should be
taking of your innocence!" he
had said. "Yes," she repeated.
"I begin to see now . . ."

"I was persuaded you must,
for you have such excellent
good sense, my love!" said Mrs.
Hendred, much heartened. "I
know how it seems to you now,
but you may believe me when
I tell you that these things
don't endure. Oh, dear! I
thought I should have died of
despair when Mama - your
grandmama-made me give up
poor Sebastian! I cried for
three days without ceasing, but
in the end, you know, I was
married to your uncle, and
nothing could have been more

comfortable !"

"Did you never regret,
ma'am?" asked Venetia, look-
ing curiously at her.

"Never!" declared Mrs. Hen-
dred emphatically. "It would
have been a shockingly bad
match: he had no fortune. Yes,
and that puts me in mind of
another thing, my love! Every-
one says that Lord Damerel has
brought a noble to ninepence
with his extravagant ways,
which makes him quite in-
eligible! Naturally, had he
been wealthy the case might
have been different, for, after
all, a handsome fortune- But
he has brought his to a nut-
shell, so there is nothing what-
soever tc recommend him. and
so he knows, for he said so to
your uncle. You would be
throwing yourself away, and he
and your uncle are both of the
opinion that you will make a
splendid marriage. And no one,
my dear niece, would bc more
pleased than I should be if you

did!"

"No one, however, would be
less pleased than myself,

ma'am."

"It is very proper you should
say so." said Mrs. Hendred ap-
provingly. "For my part I
should be happy to see you
married to a respectable man
of sufficient consequence."

Venetia, who had paced over
to the window and back again,

To page 65

tait), "It's Roing 10 De difficult.
Yes. I see 'hat now."

"No. no, dearest child! Not
the least lifficulty in the world!
I only meant--"

"To whistle happiness down
the wind for a scruple!" Ven-
etia said unheeding. "To me
that seems so absurd - so
addle-brained-! But that's
what he did, and if he has
made up his mind to be idiot
ishly noble- Yes, it is going to
be very' difficult. I must think!"

Quite forgetful of her aunt,
shi went quickly out of the
room, leaving that harassed
laciv to reflections which were
as uneasy as they were puzzled.

Venturing rather later to re-
new her protests against the
hiring of a house in Hans

Mrs. Hendred was at
first thankful to discover that
Venetia had abandoned her fell
purpose, and then, when she
had thought it over, apprehen-
sive. It had seemed almost as
though she had forgotten the
house in Hans Town, for upon
the subject's being broached
she had stared for a moment,
and then had said: "Oh-1
That! No. no, ma'am, don't
be in a worry! I dare say you
are quite right, and I shouldn't
like to live there at all."

Mrs. Hendred, with every

reason to be satisfied with this
answer, felt vaguely alarmed.
It seemed to her not only that
Venetia's thoughts were far
away but that she was weaving
some new plan. An attempt'
to discover what this might be
failed. Venetia merely smiled,
and shook her head, which
ma i- it seem unpleasantly prob-
able that the new plan would
prove to be quite as shocking

as the old. Mrs. Hendred be-
gan to wish that her austere
spouse had not gone into Berk
shir>\ although he had told his
wife that she might expect to
sec him again within four or,
at the most, five days. Nothing,
she thought, could happen in
so short a period.

Venetia might be ready to
count the world well lost for
love, but she could hardly tell
Damerel so. And even if she
did tell him, Damerel knew that
for a young female of quality
tl"1 world would not be at all
well lost and he had given Mr.
Hendred his word as a gentle-
man that he would not propose
marriage to Venetia.

W.U.K [rs. Hen

dred's mind drifted thus, Vene-
tia's was employed in forming
and discarding schemes for
achieving social ruin. Quite as
quickly as her aunt she bad de-

cided that to tell Damerel how
little she cared for the world or
its opinion would serve no use-
ful purpose. He had from the
start railed her his green girl;
instinct warned her that he
would not think her matured by
one month's sojourn in London.

She thought, but tenderly,
that for all his wide experience
of women he was as stupid as
Edward Yardley, or her clever
uncle. Because she had her
knowledge of the world at

second-hand he believed she
knew her own heart no better,
and had convinced himself that
within a short time of being
plunged into fashionable circles
she would not only be thank-
ful to have escaped from

what had he called it?-the

devil's own scrape but would
be happily engaged to some
virtuous young gentleman of
birth and fortune.

That was bad enough: far
worse was the aspect put before
her by her aunt. A worldly
man, he knew what the world's
opinion would be of his mar-
riage to herself: not only knew
it hut shared it. He had
placed her above his touch, and
how to demonstrate that she
was well within it was a prob-
lem that she could see no way
of solving. She remembered
that it was her plan of setting
up house with Aubrey which
had so nearly broken down his

Continuing . . .

resolution. Anything were bet-
ter than that! he had ex-

claimed.

For a little while she played
with the idea of immediately
hiring the house in Hans Town,
and writing off to tell Aubrey
that she had done it. But that
scheme was soon discarded with
all the others, because she could
not be quite sure that it was
out of his power to scotch it.
He had more influence over
Aubrey than she had chosen to
admit to Edward. In course of
time he could be made to re-
alise that she preferred spin-
sterhood to the brilliant match
he apparently believed to be
her destiny, but she neither
wished to languish until public
opinion placed her on the shelf,
ncr did she cherish illusions
about her love: not for him the
life of a celibate, mourning his
lost bride. He was very much
more likely to seek forgetful-
ness in excess, and would prob-
ably be next heard of flaunting
some dazzling lightskirt all over
Europe. For the moment he
was tied to Yorkshire by Aub

rey's presence in his house; but
any day now Aubrey would
leave the Priory, and then,
Venetia thought, he would be
lost to her indeed.

Her fears and schemes left
little room in her mind for
minor considerations, and re
. sponded mechanically to her

aunt's suggestions for the day's
pleasures. Mrs. Hendred, find-
ing her so complaisant, brought
up the subject of Edward's pro-
jected party again, and was
delighted to meet with no op-
position. Edward had invited
them to dine at the Clarendon
Hotel, where the best and most
expensive dinner in town was
to be had. Edward had invited
Mr. Hendred, too. but seldom
had that dyspeptic gentleman
refused an invitation with less
regret. So the party numbered
three persons only.

The evening began well. No
sooner did the maitre d'hotel
realise that the gentleman from
the country was entertaining
that well-known epicure and
leader of the ton, Mrs. Philip
Hendred, and a perfectly
ravishing young female, dressed
in the first style of elegance,
than he revised his previous
plan, and bowed the party not
to a secluded table in one cor-
ner of the room but to one re-
served for the most respected

patrons.

Mrs. Hendred's town coach
conveyed them to the theatre.
Edward had procured a box,
and Mrs. Hendred was glad to
see that Venetia accepted with
sweet, if slightly absent, com-
plaisance all his solicitous

VENETIA

efforts to secure her comfort.
Venetia was, in fact, consider-
ing a new and extremely dar-
ing scheme, and throughout the
first act of the play she sat
wondering whether she could
summon up the courage to pre-
sent herself boldly to the eldest
of Damerel's aunts, disclosing
all her story and begging for
her support.

It was a desperate plan, and
by the time thc curtain fell a
great many objections to it had
presented themselves to her.
She came out of her deep

reverie to find that Edward was
asking her how she liked the
play. She returned a civil
answer, and then sat looking
idly round the house while he
delivered his opinion.

IT

JLXER attention was
attracted to a box on the oppo-
site side of the theatre. It had
been empty until after the cur-
tain had risen, but it was now
occupied by a lady and gentle-
man of such modish appearance
that many more eyes than Vcnc
tia's were turned towards them.
Neither was in the first blush
of youth, the gentleman, in-
deed, bearing a strong re-
semblance to the Prince Regent.

He had very much the same
protuberant blue eyes and florid
complexion; he wore a coat of
exaggerated cut, a splendid
waistcoat, and his pantaloons
were smoothly stretched across
a stomach of noble proportions.
He had levelled his quizzing
glass at Venetia, but after one
cursory glance at him she had
transferred her gaze to his com-
panion.

If the gentleman was mag-
nificent, the lady was the more
striking of the two. A hint of
brass in the color of her ex-
quisitely dressed curls might
betray the hand of an expert
coiffeur, the delicate blush on
her cheeks might have issued
from an expensive jar of rouge,
but her figure, tantalisingly
revealed by a very low cu*,
gown of silk so soft and
diaphanous that it clung like a
cobweb to her form, owed no
more to art than did her large,
brilliant eyes.

Diamonds hung from the
lobes of her ears, flashed on her
white bosom and on her arms;
an ermine cloak had been flung
carelessly over the back of her
chair, and she was leaning a
little forward, her gaze, like her
companion's, directed towards
Venetia. There was a slightly
amused smile on her tinted
lips; she was slowly waving to
and fro a fan spangled with
diamond chips, but as Venetia
stared at her she lifted the
other hand in a tiny gesture of

salute.

Mrs. Hendred, somnolent
after her sumptuous repast, had
dozed peacefully through the
first act of the play, and was
now listening sleepily to Ed-
ward's measured discourse, and
wishing that the curtain would
rise on the second act and so

allow her to drop off again.

Edward's voice was monotonous

enough to make it hard for her
to remain awake, but she was
saved from sliding back into
sleep by Venetia's saying sud-
denly: "Aunt, who is that lady
in the box over there?"

There was a sharpened note
in her voice which startled
Mrs. Hendred enough to rouse
her and drive away the fog of
drowsiness. She straightened
herself, giving her plump shoul-
ders a little twitch, and said:
"Which lady, my love?" whi-
an assumption of bright in-

terest.

"Almost directly opposite,
ma'am! I can't point to her,
because she is watching me.
She has been doing so these
past ten minutes,.and I- Aunt
Hendred, who is she?"

"My dear, I'm sure I don't
know, for I saw no one in any

To page 66

Continuing . . . VENETIA

of the boxes with whom I am
acquainted. Which box do you
say " She stopped with a
gasp and ejaculated in a

stunned tone: "Good heavens!"

Venetia's hands were tightly
clasped over her folded fan:
she said: "You know her, don't
you, ma'am?"

"No, no!" declared Mrs.
Hendred. "Good gracious, no!
As though 1 should know any
female who wore such a dress!
The most indecent- Dear
child, don't seem to notice
them! Such impertinence star-
ing at you like- Hush, my
love, the curtain is going up
and we must not talk any more!
Dear me. how I long to dis-
cover what will happen in this
act! An excellent first act. was
it not? I don't know when I
have enjoyed a play more! Ah,
here is the comical man and
his valet! We mustn't talk or
we shall miss the diverting
things they say!"

"Only tell me, ma'am-"

" 'Sh!" uttered Mrs. Hen-
dred.

As this sibilant command

was endorsed by the party in
the adjoining box, in an even
more menacing manner, Vene-
tia relapsed into silence. Mrs.
Hendred was agitatedly fan-
ning herself, and instead of
joining in the burst of laughter
which greeted one of the divert-
ing things that was said on the
stage she seized the opportunity
to tweak Edward's sleeve, and
upon his bending towards her
to whisper something in his
ear. Venetia, who had not
joined in the laughter either
but who was sitting bolt up-
right, an expression on her
face compound of incredulity
and bewilderment, did not hear
what was said; but in another
minute or two Edward whis-
pered to her: "Venetia, your
aunt is feeling faint! You will
not object to removing from
this box? It is very stuffy
I am conscious of it myself and
believe Mrs. Hendred will re-
vive if she can but be got into

the air!"

Venetia rose with alacrity,
and while Edward led thc
afflicted lady out she flung her
own cloak over her shoulders,
caught up her aunt's, and
slipped out of the box to find
two attendants solicitously
reviving Mrs. Hendred with
smelling-salts. Her color seemed
a trifle high for a lady on the
brink of a swoon, but when
Edward told Venetia, in a
lowered voice, that he thought

from page 65

they should take her home as
soon as she was a little re-
covered. Venetia at once agreed
to it and recommended him
(since Mrs. Hendred"s coach-
man would not bring her car-
riage to the theatre for another
hour) to go at once to summon
a hackney.

He went off immediately,
and Mrs. Hendred, allowing
herself to be supported by the
two box attendants to the
stairway, said, in failing accents,
that she feared her unfortunate
indisposition was due to the
evil effect upon her system of
woodcock a la Royale. "But 1
would not for the world say so
to Mr. Yardley!"

Venetia replied to this with
remarkable calm, making no

attempt either then or when
she sat beside her aunt in the
somewhat malodorous vehicle
procured for their conveyance
to repeat the question which
had played so large a part in
throwing Mrs. Hendred into
queer stirrups. But when Mrs.
Ñendred, upon arrival in
Cavendish Square, announced
her intention of instantly retir-
ing to bed, she said, with more
amusement tban concern: "Yes,
if you wish, ma'am, but I warn
you I am not to be so easily
fobbed off! I'll go with you!"

"No. no, dear child! I can
feel one of my spasms coming
on! That is, I can't imagine
what you can possibly-"

Edward, who had accom-
panied the ladies into the house,
intervened, saying heavily: "I
believe, ma'am, upon considera-
tion, that the wisest course
now will be for you to inform
your niece of the circumstance
which made it unhappily nee es

sary for us to quit the theare

before the end of the act.

"You may depend upi it
that it will be!" said Venetia.
"'Do you take my aunt ups tain
to the drawing-room, while I
mix a dose of hartshorn and
water for her!"

She ran lightly up the lin
as she spoke, heedless of the
protesting moan that pu ,ued

her.

When she presently ci red
the drawing-room, it was to
find her aunt sunk into an :rm
chair, her expression that i . on
resigned to the worst blue lin-
ings of fate. Edward, his ¡un
tenance preternaturally solemn,
was standing on the hear rug

Mrs. Hendred distast tully
eyed the potion her nieii had
prepared, but accepted th> -das
with faint thanks. Venetia then
said, without preamble: Who
was that lady, ma'am?"

Mrs. Hendred shuddere but
Edward, who had appa ntly
taken the conduct of the (fair
on himself, replied with ^lib-
eration: "She is Lady St' eple,
my dear Venetia. She w s ac-
companied, Mrs. Hendrc i in-
forms me, by her husband. Sit
Lambert Steeple. I am a fart,
however, that these nam CM
convey but little to you.'

"An understatement. Ed-
ward!" Venetia interr pted.
"They convey nothing whatso-
ever to me, and I wis! very
much that you will allow my
aunt to answer for h rself!
Ma'am, when I first c mght
sight of her f had the ddest
feeling-But I knew it o be
impossible, and thought it

just one of those resemblance
for which there is no ac« )unl
ing. Only she stared at ¡ne »
hard, and directed her hus
band's attention to me. ant
lifted her hand, not quite wav
ing to me, but-but as thougl
she meant it as a sign of tco|
nition! It cannot be sa, o
course, but the most fantasut
notion shot into my brain! I
I thought she was my mother!

Mrs. Hendred moaned af
took a sip of hartshorn ant
water. "Oh, my dear child!"

"Your quickness of wit. Ven
etia, has made it easier for ni
to discharge the unplc isa"
duty-for such I feel it to b
under these unforeseen circuB
stances - of divulging to yo
that she is, in fact, you
mother," said Edward.

To be concluded

$