the day is not yet over. it had been a busy one at the house of greatorex and greatorex. what with business, what with inward vexation, of one or two kinds, mr. greatorex felt cross and weary as the evening drew on.

there had been some unnecessary delay in the prosecution of a cause being tried at westminster, for which bede was in fault. a large bill for fripperies had been presented to the office that day, and by mistake to mr. greatorex instead of to mrs. bede's husband. the capricious treatment being dealt out to miss channing had been spoken of by jane to her grandpapa; and preparations for another enormous reception for that night were in active progress. all these matters, as well as others, were trying the usually placid temper of mr. greatorex.

he did not appear at the dinner-table that evening, but had a chop taken to his private sitting-room. calling for his son bede, he found he was not forthcoming. bede, mr. greatorex was told, had gone to london bridge to meet a steamer from france, by which his wife's sister was expected. jane greatorex ran in to her grandpapa, and asked, spoilt child that she was, if he would not invite her and miss channing to drink tea with him: mrs. bede not having bidden them to the soirée. yes, mr. greatorex said; they should spend the evening in his room. closed in there quietly and snugly, they heard only as from a distance the turmoil of the large gathering above, and mr. greatorex partially forgot his cares.

mrs. bede greatorex's rooms were lighted up, shutting out the remains of daylight, when roland yorke entered them. for it was to get himself up for this soirée that roland had gone home in a commotion, calling for half the people in the house to wait on him. the company was large, elbowing each other as usual, and fighting for space on the staircase and landing with the beauteous plants that lined the walls. whatever might be mrs. bede's short-comings in some of the duties of life, she never failed in one--that of gathering a vast crowd at her bidding. this evening was to be great in music; and some of the first singers and performers of the day had been secured to delight the company; at what cost, was known only to bede's pocket.

roland's chief motive in coming to it--for he did not always attend when invited--was to get an interview with miss channing. the vision of her tearful face, seen in the morning, the revelation contained in the careless words of jane greatorex had been making a hot place in his breast ever since. roland wanted to know what it meant, and why she put up with it. his eyes went roaming into every corner in search of annabel; but he could not see her.

"ill-conditioned old she-stork!" ejaculated roland, apostrophising the unconscious mrs. bede greatorex. "she has gone and kept her out of the way tonight."

in consequence of this failure in his expectations, roland had leisure to concentrate his attention on the general company; and he did it in a slightly ungracious mood; his blood was boiling up with the awful injustice (imaginary rather than real) dealt out to the governess.

"and all because that nasty conceited little pig, jane greatorex, must get an education."

"what's that, roland?"

roland, in his indignation, had spoken so as to be overheard. he turned to see the bright face of hamish channing, who had entered the room with his wife on his arm.

"you here, hamish! well, i never!"

"i have come out of my shell for once," said hamish. "one cannot be a hermit always, when one has an exacting wife. mine threatened me with unheard-of penalties if i didn't bring her tonight."

"hamish!" exclaimed mrs. channing. "he does nothing but talk against me, roland. it is good for him to come out sometimes.

"i say, i can't see annabel," cried roland, in a most resentful tone, as he, still hoping against hope, cast his eyes in search of her over people's heads. "it's a thundering shame she is a prisoner upstairs tonight, i suppose, taking care of jane greatorex."

"but that's no reason why you should call the little lady names," laughed hamish.

"i called her a little pig," avowed roland. "i should like to call somebody else a great pig; to her face too; only she might turn me out for my bad manners. if there is one thing i hold in contempt more than another, hamish, it is a tyrant."

"does that apply to miss annabel channing?"

"bad manners to you then, hamish, for speaking such a word!" burst forth roland. "annabel a tyrant! you'll tell me i'm a mormon next! she's the sweetest-tempered girl in the world; she's meek and gentle and friendless here, and so that woman puts upon her. you used to snub her at home when she was a child; they snub her here: but there's not one of the lot of you fit to tie her shoe. there."

roland backed against the wall in dudgeon, and stood there, pulling at his whiskers. hamish enjoyed these moods of roland's beyond everything; they were so genuine.

"and if i were getting on as my father's son ought to be, with a decent home, and a few hundreds to keep it up, it's not long she should be left to the mercy of any of you, i can tell you that, mr. channing."

hamish channing's laugh was interrupted by mrs. bede greatorex--"that woman" as roland had just disrespectfully called her. mr. and mrs. channing had been slowly threading their way to her, a difficult matter from the impeding crowd. she welcomed them with both hands. hamish, a favourite of hers, was the courtly, sunny hamish as of yore; making the chief attraction of whatever society he might happen to be in.

"i am very glad to see you; but i wonder you like to show your face to me," said mrs. bede.

"what is my offence?" enquired hamish.

"as if you need ask! i don't think you've been to one of my gatherings for three months. if it were not for your wife. i'd leave off sending you cards, sir."

"it was my wife's doings to come this evening; she dragged me out," answered saucy hamish. "you've no idea how she pats upon a fellow, mrs. greatorex."

ellen laughed. "the real truth is, mrs. greatorex, that he was a little less pressed for work than usual, and came of his own accord."

"that horrid work!" spoke mrs. bede. "you are a slave to it."

"wait until my fortune's made," said hamish.

"that will be when your book's out!"

"oh yes, of course."

the answer was given banteringly. but a slight hectic came into his face, his voice unconsciously took a deeper tone. heaven alone knew what that anticipated book already was to his spirit.

"when will it be finished?"

"it is finished."

"how glad you must be!" concluded mrs. bede.

the evening went on. roland kept his place against the wall, looking as if everybody were his natural enemy. on the whole, roland did not like soirées; there was no room for his elbows; and the company never seemed to be in their natural manners; rather on artificial stilts. having come out to this one for the specific purpose of meeting annabel, roland could but regard the disappointment in the light of a personal wrong, and resent it accordingly.

in the midst of a grand, tremendous cavatina, loud enough to split the ceiling, while the room was preparing itself to applaud, and roland was thinking it might have been more agreeable to ears if given out of doors, say on the quai at durban, he happened to raise his head, and saw gerald opposite. their eyes met. roland nodded, but gerald gave no response. gerald happened to be standing next to hamish channing.

and the two were attracting some attention, for they were known by many present to be rising stars in the literary world. perhaps hamish was also gaining notice by his personal attributes; it was not often so entirely good-looking a man was seen in the polite society of soirées and drums. side by side they stood, the aspiring candidates for literary honours, soon to be enrolled amidst the men who have written books. which of them--that is, which work--would be the most successful? that remained to be learnt. hamish channing had the advantage (and a very great one) in looks; anybody might see that: hamish had the advantage in scholarship; and he had the advantage, though perhaps the world could not see it yet, of genius. hamish channing's education had been also sound and comprehensive: he was a college man. gerald was not. mr. channing the elder had been straitened for means, as the public has heard of, but he had contrived to send his eldest son to cambridge, a wonderful outward difference was there in the two men, as they stood side by side: would there be as much contrast in their books?

gerald was looking fierce. the sight of hamish channing brought to his mind the adverse opinion pronounced on his manuscript. his resentment had grown more bitter; his determination, to be revenged, into a firm and fixed resolve, he could not completely cut hamish, as it was his pleasure to cut his brother roland, but he was haughty and distant. hamish, of genial temper himself, and his attention distracted by the large assembly, observed it not.

the crashing came to an end, the applause also, and in the general move that succeeded, roland got away. seeing a vacant sofa in a comparatively deserted room, he took possession of one end of it. a fashionable young woman seated herself at the other end and took a survey of him.

"i am sure you are one of the yorkes of helstonleigh! is it roland?"

roland turned to the speaker: and saw a general resemblance (in the chignon and shoulder-blades) to mrs. bede greatorex.

"yes, i am roland," he answered, staring.

"don't you remember me?--clare joliffe?"

"good gracious!" cried roland, seizing her hand and shaking it nearly off. clare joliffe had never been a particular favourite of his; but, regarded in the light of a home face, she was agreeably welcome. "whatever brings you here, miss joliffe?"

"i am come over on a visit," said the young lady. "louisa has invited me for the first time since her marriage. i only got here at seven o'clock tonight; we had a rough passage and the boat was late."

"over from where? what boat?"

"boulogne."

"have you been staying there?"

"we are living there. we have left helstonleigh--oh, ever so long ago. mamma got tired of it, and so did i and mary."

roland's ill-humour disappeared with the old reminiscences, for they plunged into histories past and present. home days and home people, mixed with slight anecdotes of port natal life. mrs. joliffe had quitted helstonleigh very shortly after that occurrence that had so startled the town--the death, of john ollivera. it was perhaps natural, perhaps only a curious accident, that the sad fact should be reverted to between them now as they talked: we all know how one subject leads to another. clare joliffe grew confidential about that and other things. one bond she and roland seemed to have between them this night--a grievance against mrs. bede greatorex. roland's consisted in that lady's unkind treatment (real or fancied) of miss channing, the notion of which he had but picked up that selfsame day. clare joliffe's resentment appeared to be more general, and of longer standing.

"it's such an unkind thing of her, roland--i may call you roland, i suppose?"

"call me ro if you like," said easy roland.

"here's louisa in this nice position, servants, and carriages, and company about her, no children, living like a queen; and never once has she invited me or mary inside her doors. it's a great shame. she should hear what mamma thinks of it. i don't suppose she'd have asked me now, only she could not well avoid it, as i am passing through london to visit some friends in the country. mamma wrote to ask her to give me a night's lodging, and then she wrote back, inviting me to stay a week or two."

"why should she not have had you before?"

"oh, i don't suppose there has been any reason, except that she has not thought of it. louisa was always made up of self. we never fancied she'd marry bede greatorex."

"why not?"

"at least, what we thought was, that bede would not marry her. he must have cared for her very much, or he would not, after the affair about john ollivera."

"what had that to do with it?" questioned roland, opening his eyes--for he supposed the young lady was alluding to the barrister's death.

"she engaged herself to both of them."

"who did?"

"louisa."

"did she!"

clare joliffe nodded. "we never quite understood how it was. she was up here on a visit for ever so long, weeks and weeks; it was in the time of mrs. greatorex; and if she did not promise herself to bede, there was at least a good deal of flirtation going on between them. we got to know that after louisa returned home. the next year, when john ollivera was at helstonleigh, she had a flirtation with him. i know she used to write to both of them. anyway, at the time of his last visit, when the death occurred, she had managed to engage herself to the two."

"i've heard of two wives, but i never heard of two engagements going on together," observed roland. "which of the fellows did she like best?"

"i think she liked john ollivera. but bede had a good income ready made to his hand, and money went for a great deal with louisa. she could not marry both of them, that was certain; and how she would have got out of the dilemma but for poor john ollivera's death, it is impossible to imagine. i never shall forget her look of fright the night bede greatorex came in unexpectedly. we had a few friends with us; mamma had invited mr. ollivera, and the tea waited for him. there was a ring at the bell, and then the room-door opened for somebody to be shown in. 'here's your counsellor,' i whispered to louisa. instead of him, the servant announced mr. bede greatorex; louisa's face turned ghastly."

"i don't understand," said roland, rather at sea. "when was it?"

"it was the night that john ollivera came by his death. he was in helstonleigh for the assizes, you know; he was to have pleaded the next day in a cause mamma was interested in. he said he would come in to tea if he were able; and when bede greatorex appeared we were all surprised, not knowing that he was at helstonleigh. we still expected mr. ollivera, and louisa kept casting frightened glances to the door every time it opened. i know she felt at her wit's end; for of course with both her lovers on the scene, a crisis was inevitable, and her deceit would have to come out. bede greatorex was whispering to her at times throughout the evening; there seemed to be some trouble between them. mr. ollivera did not come--bede told us he had left him busy, and complaining of a headache. i thought bede seemed very angry with louisa; and as soon as he left, she bolted herself in her chamber, and we did not see her again that night. the next morning she sent word down she was ill, and stayed in bed. mary said she knew what it was that ailed her--worry; but i thought she only wished to avoid being downstairs if the two called. we were at breakfast when hurst, the surgeon; came in--he was attending mamma at the time--and brought the dreadful news to us, that mr. ollivera had been found dead. i carried the tidings up to louisa, and told her that she must have gone out and killed him. nothing else could have extricated her so completely from the dilemma."

"but--you don't mean that she--that she went out and killed him?" cried roland in puzzled wonder. "could she have got out without being seen?"

"of course i don't mean it; i said it to her in joke. why, roland, you must be stupid to ask such a thing."

"to be sure i must," answered roland, in contrition. "it's all through my having been at port natal."

the last word was drowned in a shiver of glass. both of them turned hastily. mr. bede greatorex, in taking his elbow from the ormolu cabinet behind the sofa, had accidentally knocked down a beautiful miniature fountain of bohemian glass, which had been throwing up its choice perfume.

"he certainly heard me," breathed clare joliffe, excessively discomfited. "i never knew he was there."

the breakage caused some commotion, and must have annoyed mr. bede greatorex. he rang the bell loudly for a servant, and those who caught a view of his face, saw that it had a white stillness on it, painful as death.

roland made his escape. the evening, so far as he was concerned, seemed a failure, and he thought he would leave the rooms without further ceremony. leaping down the staircase a flight at a time, he met jane greatorex ascending attended by her coloured maid.

"halloa! what brings you sitting up so late as this?" cried free roland.

"we've been spending the evening with grandpapa in his room," answered jane. "he gave us some cakes and jam, and miss channing made the tea. i've got to go to bed now."

"where's miss channing?"

"she's there, in grandpapa's room, waiting to finish the curtain i tore."

away went roland, casting thought to the winds in the prospect of seeing annabel at last, and burst into mr. greatorex's room, after giving a smart knock at the door. the wonder was that he knocked at all. annabel was alone mending the crimson silk curtain of the lower bookcase. jane, dashing it open to look after some book, had torn the curtain woefully; so miss channing took it from its place and set to work to repair it. to be thus unceremoniously invaded brought a flush to her cheeks--perhaps she could not have told why--and roland saw that her eyes were red and heavy. sitting at the table, near the lamp, she went on quietly with her work.

"where's old greatorex?" demanded roland. "i thought he was here."

"mr. greatorex is gone into his consulting-room. some one came to see him."

down sat roland on the other side of the table; and, as a preliminary to proceedings, pulled his whiskers and took a long stare right into the young lady's face.

"i say, annabel, why are you not at the party tonight?"

"i don't always care to go in. mrs. greatorex gives so many parties."

"well, i came to it only for one purpose; and that was to see you. i should not have bothered to dress myself for anybody else. hamish and his wife are there."

"i did not feel very well this evening."

"no, i don't suppose you did. and, besides that, i expect the fact is, that mrs. bede never invited you. she is a beauty!"

"roland!"

"you may go on at me till tomorrow if you like, annabel; i shall say it. she's a tyrannical, mean-spirited, heartless image; and i shall be telling her so some day to her face. you should hear what clare joliffe says of her selfishness."

in the midst of her vexation, miss channing could not forbear a smile. roland was never more serious in his life.

"and i want to know what it was she had been doing today, to put you into that grief."

annabel coloured almost to tears. it was a home question, and brought back all the troubles connected with her position in the house. whether mrs. bede greatorex had taken a dislike to her, or whether that lady's temper was alone in fault, miss channing did not know; but a great deal of petty annoyance was heaped upon her almost daily, sometimes bordering upon cruel insult. roland, however, was much mistaken if he thought she would admit anything of the kind to him.

"i see what it is; you are too generous to say it's true," he observed, after vainly endeavouring to get some satisfactory answer. "you are too good for this house, annabel, and i only wish i could take you out of it."

"oh, thank you," she said with a quiet smile, not in the least suspecting his meaning.

"and into one of my own."

"one of your own?"

the remark was elicited from her in simple surprise. she looked up at roland.

"yes, one of mine. but for bringing you to the fate of gerald's wife, i'd marry you tomorrow, annabel."

in spite of the matter-of-fact, earnest tone in which he spoke, almost as if he were asserting he'd take a voyage in the clouds but for its impossibility, annabel was covered with confusion.

"some one else's consent would have to be obtained to that bargain," she said in a hesitating, lame kind of way, as she bent her head low over a tangle in the red sewing-silk.

"some one else's consent! you don't mean to say you'd not marry me, annabel!"

"i don't say i would."

roland looked fierce. "you couldn't perjure yourself; you couldn't, annabel; don't you know what you always said--that you'd be my wife?"

"but i was only a senseless little child then."

"i don't care if you were. i mean it to be carried out. why, annabel, who else in the world, but you, do you suppose i'd marry?"

annabel did not say. her fingers were working quickly to finish the curtain.

"i can tell you i am looking forward to it if you are not. i vowed to hamish tonight that you should not stay here another day if i could--good evening, sir."

mr. greatorex, returning to the room, looked a little surprised to see a gentleman in it, who rose to receive him. recognising roland, he greeted him civilly.

"is it you, mr. yorke? do you want me?"

"no, sir. coming down from the kick-up, i met jenny, who said miss channing was here; so i turned in to see her. she's as unhappy in this house as she can be, mr. greatorex; folks have tempers, you know; and in catching a glimpse of her face today, i saw it red with grief and tears. look at her eyes now, sir. so i came to say that if i could help it by taking her out and marrying her, she should not be here another day. i was saying it when you came in, mr. greatorex."

to hear the single-minded young fellow avow this, standing there in his earnest simplicity, in his great height, was something to laugh at. but mr. greatorex detected the rare good-feeling.

"i am afraid miss channing may think your declaration is premature, mr. yorke. you are scarcely in circumstances to keep yourself, let alone a wife."

"that's just the misfortune of it," said candid roland. "my pound a week does for me, and that's all. but i thought i'd let her know it was the power to serve her that was wanting, not the will. and now that it's said, i've done with the matter, and will wish you good night, mr. greatorex. good night, annabel. hark at that squalling upstairs! i wonder the cats don't set up a chorus!"

and mr. yorke went out in commotion.

"he does not mean anything, sir," said annabel channing rather piteously to mr. greatorex. "i hope you will pardon him; he is just like a boy."

"i am sure he does not mean any harm," was the lawyer's answer, his lips parting with a smile. "never were two so much alike in good-hearted simplicity as he and his uncle carrick. don't let his thoughtless words trouble you, child."

roland, clearing the streets at a few bounds, dashed home, into to mrs. jones's parlour, a light through the half-open door showing him that that lady was in it. it was past eleven: as a rule mrs. jones liked to keep early hours; but she appeared to have no intention of going to bed yet.

"are you working for a wager, mrs. j.?" asked roland, in allusion to the work in her nimble fingers.

"i am working not to waste my time, mr. yorke, while i sit up for alletha rye. she is not in yet."

"out on the spree?" cried roland.

"she and sprees don't have much to do with each other," said mrs. jones. "there's a little child ill a few doors higher up, and alletha's gone in to sit with her. but she ought to have been home by eleven. and how have you enjoyed yourself, mr. yorke?"

"i say, mrs. j., don't you go talking about enjoyment," spoke roland resentfully. "it has been a miserable failure altogether. not a soul there; the men and women howling like mad; and one's elbows crushed in the crowd. catch me dressing for another!"

mrs. j. thought the answer slightly inconsistent. "if there was not a soul there, mr. yorke, how could your elbows get crushed?"

"there was not a soul i cared for. plenty of idiots. i don't say hamish channing and his wife are that, though. clare joliffe was there. do you remember her at helstonleigh?"

"clare? let me see--clare was the second: next to mrs. bede greatorex. and very much like her."

roland nodded. "she and i were sitting on a sofa, nobody to be seen within earshot, and she began talking of the night mr. ollivera died. you should have heard her, mrs. j.: she went on like anything at her sister, calling her selfish and false and deceitful, and other good names. all in a minute there was a crash of glass behind us, and we turned to see bede greatorex standing there. i had not spoken treason against his wife, but i didn't like him to have seen me listening to it. it was an awkward situation. if i had a wife, i should not care to hear her abused."

"but what caused the crash of glass?" asked practical mrs. j.

"oh, bede's elbow had touched a perfume fountain of crimson glass, and sent it over," said roland carelessly. "it was a beautiful thing, costing i'm sure no end of money, and mrs. bede had filled it with scent for the evening. she'll go in a tantrum over it when the company departs. were i bede i should tell her it blew up of itself."

"is miss clare joliffe staying there?"

"got there today by the boat. the joliffes are living in france now. she says it is the first time mrs. bede has invited any of them inside the doors: it was the thought of that, you know, that caused her to go on so. not that i like mrs. bede much better than she does. she can be a tyrant when she likes, mrs. j.!"

"to her husband?"

"oh, i don't know anything about that. bede's big enough to put her down if she tries it on with him. she is one in the house."

"like a good many other mistresses," remarked mrs. j. "i wish alletha would make haste."

"she never asked miss channing and little greatorex to her party tonight," continued roland. "not that it was any loss for miss channing, you know; only i went there thinking to see her. old greatorex had them to spend the evening in his parlour. had i been hamish i should just have said, 'where's my sister that she is not present?' oh, yes, she can be a tyrant! and do you know, what with one cross thing and another, i forgot to ask hamish if he had heard the news about arthur. it went clean out of my mind."

mrs. jones, rather particularly occupied with a knot in her work, made no reply. roland, thinking perhaps his revelations as to mrs. bede had been sufficiently extensive, sat for some minutes in silence; his face bent forward, his elbow on his knee, and pulling at his whiskers in deep thought.

"i say, mrs. j., how much do you think two people could live upon?" he burst forth.

"that depends upon who they are, mr. yorke."

"well, i mean--i don't mind telling you in confidence--me and another. a wife, for instance."

had roland said me and a kangaroo, mrs. jones could not have looked at him with more surprise--albeit not one to be surprised in general.

"i'd like to take her from there, for she's shamefully tyrannized over. we need not mention names, but you guess i dare say who's meant, and you are not to go and repeat it to the parish. if i could get my pay increased to three or four times what it is, by dint of doing extra work and putting my shoulder to the wheel in earnest; and if she could get a couple of nice morning pupils at about fifty pounds apiece, that would make three hundred a year. now don't you think, mrs. jenkins, we might get along with that?"

"well--yes," answered mrs. jones, speaking with some hesitation, and rather to satisfy the earnest, eager face waiting for her decision, than in accordance with her true belief. "the worst of it is that prospects rarely turn out as they are expected to."

"now what do you mean, mrs. j.? three hundred a-year is three hundred a-year. let us be on the safe side, if you like, and put it down at two hundred: which would be allowing for my present pay being only doubled. do you mean to say two people could not live on two hundred a-year? i know we could; she and i."

"two people might, when both are economically inclined. but then you see, mr. yorke, one ought always to allow for interruptions."

"what interruptions?" demanded roland.

"sickness. or pay of pupils falling off."

"we are both as healthy as ever we can be," said roland, heartily. "if i had not been strong and sound as a young lion, should i have stood all that knocking about at port natal? as to pay and pupils, we might take care to make them sure."

"there might be things to increase expenses," persisted mrs. jones, maintaining her ground as usual. "children, for instance."

roland stared with all his eyes. "children!"

"it would be within the range of possibility, i suppose, mr. yorke. your brother gerald has some."

"oh law!" cried roland, his countenance falling.

"and nobody knows what a trouble they are and how much they cost--except those who have tried it. a regular flock of them may come trooping down before you are well aware."

the vista presented to roland was one his sanguine thoughts had never so much as glanced at. a flock of children had not appeared to him less likely to arrive, than that he should set up a flock of parrots; and he candidly avowed it.

"but we shouldn't want any children, mrs. j."

mrs. j. gave a rather derisive sniff. "i've known them that want the fewest get bothered with the most."

roland had not another word to answer. he was pulling his whiskers in much gloom when miss rye was heard to enter. mrs. jones began to roll her work together, preparatory to retiring for the night.

"look here, mrs. jones. i'm uncommon fond of children--you should see how i love that sweet nelly channing--i'd not mind if i had a score about the place; but what becomes of the little monkeys when there's no bread and cheese to feed them on?"

"that's the precise difficulty, mr. yorke."