After about a week of suchlike theorizing, they were not quite so sure
of Providence.

Some newspapers interested in the Ways of Providence, declared through
the medium of leading articles, that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered
in order that the world might be made aware of the utter incapacity of
Scotland Yard, and the necessity for the reorganization of the detective
force.

Other newspapers--they were mostly the organs of the Opposition--sneered
at the Home Secretary.

Mr. Durdan was heard to affirm in the solitude of the smoking-room of
his club, that the days of the Government were numbered.

Then Harold had also to receive daily visits from the family lawyers;
and as family lawyers take more interest in the affairs of the family
than any of its members, he found these visits very tiresome; only he
was determined to find out what was his exact position financially, and
to do so involved the examination of the contents of several tin boxes,
as well as the columns of some bank books. On the whole, however, the
result of his researches under the guidance of the lawyers was worth the
trouble that they entailed.

He found that he would be compelled to live on an income of twelve
thousand pounds a year, if he really wished--as he said he did--to make
provision for the paying off of certain incumbrances, and of keeping in
repair a certain mansion on the borders of a Welsh county.

Having lived for several years upon an allowance of something under
twelve hundred pounds a year, he felt that he could manage to subsist on
twelve thousand. This was the thought that came to him automatically, so
soon as he had discovered his financial position. His next thought was
that, by his own folly, he had rendered himself incapable of enjoying
this sudden increase in revenue.

If he had only been patient--if he had only been trustful for one week
longer!

He felt very bitterly on the subject of his folly--his cruelty--his
fraud; the fact being that he entertained some preposterous theory of
individual responsibility.

He had never had inculcated on him the principles of heredity, otherwise
he would have understood fully that he could no more have avoided
carrying out a plan of deception upon a woman, than the pointer
puppy--where would the Evolutionists be without their pointer
puppy?--can avoid pointing.

Whether the adoption of the scientific explanation of what he had done
would have alleviated his bitterness or not, is quite another question.
The philosophy that accounts for suffering does not go the length of
relieving suffering. The science that gives the gout a name that few
persons can pronounce, does not prevent an ordinary gouty subject from
swearing; which seems rather a pity.

Among the visitors whom Harold saw in these days was Edmund Airey. Mr.
Airey did not think it necessary to go through the form of expressing
his sympathy for his friend's bereavement. His only allusion to the
bereavement was to be found in a sneer at Scotland Yard.

Could he do anything for Harold, he wondered. If he could do anything,
Harold might depend on his doing it.

Harold said, "Thank you, old chap, I don't think I can reasonably ask
you to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of leases that
have yet to run from ten to sixty years."

"Therein the patient must minister to himself," said Edmund. "I suppose
it is, after all, only a question of administration. If you want any
advice--well, you have asked my advice before now. You have even gone
the length of taking my advice--yes, sometimes. That's more than the
majority of people do--unless my advice bears out their own views.
Advice, my dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of another when
he has made up his mind what course to adopt."

"I have always found your counsel good," said Harold. "You know men and
their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything about women."

Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well
acquainted with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that
suggested a doubt of his capacity.

"Women--and their motives?" said he.

"Quite so," said Harold. "Their motives. You once assured me that there
was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps, assuming that that
is your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous to talk of the
motives of woman; though it would be reasonable--at least as reasonable
as most talk of women--to speak of the motives of a woman."

"What woman do you speak of?" said Edmund, quickly.

"I speak as a fool--broadly," said Harold. "I feel myself to be a fool,
when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told to us by Brian
the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the revenue of the
country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the doorway of an
Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both those stories,
and they put all questions of women and their motives out of our heads
while Brian was telling them."

"There's no doubt about that," said Edmund.

"By the way, didn't you ask me for my advice on some point during one of
those days on the Irish lough?"

"If I did, I'm certain that I received good counsel from you," said
Harold.

"You did. But you didn't take it," said Edmund, with a laugh.

"I told you once that you hadn't given me time. I tell you so again,"
said Harold.

"Has she been to see you within the past few days? asked Edmund.

"You understand women--and their motives," said Harold. "Yes, Miss
Craven was here. By the way, talking of motives, I have often wondered
why you suggested to my sister that Miss Avon would make an agreeable
addition to the party at Abbeylands."

Not for a second did Edmund Airey change colour--not for a second did
his eyes fall before the searching glance of his friend.

"The fact was," said he--and he smiled as he spoke--"I was under the
impression that your father--ah, well, if he hadn't that mechanical
rectitude of movement which appertains chiefly to the walking doll
and other automata, he had still many good points. He told me upon one
occasion that it was his intention to marry Miss Avon. I was amused."

"And you wanted to be amused again? I see. I think that I, too, am
beginning to understand something of men--and their motives," remarked
Harold.

"If you make any progress in that direction, you might try and fathom
the object of the Opposition in getting up this agitation about Siberia.
They are going to arouse the country by descriptions of the horrors of
exile in Siberia. They want to make the Government responsible for what
goes on there. And the worst of it is that they'll do it, too. Do you
remember Bulgaria?"

"Perfectly. The country is a fool. The Government will need a strong
programme to counteract the effects of the Siberian platform."

"I'm trying to think out something at the present moment. Well,
good-bye. Don't fail to let me know if I can do anything for you."

He had been gone some time before Harold smiled--not the smile of a man
who has been amused at something that has come under his notice, but the
sad smile of a man who has found that his sagacity has not been at fault
when he has thought the worst about one of his friends.

There are times when a certain imperturbability of demeanour on the part
of a man who has been asked a sudden searching question, conveys as
much to the questioner as his complete collapse would do. The perfect
composure with which Edmund had replied to his sudden question regarding
his motive in suggesting to Mrs. Lampson--with infinite tact--that
Beatrice Avon might be invited to Abbeylands, told Harold all that he
had an interest to know.

Edmund Airey's acquaintance with men--and women--had led him to feel
sure that Mrs. Lamp-son would tell her brother of the suggestion made
by him, Edmund; and also that her brother would ask him if he had any
particular reason for making that suggestion. This was perfectly plain
to Harold; and he knew that his friend had been walking about for some
time with that answer ready for the question which had just been put to
him.

"He is on his way to Beatrice at the present moment," said Harold, while
that bitter smile was still upon his features.

And he was right.

CHAPTER LII.--ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND FATE.

|MR. AIREY had called on Beatrice since his return from that melancholy
entertainment at Abbeylands, but he had not been fortunate enough to
find her at home. Now, however, he was more lucky. She had already two
visitors with her in the big drawing-room, when Mr. Airey was announced.

He could not fail to notice the little flush upon her face as he
entered. He noticed it, and it was extremely gratifying to him to do so;
only he hoped that her visitors were not such close observers as he
knew himself to be. He would not have liked them--whoever they were---to
leave the house with the impression that he was a lover. If they were
close observers and inclined to gossip, they might, he felt, consider
themselves justified in putting so liberal an interpretation upon her
quick flush as he entered.

He did not blush: he had been a Member of Parliament for several years.

Yes, she was clearly pleased to see him, and her manifestation of
pleasure made him assured that he had never seen a lovelier girl. It was
so good of him not to forget her, she declared. He feared that her flush
would increase, and suggest the peony rather than the peach. But he
quickly perceived that she had recovered from the excitement of his
sudden appearance, and that, as a matter of fact, she was becoming pale
rather than roseate.

He noticed this when her visitors--they were feeble folk, the head of a
department in the Museum and his sister--had left the house.

"It is delightful to be face to face with you once more," he said. "I
seem to hear the organ-music of the Atlantic now that I am beside you
again."

She gave a little laugh--did he detect something of scorn in its
ring?--as she said, "Oh, no; it is the sound of the greater ocean that
we have about us here. It is the tide of the affairs of men that flows
around us."

No, her laugh could have had nothing of scorn about it.

"I cannot think of you as borne about on this full tide," said he. "I
see you with your feet among the purple heather--I wonder if there was a
sprig of white about it--along the shores of the Irish lough. I see you
in the midst of a flood of sunset-light flowing from the west, making
the green one red."

She saw that sunset. He was describing the sunset that had been
witnessed from the deck of the yacht returning from the seal-hunt beyond
the headlands. Did he know why she got up suddenly from her seat and
pretended to snuff one of the candles on the mantelshelf? Did he know
how close the tears were to her eyes as she gave another little laugh?

"So long as you do not associate me with Mr. Durdan's views on the Irish
question, I shall be quite satisfied," said she. "Poor Mr. Durdan! How
he saw a bearing upon the Irish question in all the phenomena of Nature!
The sunset--the sea--the clouds--all had more or less to do with the
Irish question."

"And he was not altogether wrong," said Edmund. "Mr. Durdan is a man
of scrupulous inaccuracy, as a rule, but he sometimes stumbles across a
truth. The sea and sky are eternal, and the Irish question----"

"Is the rock upon which the Government is to be wrecked, I believe,"
said she. "Oh, yes; Mr. Durdan confided in me that the days of the
Government are numbered."

"He became confidential on that topic to a considerable number of
persons," said Edmund.

"And we are confidential on Mr. Durdan as a topic," said she.

"We have talked confidentially on more profitable topics, have we not?"
said he.

"We have talked confidently at least."

"And confidingly, I hope. I told you all my aspirations, Miss Avon."

"All?"

"Well, perhaps, I made some reservations."

"Oh."

"Perhaps I shall tell you confidentially of some other aspirations of
mine--some day."

He spoke slowly and with an emphasis and suggestiveness that could not
be overlooked.

"And you will speak confidently on that subject, I am sure."

She was lying back in her chair, with the firelight fluttering over her.
The firelight was flinging rose leaves about her face.

That was what the effect suggested to him.

He noticed also how beautiful was the effect of the light shining
through her hair. That was an effect which had been noticed before.

She turned her eyes suddenly upon him, when he did not reply to her
word, "confidently."

He repeated the word.

"Confidently--confidently;" then he shook his head. "Alas! no. A man who
speaks confidently on the subject of his aspirations--on the subject of
a supreme aspiration--is a fool."

"And yet I remember that you assured me upon one occasion that man was
master of his fate," said she.

"Did I?" said he. "That must have been when you first appeared among us
at Castle Innisfail. I have learned a great deal since then."

"For example?" said she.

"Modesty in making broad statements where Fate is concerned," he
replied, with scarcely a pause.

She withdrew her eyes from his face, and gave a third laugh, closely
resembling in its tone her first--that one which caused him to wonder if
there was a touch of scorn in its ripple.

He looked at her very narrowly. She was certainly the loveliest thing
that he had ever seen. Could it be possible that she was leading him on?

She had certainly never left herself open to the suspicion of leading
him on when at Castle Innis-fail--among the purple heather or the
crimson sunsets about which he had been talking--and yet he had been
led on. He had a suspicion now that he was in peril. He had so fine an
understanding of woman and her motives, that he became apprehensive of
the slightest change. He was, in respect of woman, what a thermometer is
when aboard a ship that is approaching an iceberg. He was appreciative
of every change--of every motive.

"I was looking forward to another pleasant week near you," said he, and
his remark somehow seemed to have a connection with what he had been
saying--had he not been announcing an acquirement of modesty?--"Yes, if
you had been with us at Abbeylands you might have become associated in
my mind with the glory of the colour of an autumn woodland. But it was,
of course, fortunate for you that you got the terrible news in time to
prevent your leaving town."

He felt that she had become suddenly excited. There was no ignoring the
rising and falling of the lace points that lay upon the bosom of her
gown. The question was: did her excitement proceed from what he had
said, or from what she fancied he was about to say?

It was a nice question.

But he bore out his statement regarding his gain in modesty, by assuming
that she had been deeply affected by the story of the tragic end of Lord
Fotheringay, so that she could not now hear a reference to it without
emotion.

"I wonder if you care for German Opera," said he. There could scarcely
be even the most subtle connection between this and his last remark.
She looked at him with something like surprise in her eyes when he had
spoken. Only to some minds does a connection between criminality and
German Opera become apparent.

"German Opera, Mr. Airey?"

"Yes. The fact is that I have a box for the winter season at the Opera
House, and my cousin, Mrs. Carroll, means to go to every performance,
I believe; she is an enthusiast on the subject of German Opera--she has
even sat out a performance of 'Parsifal'--and I know that she is eager
to make converts. She would be delighted to call upon you when she
returns from Brighton."

"It is so kind of you to think of me. I should love to go. You will be
there--I mean, you will be able to come also, occasionally?"

He looked at her. He had risen from his seat, being about to take leave
of her. She had also risen, but her eyes drooped as she exclaimed, "You
will be there?"

She did not fail to perceive the compromising sequence of her phrases,
"I should love to go. You will be there?" She was looking critically at
the toe of her shoe, turning it about so that she could make a thorough
examination of it from every standpoint. Her hands, too, were busy tying
knots on the girdle of her gown.

He felt that it would be cruel to let her see too plainly that he was
conscious of that undue frankness of hers; so he broke the awkward
silence by saying--not quite casually, of course, but still in not too
pointed a way, "Yes, I shall be there, occasionally. Not that my
devotion will be for German Opera, however." The words were well chosen,
he felt. They were spoken as the legitimate sequence to those words that
she had uttered in that girlish enthusiasm, which was so charming. Only,
of course, being a man, he could choose his words. They were
artificial--the result of a choice; whereas it was plain that she could
not choose but utter the phrases that had come from her. She was a girl,
and so spoke impulsively and from her heart.

"Meantime," said she--she had now herself almost under control again,
and was looking at him with a smile upon her face as she put out her
hand to meet his. "Meantime, you will come again to see me? My father is
greatly occupied with his history, otherwise he also would, I know, be
very pleased to see you."

"I hope that you will be pleased," said he. "If so, I will
call--occasionally--frequently."

"Frequently," said she, and once again--but only for a moment this
time--she scrutinized her foot.

"Frequently," said he, in a low tone. Being a man he could choose his
tones as well as his words.

He went away with a deep satisfaction dwelling within him--the
satisfaction of the clever man who feels that he has not only spoken
cleverly, but acted cleverly--which is quite a different thing.

Later on he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry calling
upon her. He had gone to her directly after visiting Harold. He had
been under the impression that he would do well to see her and make his
proposal to her regarding the German Opera season without delay. The
moment that he had heard of Lord Fotheringay's death, it had occurred to
him that he would do well to lose no time in paying her a visit. After
due consideration, he had thought it advisable to call upon Harold in
the first instance. He had done so, and the result of his call was to
make him feel that he should not any longer delay his visit to Beatrice.

Now, as has been said, he felt that he need not have been in such a
hurry.

"_I should love to go--you will be there_."

Yes, those were the words that had sprung from her heart. The sequence
of the phrases had not been the result of art or thought.

He had clearly under-estimated the effect of his own personality upon
an impressionable girl who had a great historian for a father. The days
that he had passed by her side--carrying out the compact which he had
made with Helen Craven--had produced an impression upon her far more
powerful than he had believed it possible to produce within so short a
space of time.

In short, she was his.

That is what he felt within an hour of parting from her; and all his
resources of modesty and humility were unequal to the task of changing
his views on this point.

Was he in love with her?

He believed her to be the most beautiful woman whom he had ever seen.

CHAPTER LIII.--ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION.

|IT was commonly reported that Mr. Durdan had stated with some degree of
publicity that the days of the Government were numbered.

There were a good many persons who were ready to agree with him before
the month of December had passed; for the agitation on the subject of
Siberia was spreading through the length and breadth of the land.
The active and observant Leader of the Opposition knew the people of
England, Scotland, and perhaps--so far as they allowed themselves to
be understood--of Wales, thoroughly. Of course Ireland was out of the
question altogether.

Knowing the people so well, he only waited for a sharp frost to open his
campaign. He was well aware that it would be ridiculous to commence an
agitation on the subject of Siberia unless in a sharp frost. To try
to move the constituencies while the water-pipes in their dwellings
remained intact, would be a waste of time. It is when his pipes are
burst that the British householder will join in any agitation that may
be started. The British farmer invariably turns out the Government after
a bad harvest; and there can be but little doubt that a succession of
wet summers would make England republican.

It was because all the water-pipes in England were burst, that the
atrocities in Bulgaria stirred the great sympathetic heart of this
England of ours, and the strongest Government that had existed for years
became the most unpopular. A strong Government may survive a year of
great commercial depression; but the strongest totters after a wet
summer, and none has ever been known to survive a frost that bursts the
household water-pipes.

The campaign commenced when the thermometer fell to thirty-two degrees
Fahrenheit. That was the time to be up and doing. In every quarter the
agitation made itself felt.

"The sympathetic pulse of the nation was not yet stilled," we were
told. "Six years of inefficient Government had failed to crush down the
manhood of England," we were assured. "The Heart was still there--it was
beating still; and wherever the Heart of an Englishman beats there was
found a foe--a determined, resolute foe--nay, an irresistible foe, to
tyranny, and what tyranny had the world ever known that was equal
to that which sent thousands and tens of thousands of noble men and
women--women--women--to a living death among the snows of Siberia?
Could any one present form an idea of the horrors of a Siberian winter?"
(Cries of "Yes, yes," from householders whose water-pipes had burst.)
"Well, in the name of our common humanity--in the name of our common
sympathies--in the name of England (cheers)--England, mind you, with her
fleet, that in spite of six years of gross mismanagement on the part
of the Government, was still the mistress of the main--(loud cheers)
England, mind you, whose armies had survived the shocking incapacity
of a Government that had refused a seven-hours day to the artisans at
Woolwich and Aldershot--(tremendous cheers) in the name of this grand
old England of ours let those who were responsible for Siberia--that
blot upon the map of Europe"--(the agitator is superior to
geography)--"let them be told that their day is over. Let the Government
that can look with callous eyes upon such horrors as are enacted among
the frosts and snows of Siberia be told that its day is over (cheers).
Did anyone wish to know something of these horrors?" ('Yes, yes!')
"Well, here was a book written by a correspondent to a New York journal,
and which, consequently, was entitled to every respect".... and so
forth.

That was the way the opponents of the Government talked at every
meeting. And in the course of a short time they had successfully mixed
up the labour question, the army and navy retrenchment question, the
agricultural question, and several other questions, with the stories of
Siberian horrors, and the aggregate of evil was laid to the charge of
the Government.

The friends of the Government were at their wits' end to know how to
reply to this agitation. Some foolish ones endeavoured to make out
that England was not responsible for what was done in Siberia. But this
sophistry was too shallow for the people whose water-pipes were burst,
and those who were responsible for it were hooted on every platform.

It was at this critical time that the Prime Minister announced at a
Dinner at which he was entertained, that, while the Government was fully
sensible of the claims of Siberia, he felt certain that he was only
carrying out the desire of the people of England, in postponing
consideration of this vast question until a still greater question
had been settled. After long and careful deliberation, Her Majesty's
Ministers had resolved to submit to the country a programme the first
item of which was the Conversion of the Jews.

The building where this announcement was made rang with cheers. The
friends of the Government no longer looked gloomy. In a few days
they knew that the Nonconformist Conscience would be awake, and as a
political factor, the Nonconformist Conscience cannot be ignored. A
Government that had for its policy the Conversion of the Jews would be
supported by England--this great Christian England of ours.

"My Lords and Gentlemen," said the Prime Minister, "the contest on which
we are about to enter is very limited in its range. It is a contest of
England and Religion against the Continent and Atheism. My Lords and
Gentlemen, come what may, Her Majesty's Ministers will be on the side of
Religion."

It was felt that this timely utterance had saved the Government.

It was not to be expected that, when these tremendous issues were
broadening out, Mr. Edmund Airey should have much time at his disposal
for making afternoon calls; still he managed to visit Beatrice Avon
pretty frequently--much more frequently than he had ever visited anyone
in all his life. The season of German Opera was a brilliant one, and
upon several occasions Beatrice appeared in Mr. Airey's box by the
side of the enthusiastic lady, who was pointed out in society as having
remained in her stall from the beginning to the end of "Parsifal."
Mr. Airey never missed a performance at which Beatrice was present. He
missed all the others.

Only once did he venture to introduce Harold's name in her drawing-room.
He mentioned having seen him casually in the street, and then he watched
her narrowly as he said, "By the way, I have never come upon him here.
Does he not call upon you?"

There was only a little brightening of her eyes--was it scorn?--as
she replied: "Is it not natural that Lord Fotheringay should be a very
different person from Mr. Harold Wynne? Oh, no, he never calls now."

"I have heard several people say that they had found him greatly
changed, poor fellow!" said Edmund.

"Greatly changed--not ill?" she said.

He wondered if the tone in which she spoke suggested anxiety--or was it
merely womanly curiosity?

"Oh, no; he seems all right; but it is clear that his father's death and
the circumstances attending it affected him deeply."

"It gave him a title at any rate."

The suspicion of scorn was once more about her voice. Its tone no longer
suggested anxiety for the health of Lord Fotheringay.

"You are too hard on him, Beatrice," said Edmund. She had come to be
Beatrice to him for more than a week--a week in which he had been twice
in her drawing-room, and in which she had been twice in his opera box.

"Too hard on him?" said she. "How is it possible for you to judge what
is hard or the opposite on such a point?"

"I have always liked Harold," said he; "that is why I must stand up for
him."

"Ah, that is your own kindness of heart," said she. "I remember how you
used to stand up for him at Castle Innisfail. I remember that when you
told me how wretchedly poor he was, you were very bitter against the
destiny that made so good a fellow poor, while so many others, not
nearly so good, were wealthy."

"I believe I did say something like that. At any rate I felt that. Oh,
yes, I always felt that I must stand up for him; so even now I insist on
your not being too hard on him."

He laughed, and so did she--yes, after a little pause.

"Come again--soon," she said, as she gave him her hand, which he
retained for some moments while he looked into her eyes--they were more
than usually lustrous--and said,

"Oh, yes, I will come again soon. Don't you remember what I said to you
in this room--it seems long ago, we have come to be such close friends
since--what I said about my aspirations--my supreme aspiration?"

"I remember it," said she--her voice was very low.

"I have still to reveal it to you, Beatrice," said he.

Then he dropped her hand and was gone.

He made another call the same afternoon. He drove westward to the
residence of Helen Craven and her mother, and in the drawing-room he
found about a dozen people drinking tea, for Mrs. Craven had a large
circle.

It took him some time to get beside Helen; but a very small amount of
manoeuvring on her part was sufficient to secure comparative privacy for
him and herself in a dimly-lighted part of the great room--an alcove
that made a moderately valid excuse for a Moorish arch and hangings.

"The advice that I gave to you was good," said he.

"Your advice was that I should make no move whatever," said she. "That
could not be hard advice to take, if he were disposed to make any move
in my direction. But, as I told you, he only called once, and then we
were out. Have you learned anything?"

"I have learned that whomsoever she marries, she will never marry Harold
Wynne," said Edmund.

"Great heavens! You have found this out? Are you certain? Men are so apt
to rush at conclusions."

"Yes; some men are. I have always preferred the crawling process, though
it is the slower."

"That is a confession--crawling! But how have you found out that she
will not marry him?"

"He has treated her very badly."

"That has got nothing whatever to do with the question. Heavens! If
women declined to marry the men that treat them badly, the statistics of
spinsterhood would be far more alarming than they are at present."

"She will not marry him."

"Will she marry you?"

Miss Craven had sprung to her feet. She was in a nervous condition, and
it was intensified by his irritating reiteration of the one statement.

"Will she marry you?" she cried, in a voice that had a strident ring
about it. "Will she marry you?"

"I think it highly probable," said he.

She looked at him in silence for a long time.

"Let us return to the room," said she.

They went through the Moorish arch back to the drawing-room.

CHAPTER LIV.--ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A POWER.

|IT was a few days after Edmund Airey had made his revelation--if it
was a revelation--to Helen Craven, that Harold received a visitor in
the person of Archie Brown. The second week in January had now come. The
season of German Opera was over, and Parliament was about to assemble;
but neither of these matters was engrossing the attention of Archie.
That he was in a state of excitement anyone could see, and before he had
even asked after Harold's health, he cried, "I've fired out the lot of
them, Harry; that's the sort of new potatoes I am."

"The lot of what?" asked Harold.

"Don't you know? Why, the lot of Legitimists," said Archie.

"The Legitimists? My dear Archie, you don't surely expect me to believe
that you possess sufficient political power to influence the fortunes of
a French dynasty."

"French dynasty be grilled. I said the Legitimists--the actors, the
carpenters, the gasmen, the firemen, the check-takers, Shakespeare, and
Mrs. Mowbray of the Legitimate Theatre. I've fired out the lot of them,
and be hanged to them!"

"Oh, I see; you've fired out Shakespeare?"

"He's eternally fired out, so far as I'm concerned. Why should I end my
days in a workhouse because a chap wrote plays a couple of hundred years
ago--may be more?"

"Why, indeed? And so you fired him out?"

"I've made things hum at the Legitimate this morning"--Archie had once
spent three months in the United States--"and now I've made the lot of
them git. I've made W. S. git."

"And Mrs. Mowbray?"

"She gits too."

"She'll do it gracefully. Archie, my man, you're not wanting in
courage."

"What courage was there needed for that?"--Archie had picked up a quill
pen and was trying, but with indifferent success, to balance it on the
toe of his boot, as he leant back in a chair. "What courage is needed to
tell a chap that's got hold of your watch chain that the time has come
for him to drop it? Great Godfrey! wasn't I the master of the lot of
them? Do you fancy that the manager was my master? Do you fancy that
Mrs. Mowbray was my--I mean, do you think that I'm quite an ass?"

"Well, no," said Harold--"not quite."

"Do you suppose that my good old dad had any Scruples about firing out a
crowd of navvies when he found that they didn't pay? Not he. And do you
suppose that I haven't inherited some of his good qualities?"

"And when does the Legitimate close its doors?"

"This day week. Those doors have been open too long already.
Seventy-five pounds for the Widow's champagne for the Christmas
week--think of that, Harry. Mrs. Mowbray's friends drink nothing but
Clicquot. She expects me to pay for her entertainments, and calls it
Shakespeare. If you grabbed a chap picking your pocket, and he explained
to the tarty chips at Bow Street that his initials were W. S. would he
get off? Don't you believe it, Harry."

"Nothing shall induce me."

"The manager's only claim to have earned his salary is that he has been
at every theatre in London, and has so got the biggest list of people to
send orders to, so as to fill the house nightly. It seems that the most
valuable manager is the one who has the longest list of people who will
accept orders. That's theatrical enterprise nowadays. They say it's the
bicycle that has brought it about."

"Anyhow you've quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? Give me your hand; Archie.
You're a man."

"Quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? It was about time. She went to pat my
head again to-day, when there was a buzz in the manager's office. She
didn't pat my head, Harry--the day is past for pats, and so I told her.
The day is past when she could butter me with her pats. She gave me a
look when I said that--if she could give such looks on the stage she'd
crowd the house--and then she cried, 'Nothing on earth shall induce me
ever to speak to you again.' 'I ask nothing better,' said I. After that
she skipped. I promised Norah that I'd do it, and I have done it."

"You promised whom?"

"Norah. Great Godfrey! you don't mean to say that you haven't heard that
Norah Innisfail and I are to be married?"

"Norah--Innisfail--and--you--you?"

Harold lay back in his chair and laughed. The idea of the straightlaced
Miss Innisfail marrying Archie Brown seemed very comical to him.

"What are you laughing about?" said Archie. "You shouldn't laugh,
considering that it was you that brought it about."

"I? I wish that I had no more to reproach myself with; but I can't for
the life of me see how--"

"Didn't you get Mrs. Lampson to invite me to Abbeylands, and didn't I
meet Norah there, bless her! At first, do you know, I fancied that I was
getting fond of her mother?"

"Oh, yes; I can understand that," said Harold, who was fully acquainted
with the systems which Lady Innisfail worked with such success.

"But, bless your heart! it was all motherly kindness on Lady Innisfail's
part--so she explained when--ah--later on. Then I went with her to Lord
Innisfail's place at Netherford and--well, there's no explaining these
things. Norah is the girl for me! I've felt a better man for knowing
her, Harry. It's not every girl that a chap can say that of--mostly the
other way. Lord Innisfail heard something about the Legitimate business,
and he said that it was about time I gave it up; I agreed with him, and
I've given it up."

"Archie," said Harold, "you've done a good morning's work. I was going
to advise you never to see Mrs. Mowbray again--never to grant her an
interview--she's an edged tool--but after what you've done, I feel that
it would be a great piece of presumption on my part to offer you any
advice."

"Do you know what it is?" said Archie, in a low and very confidential
voice: "I'm not quite so sure of her character as I used to be. I know
you always stood up for her."

"I still believe that she never had more than one lover at a time," said
Harold.

"Was that seventy-five pound's worth of the Widow swallowed by one lover
in a week?" asked Archie. "Oh, I'm sick of the whole concern. Don't you
mention Shakespeare to me again."

"I won't," said Harold. "But it strikes me that Shakespeare is like
Madame Roland's Liberty."

"Whose Liberty?"

"Madame Roland's."

"Oh, she's a dressmaker of Bond Street, I suppose. They're all Madames
there. I dare say I've got a bill from her to pay with the rest of them.
Mrs. Mowbray has dealt with them all. Now I'm off. I thought I'd drop
in and tell you all that happened, as you're accountable for my meeting
Norah."

"You will give her my best regards and warmest congratulations," said
Harold. "Accept the same yourself."

"You had a good time at their Irish place yourself, hadn't you?" said
Archie. "How was it that you didn't fall in love with Norah when you
were there? That's what has puzzled me. How is it that every tarty chip
didn't want to marry her? Oh, I forgot that you--well, wasn't there a
girl with lovely eyes in Ireland?"

"You have heard of Irish girls and their eyes," said Harold.

"She had wonderful gray eyes," said Archie. Harold became grave. "Oh,
yes, Norah has a pair of eyes too, and she keeps them wide open. She
told me a good deal about their party in Ireland. She took it for
granted that you--"

"Archie," said Harold, "like a good chap don't you ever talk about that
to me again."

"All right, I'll not," said Archie. "Only, you see, I thought that you
wouldn't mind now, as everyone says that she's going to marry Airey, the
M.P. for some place or other. I knew that you'd be glad to hear that I'd
fired out the Legitimate."

"So I am--very glad."

Archie was off, having abandoned as futile his well-meant attempts to
balance the quill on the toe first of one boot, then of the other.

He was off, and Harold was standing at the window, watching him
gathering up his reins and sending his horses at a pretty fair pace into
the square.

It had fallen--the blow had fallen. She was going to marry Edmund Airey.

Could he blame her?

He felt that he had treated her with a baseness that deserved the
severest punishment--such punishment as was now in her power to inflict.
She had trusted him with all her heart--all her soul. She had given
herself up to him freely, and he had made her the victim of a fraud.
That was how he had repaid her for her trustfulness.

He did not stir from the window for hours. He thought of her without any
bitterness--all his bitterness was divided between the thoughts of his
own cruelty and the thoughts of Edmund Airey's cleverness. He did not
know which was the more contemptible; but the conclusion to which he
came, after devoting some time to the consideration of the question of
the relative contemptibility of the two, was that, on the whole, Edmund
Airey's cleverness was the more abhorrent.

But Archie Brown, after leaving St. James's, drove with his customary
rapidity to Connaught Square, to tell of his achievement to Norah.

Miss Innisfail, while fully recognizing the personal obligations of
Archie to the Shakesperian drama, had agreed with her father that this
devotion should not be an absorbing one. She had had a hint or two that
it absorbed a good deal of money, and though she had been assured by
Archie that no one could say a word against Mrs. Mowbray's character,
yet, like Harold--perhaps even better than Harold--she knew that Mrs.
Mowbray was an extremely well-dressed woman. She listened with interest
to Archie's account of how he had accomplished that process of "firing
out" in regard to the Legitimate artists; and when he had told her all,
she could not help wondering if Mrs. Mowbray would be quite as well
dressed in the future as she had been in the past.

Archie then went on to tell her how he had called upon Harold, and how
Harold had congratulated him.

"You didn't forget to tell him that people are saying that Mr. Airey is
going to marry Miss Avon?" said Norah.

"Have I ever forgotten to carry out one of your commissions?" he asked.

"Good gracious! You didn't suggest that you were commissioned by me to
tell him that?"

"Not likely. That's not the sort of new potatoes I am. I was on the
cautious side, and I didn't even mention the name of the girl." He did
not think it necessary to say that the reason for his adoption of this
prudent course was that he had forgotten the name of the girl. "No, but
when I told him that Airey was going to marry her, he gave me a look."

"A look? What sort of a look?"

"I don't know. The sort of a look a chap would give to a surgeon who had
just snipped off his leg. Poor old Harry looked a bit cut up. Then he
turned to me and said as gravely as a parson--a bit graver than some
parsons--that he'd feel obliged to me if I'd never mention her name
again."

"But you hadn't mentioned her name, you said."

"Neither I had. He didn't mention it either. I can only give you an idea
of what he said, I won't take my oath about the exact words. But I'll
take my oath that he was more knocked down than any chap I ever came
across."

"I knew it," said Norah. "He's in love with her still. Mamma says he's
not; but I know perfectly well that he is. She doesn't care a scrap for
Mr. Airey."

"How do you know that?"

"I know it."

"Oh."

CHAPTER LV.--ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE BROWN.

|IT was early on the same afternoon that Beatrice Avon received
intimation of a visitor--a lady, the butler said, who gave the name of
Mrs. Mowbray.

"I do not know any Mrs. Mowbray, but, of course, I'll see her," was the
reply that Beatrice gave to the inquiry if she were at home.

"Was it possible," she thought, "that her visitor was the Mrs.
Mowbray whose portraits in the character of Cymbeline were in all the
illustrated papers?"

Before Beatrice, under the impulse of this thought, had glanced at
herself in a mirror--for a girl does not like to appear before a woman
of the highest reputation (for beauty) with hair more awry than is
consistent with tradition--her mind was set at rest. There may have been
many Mrs. Mowbrays in London, but there was only one woman with such a
figure, and such a face.

She looked at Beatrice with undisguised interest, but without speaking
for some moments. Equally frank was the interest that was apparent
on the face of Beatrice, as she went forward to meet and to greet her
visitor.

She had heard that Mrs. Mowbray's set of sables had cost
someone--perhaps even Mrs. Mowbray herself--seven hundred guineas.

"Thank you, I will not sit down," said Mrs. Mowbray. "I feel that I must
apologize for this call."

"Oh, no," said Beatrice.

"Oh, yes; I should," said Mrs. Mowbray. "I will do better, however, for
I will make my visit a short one. The fact is, Miss Avon, I have heard
so much about you during the past few months from--from--several people,
I could not help being interested in you--greatly interested indeed."

"That was very kind of you," said Beatrice, wondering what further
revelation was coming.

"I was so interested in you that I felt I must call upon you. I used to
know Lady Innisfail long ago."

"Was it Lady Innisfail who caused you to be interested in me?" asked
Beatrice.

"Well, not exactly," said Mrs. Mowbray; "but it was some of Lady
Innisfail's guests--some who were entertained at the Irish Castle.
I used also to know Mrs. Lampson--Lord Fotheringay's daughter. How
terrible the blow of his death must have been to her and her brother."

"I have not seen Mrs. Lampson since," said Beatrice, "but--"

"You have seen the present Lord Fotheringay? Will you let me say that
I hope you have seen him--that you still see him? Do not think me
a gossiping, prying old woman--I suppose I am old enough to be your
mother--for expressing the hope that you will see him, Miss Avon. He is
the best man on earth."

Beatrice had flushed the first moment that her visitor had alluded to
Harold. Her flush had not decreased.

"I must decline to speak with you on the subject of Lord Fotheringay,
Mrs. Mowbray," said Beatrice, somewhat unequally.

"Do not say that," said Mrs. Mowbray, in the most musical of pleading
tones. "Do not say that. You would make me feel how very gross has been
my effrontery in coming to you."

"No, no; please do not think that," cried Beatrice, yielding, as every
human being could not but yield, to the lovely voice and the gracious
manner of Mrs. Mowbray. What would be resented as a gross piece of
insolence on the part of anyone else, seemed delicately gracious coming
from Mrs. Mowbray. Her insolence was more acceptable than another
woman's compliment. She knew to what extent she could draw upon her
resources, both as regards men and women. It was only in the case of a
young cub such as Archie that she now and again overrated her powers of
fascination. She knew that she would never pat Archie's red head again.

"Yes, you will let me speak to you, or I shall feel that you regard my
visit as an insolent intrusion."

Beatrice felt for the first time in her life that she could fully
appreciate the fable of the Sirens. She felt herself hypnotized by that
mellifluous voice--by the steady sympathetic gaze of the lovely eyes
that were resting upon her face.

"He is so fond of you," Mrs. Mowbray went on. "There is no lover's
quarrel that will not vanish if looked at straight in the face. Let
me look at yours, my dear child, and I will show you how that demon
of distrust can be exorcised." Beatrice had become pale. The word
_distrust_ had broken the spell of the Siren.

"Mrs. Mowbray," said she, "I must tell you again that on no
consideration--on no pretence whatever shall I discuss Lord Fotheringay
with you."

"Why not with me, my child?" said Mrs. Mowbray. "Because I distrust
you--no I don't mean that. I only mean that--that you have given me no
reason to trust you. Why have you come to me in this way, may I ask
you? It is not possible that you came here on the suggestion of Lord
Fotheringay."

"No; I only came to see what sort of girl it is that Mr. Airey is going
to marry," said Mrs. Mowbray, with a wicked little smile.

Beatrice was no longer pale. She stood with clenched hands before Mrs.
Mowbray, with her eyes fixed upon her face.

Then she took a step toward the bell rope. "One moment," said Mrs.
Mowbray. "Do you expect to marry Edmund Airey?"

Beatrice turned, and looked again at her visitor. If the girl had been
less feminine she would have gone on to the bell rope, and have pulled
it gently. She did nothing of the sort. She gave a laugh, and said, "I
shall marry him if I please."

She was feminine.

So was Mrs. Mowbray.

"Will you?" she said. "Do you fancy for a moment--are you so infatuated
that you can actually fancy that I--I--Gwendoline Mowbray, will allow
you--you--to take Edmund Airey away from me? Oh, the child is mad--mad!"

"Do you mean to tell me," said Beatrice, coming close to her, "that
Edmund Airey is--is--a lover of yours?"

"Ah," said Mrs. Mowbray, smiling, "you do not live in our world, my
child."

"No, I do not," said Beatrice. "I now see why you have come to me
to-day."

"I told you why."

"Yes; you told me. Edmund Airey has been your lover."

"_Has been?_ My child, it is only when I please that a lover of mine
becomes associated with a past tense. I have not yet allowed Edmund
Airey to associate with my 'have beens.' It was from him that I learned
all about you. He alluded to you in his letters to me from Ireland
merely as 'a gray eye or so.' You still mean to marry him?"

"I still mean to do what I please," said Beatrice. She had now reached
the bell rope and she pulled it very gently.

"You are an extremely beautiful young person," said Mrs. Mowbray. "But
you have not been able to keep close to you a man like Harold Wynne--a
man with a perfect genius for fidelity. And yet you expect--"

Here the door was opened by the butler. Mrs. Mowbray allowed her
sentence to dwindle away into the conventionalities of leave-taking with
a stranger.

Beatrice found herself standing with flushed cheeks and throbbing heart
at the door through which her visitor had passed.

It was somewhat remarkable that the most vivid impression which she
retained of the rather exciting series of scenes in which she had
participated, was that Mrs. Mowbray's sables were incomparably the
finest that she had ever seen.

Mrs. Mowbray could scarcely have driven round the great square before
the butler inquired if Miss Avon was at home to Miss Innisfail. In
another minute Norah Innisfail was embracing her with the warmth of a
true-hearted girl who comes to tell another of her engagement to marry
an eligible man, or a handsome man, let him be eligible or otherwise.

"I want to be the first to give you the news, my dearest Beatrice," said
Norah. "That is why I came alone. I know you have not heard the news."

"I hear no news, except about things that do not interest me in the
least," said Beatrice.

"My news concerns myself," said Norah.

"Then it's sure to interest me," cried Beatrice.

"It's so funny! But yet it's very serious," said Norah. "The fact is
that I'm going to marry Archie Brown."

"Archie Brown?" said Beatrice. "I hope he is the best man in the
world--he should be, to deserve you, my dear Norah."

"I thought perhaps you might have known him," said Norah. "I find that
there are a good many people still who do not know Archie Brown,
in spite of the Legitimate Theatre and all that he has done for
Shakespeare."

"The Legitimate Theatre. Is that where Mrs. Mowbray acts?"

"Only for another week. Oh, yes, Archie takes a great interest in
Shakespeare. He meant the Legitimate Theatre to be a monument to the
interest he takes in Shakespeare, and so it would have been, if the
people had only attended properly, as they should have done. Archie is
very much disappointed, of course; but he says, very rightly, that the
Lord Chamberlain isn't nearly particular enough in the plays that he
allows to be represented, and so the public have lost confidence in the
theatres--they are never sure that something objectionable will not be
played--and go to the Music Halls, which can always be trusted. Archie
says he'll turn the Legitimate into a Music Hall--that is, if he can't
sell the lease."

"Whether he does so or not, I congratulate you with all my heart, my
dearest Norah."

"If you had come down to Abbeylands in time--before that awful thing
happened--you would have met Archie. We met him there. Mamma took a
great fancy to him at once, and I think that I must have done the same.
At any rate I did when he came to stay with us. He's such a good fellow,
with red hair--not the sort that the old Venetian painters liked, but
another sort. Strictly speaking some of his features--his mouth, for
instance--are too large, but if you look at him in one position, when
he has his face turned away from you, he's quite--quite--ah--quite
curious--almost nice. You'll like him, I know."

"I'm sure of it," said Beatrice.

"Yes; and he's such a friend of Harold Wynne's," continued the
artful Norah. "Why, what's the matter with you, Beatrice? You are as
pale--dearest Beatrice, you and I were always good friends. You know
that I always liked Harold."

"Do not talk about him, Norah."

"Why should I not talk about him? Tell me that."

"He is gone--gone away."

"Not he. He's too wretched to go away anywhere. Archie was with him
to-day, and when he heard that--well, the way some people are talking
about you and Mr. Airey, he had not a word to throw to a dog--Archie
told me so."

"Oh, do not talk of him, Norah."

"Why should I not?"

"Because--ah, because he's the only one worth talking about, and now
he's gone from me, and I'll never see him again--never, never again!"
Before she had come to the end of her sentence, Beatrice was lying
sobbing on the unsympathetic cushion of the sofa--the same cushion that
had absorbed her tears when she had told Harold to leave her.

"My dearest Beatrice," whispered Norah, kneeling beside her, with her
face also down a spare corner of the cushion, "I have known how you were
moping here alone. I've come to take you away. You'll come down with us
to our place at Netherford. There's a lake with ice on it, and there's
Archie, and many other pretty things. Oh, yes, you'll come, and we'll
all be happy."

"Norah," cried Beatrice, starting up almost wildly, "Mr. Airey will be
here in half an hour to ask me to marry him. He wrote to say that he
would be here, and I know what he means." Mr. Airey did call in half an
hour, and he found Beatrice--as he felt certain she should--waiting to
receive him, wearing a frock that he admired, and lace that he approved
of.

But in the meantime Beatrice and Norah had had a few words together
beyond those just recorded.

CHAPTER LVI.--ON THE BITTER CRY.

|EDMUND AIREY drank his cup of tea which Beatrice poured out for him,
and while doing so, he told her of the progress that was being made
by the agitation of the Opposition and the counter agitation of the
Government. There was no disguising the fact that the country--like the
fool that it was--had been caught by the bitter cry from Siberia. There
was nothing like a bitter cry, Edmund said, for catching hold of
the country. If any cry was only bitter enough it would succeed.
Fortunately, however, the Government, in its appeal against the Atheism
of the Continent, had also struck a chord that vibrated through the
length and breadth of England and Scotland. The Government orators were
nightly explaining that no really sincere national effort had ever been
made to convert the Jews. To be sure, some endeavours had been made from
time to time to effect this great object--in the days of Isaac of York
the gridiron and forceps had been the auxiliaries of the Church to bring
about the conversion of the Hebrew race; and, more recently, the potent
agency of drawing-room meetings and a house-to-house collection had been
resorted to; but the results had been disappointing. Statistics were
forthcoming--nothing impresses the people of Great Britain more than a
long array of figures, Edmund Airey explained--to show that, whereas, on
any part of the West coast of Africa where rum was not prohibited, for
one pound sterling 348 negroes could be converted--the rate was 0.01
where rum was prohibited--yet for a subscription of five pounds, one
could only depend on 0.31 of the Jewish race--something less than half
an adult Hebrew--being converted. The Government orators were asking how
long so scandalous a condition of affairs was to be allowed to continue,
and so forth.

Oh, yes, he explained, things were going on merrily. In three days
Parliament would meet, and the Opposition had drafted their Amendment
to the Address, "That in the opinion of this House no programme of
legislation can be considered satisfactory that does not include a
protest against the horrors daily enacted in Siberia."

If this Amendment were carried it would, of course, be equivalent to
a Vote of Censure upon the Government, and the Ministers would be
compelled to resign, Edmund explained to Beatrice.

She was very attentive, and when he had completed a clever account of
the political machinery by which the operations of the Nonconformist
Conscience are controlled, she said quietly, "My sympathies are
certainly with Siberia. I hope you will vote for that Amendment."

He laughed in his superior way.

"That is so like a girl," said he. "You are carried away by your
sympathies of the moment. You do not wait to reason out any question."

"I dare say you are right," said she, smiling. "Our conscience is not
susceptible of those political influences to which you referred just
now."

"'They are dangerous guides--the feelings'," said he, "at least from a
standpoint of politics."

"But there are, thank God, other standpoints in the world from which
humanity may be viewed," said she.

"There are," said he. "And I also join with you in saying, 'thank God!'
Do you fancy that I am here to-day--that I have been here so frequently
during the past two months, from a political motive, Beatrice?"

"I cannot tell," she replied. "Have you not just said that the feelings
are dangerous guides?"

"They lead one into danger," said he. "There can be no doubt about
that."

"Have you ever allowed them to lead you?" she asked, with another smile.

"Only once, and that is now," said he. "With you I have thrown away
every guide but my feelings. A few months ago I could not have believed
it possible that I should do so. But with God and Woman all things
are possible. That is why I am here to-day to ask you if you think it
possible that you could marry me."

She had risen to her feet, not by a sudden impulse, but slowly. She was
not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed upon some imaginary point beyond
him. She was plainly under the influence of some very strong feeling. A
full minute had passed before she said, "You should not have come to me
with that request, Mr. Airey.

"Why should I not? Do you think that I am here through any other impulse
than that of my feelings?"

"How can I tell?" she said, and now she was looking at him. "How can I
tell which you hold dearer--political advancement, or my love?"

"How can you doubt me for a moment, Beatrice?" he said
reproachfully--almost mournfully. "Why am I waiting anxiously for your
acceptance of my offer, if I do not hold your love more precious than
all other considerations in the world?"

"Do you so hold it?"

"Indeed I do."

"Then I have told you that my sympathies are altogether with Siberia.
Vote for the Amendment of the Opposition."

"What can you mean, Beatrice?"

"I mean that if you vote for the Amendment, you will have shown me that
you are capable of rising above mere party considerations. I don't make
this the price of my love, remember. I don't make any compact to marry
you if you adopt the course that I suggest. I only say that you will
have proved to me that your words are true--that you hold something
higher than political expediency."

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

There was a long pause.

"You are unreasonable. I cannot do it," he said.

"Good-bye," said she.

He looked at the hand which she had thrust out to him, but he did not
take it.

"You really mean me to vote against my party?" said he.

"What other way can you prove to me that you are superior to party
considerations?" said she.

"It would mean self-effacement politically," said he. "Oh, you do not
appreciate the gravity of the thing."

He turned abruptly away from her and strode across the room.

She remained silent where he had left her.

"I did not think you capable of so cruel a caprice as this," he
continued, from the fireplace. "You do not understand the consequences
of my voting against my party."

"Perhaps I do not," said she. "But I have given you to understand the
consequences of not doing so."

"Then we must part," said he, approaching her. "Good-bye," said she,
once more.

He took her hand this time. He held it for a moment irresolutely, then
he dropped it.

"Are you really in earnest, Beatrice?" said he. "Do you really mean to
put me to this test?"

"I never was more in earnest in my life," said she. "Think over the
matter--let me entreat of you to think over it," he said, earnestly.

"And you will think over it also?"

"Yes, I will think over it. Oh, Beatrice, do not allow yourself to be
carried away by this caprice. It is unworthy of you."

"Do not be too hard on me, I am only a woman," said she, very meekly.

She was only a woman. He felt that very strongly as he walked away.

And yet he had told Harold that he had great hope of Woman, by reason of
her femininity.

And yet he had told Harold that he understood Woman and her motives.

"Papa," said Beatrice, from the door of the historian's study. "Papa,
Mr. Edmund Airey has just been here to ask me to marry him."

"That's right, my dear," said the great historian. "Marry him, or anyone
else you please, only run away and play with your dolls now. I'm very
busy."

This was precisely the answer that Beatrice expected. It was precisely
the answer that anyone might have expected from a man who permitted such
a _ménage_ as that which prevailed under his roof.

CHAPTER LVII.--ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES.

|THE next day Beatrice went with Norah Innisfail and her mother to their
home in Nethershire. Two days afterwards the Legitimate Theatre closed
its doors, and Parliament opened its doors. The Queen's Speech was read,
and a member of the Opposition moved the Amendment relating to Siberia.
The Debate on the Address began.

On the second night of the debate Edmund Airey called at the historian's
house and, on asking for Miss Avon, learned that she was visiting
Lady Innisfail in Nethershire. On the evening of the fourth day of the
debate--the Division on the Amendment was to be taken that night--he
drove in great haste to the same house, and learned that Miss Avon was
still in Nethershire, but that she was expected home on the following
day.

He partook of a hasty dinner at his club, and, writing out a telegram,
gave it to a hall-porter to send to the nearest telegraph office.

The form was addressed to Miss Avon, in care of Lord Innisfail,
Netherford Hall, Netherford, Nethershire, and it contained the following
words, "_I will do it. Edmund_."

He did it.

He made a brief speech amid the cheers of the Opposition and the howls
of the Government party, acknowledging his deep sympathy with the
unhappy wretches who were undergoing the unspeakable horrors of a
Siberian exile, and thus, he said he felt compelled, on conscientious
grounds (ironical cheers from the Government) to vote for the Amendment.

He went into the lobby with the Opposition.

It was an Irish member who yelled out "Judas!"

The Government was defeated by a majority of one vote, and there was a
"scene" in the House.

Some time ago an enterprising person took up his abode in the midst
of an African jungle, in order to study the methods by which baboons
express themselves. He might have spared himself that trouble, if he had
been present upon the occasion of a "scene" in the House of Commons.
He would, from a commanding position in the Strangers' Gallery, have
learned all that he had set his heart upon acquiring--and more.

It was while the "scene" was being enacted that Edmund Airey had put
into his hand the telegraph form written out by himself in his club.

"_Telegraph Office at Netherford closes at 6 p.m_.," were the words that
the hall-porter had written on the back of the form.

The next day he drove to the historian's, and inquired if Miss Avon had
returned.

She was in the drawing-room, the butler said.

With triumph--a sort of triumph--in his heart, and on his face, he
ascended the staircase.

He thought that he had never before seen her look so beautiful. Surely
there was triumph on her face as well! It was glowing, and her eyes were
more lustrous even than usual. She had plainly just returned, for she
had on a travelling dress.

"Beatrice, you saw the newspapers? You saw that I have done it?" he
cried, exultantly.

"Done what?" she inquired. "I have seen no newspaper to-day."

"What? Is it possible that you have not heard that I voted last night
for the Amendment?" he cried.

"I heard nothing," she replied.

"I wrote a telegram last evening, telling you that I meant to do it, but
it appears that the office at Netherford closes at six, so it could
not be sent. I did not know how much you were to me until yesterday,
Beatrice."

"Stop," she said. "I was married to Harold Wynne an hour ago."

He looked at her for some moments, and then dropped into a chair.

"You have made a fool of me," he said.

"No," she said. "I could not do that. If I had got your telegram in time
last evening I would have replied to it, telling you that, whatever step
you took, it would not bring you any nearer to me. Harold Wynne, you
see, came to me again. I had promised to marry him when we were together
at that seal-hunt, but--well, something came between us."

"And you revenged yourself upon me? You made a fool of me!"

"If I had tried to do so, would it have been remarkable, Mr. Airey?
Supposing that I had been made a fool of by the compact into which you
entered with Miss Craven, who would have been to blame? Was there ever a
more shameful compact entered into by a clever man and a clever woman to
make a victim of a girl who believed that the world was overflowing
with sincerity? I was made acquainted with the nature of that compact of
yours, Mr. Airey, but I cannot say that I have yet learned what are the
terms of your compact--or is it a contract?--with Mrs. Mowbray. Still, I
know something. And yet you complain that I have made a fool of you."

He had completely recovered himself before she had got to the end of her
little speech. He had wondered how on earth she had become acquainted
with the terms of his compact with Helen. When, however, she referred
to Mrs. Mowbray, he felt sure that it was Mrs. Mowbray who had betrayed
him.

He was beginning to learn something of women and their motives.

"Nothing is likely to be gained by this sort of recrimination," said he,
rising. "You have ruined my career."

She laughed, not bitterly but merrily, he knew all along that she had
never fully appreciated the gravity of the step which she had compelled
him--that was how he put it--to take. She had not even had the interest
to glance at a newspaper to see how he had voted. But then she had
not read the leading articles in the Government organs which were
plentifully besprinkled with his name printed in small capitals. That
was his one comforting thought.

She laughed.

"Oh, no, Mr. Airey," said she. "Your career is not ruined. Clever men
are not so easily crushed, and you are a very clever man--so clever as
to be able to make me clever, if that were possible."

"You have crushed me," he said. "Good-bye."

"If I wished to crush you I should have married you," said she. "No
woman can crush a man unless she is married to him. Good-bye."

The butler opened the door. "Is my husband in yet?" she asked of the
man.

"His lordship has not yet returned, my lady," said the butler, who had
once lived in the best families--far removed from literature--and who
was, consequently, able to roll off the titles with proper effect.

"Then you will not have an opportunity of seeing him, I'm afraid," she
said, turning to Mr. Airey.

"I think I already said good-bye, Lady Fotheringay."

"I do believe that you did. If I did not, however, I say it now.
Good-bye, Mr. Airey."

He got into a hansom and drove straight to Helen Craven's house. It was
the most dismal drive he had ever had. He could almost fancy that the
message boys in the streets were, in their accustomed high spirits,
pointing to him with ridicule as the man who had turned his party out of
office.

Helen Craven was in her boudoir. She liked receiving people in that
apartment. She understood its lights.

He found that she had read the newspapers.

She stared at him as he entered, and gave him a limp hand.

"What on earth did you mean by voting--" she began.

"You may well ask," said he. "I was a fool. I was made a fool of by that
girl. She made me vote against my party."

"And she refuses to marry you now?"

"She married Harold Wynne an hour ago."

Helen Craven did not fling herself about when she heard this piece of
news. She only sat very rigid on her little sofa.

"Yes," resumed Edmund. "She is ill-treated by one man, but she marries
him, and revenges herself upon another! Isn't that like a woman? She has
ruined my career."

Then it was that Helen Craven burst into a long, loud, and very
unmusical laugh--a laugh that had a suspicion of a shrill shriek about
some of its tones. When she recovered, her eyes were full of the tears
which that paroxysm of laughter had caused.

"You are a fool, indeed!" said she. "You are a fool if you cannot see
that your career is just beginning. People are talking of you to-day
as the Conscientious One--the One Man with a Conscience. Isn't the
reputation for a Conscience the beginning of success in England?"

"Helen," he cried, "will you marry me? With our combined money we can
make ourselves necessary to any party. Will you marry me?"

"I will," she said. "I will marry you with pleasure--now. I will marry
anyone--now."

"Give me your hand, Helen," he cried. "We understand one another--that
is enough to start with. And as for that other--oh, she is nothing but a
woman after all!"

He never spoke truer words.

But sometimes when he is alone he thinks that she treated him badly.

Did she?

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's A Gray Eye or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore


gelatin with a half cupful of cold water to soak for a half hour. Put a
half can of tomatoes in a saucepan, add one onion, chopped, a teaspoonful
of salt, a saltspoonful of pepper and the juice of a lemon, or two
tablespoonfuls of vinegar. Bring to boiling point, and add the gelatin.
Cover the bottom of a large melon mold with finely chopped celery or cooked
carrots, put on top of this a few drops of onion juice, then a thin layer
of cabbage, a dusting of salt and pepper, then a goodly quantity of India
relish; cover this over with chopped nuts, pecans, hickory or peanuts, then
another layer of celery, and so continue until the mold is full, seasoning
the layers with salt and pepper. Have the last layer chopped celery. Strain
over this the tomato aspic, which should be cold, but not thick, and stand
aside for four or five hours. Serve plain, or garnished with lettuce leaves
or cress.

This will serve twelve persons.

POTATO SALAD

Fancy potato salad may be served for an evening affair with an
accompaniment of cold tongue, or it may be garnished with hard-boiled
eggs and form the entire course. Serve with it brown bread and butter and
coffee.

     4 potatoes
     8 tablespoonfuls of olive oil
     2 tablespoonfuls of cream
     2 tablespoonfuls of tarragon vinegar
     1 level teaspoonful of salt
     1 saltspoonful of pepper

Wash the potatoes and boil them with skins on. The moment they are done,
drain the water, dry and peel. Put the oil, salt, pepper and vinegar in
a bowl, beat rapidly until thoroughly mixed, and then add one good sized
onion, sliced very thin, or use two tablespoonfuls of grated onion. Put in
the hot potatoes, sliced, toss them a moment, and if you have it, sprinkle
over two tablespoonfuls of vinegar from pickled walnuts, or a tablespoonful
of mushroom catsup. Stand aside to cool. When ready to serve, turn on to a
cold platter, garnish with chopped parsley, and, if you have them, chopped
pickled beets.

This is sufficient for six persons.

FRENCH POTATO SALAD

Moisten a teaspoonful of cornstarch in four tablespoonfuls of milk, add
two tablespoonfuls of cream and stir over hot water until thick; then add
gradually six tablespoonfuls of olive oil, a teaspoonful of French made
mustard, a level teaspoonful of salt and a saltspoonful of pepper. Boil
four potatoes, cut them into blocks, and, when nearly cold, mix them with
this dressing, and stand aside until very cold. Serve with a garnish of
chopped celery or lettuce leaves.

This will serve six persons.

MACEDOINE SALAD

A mixture of vegetables, peas, beans, carrots, turnips, can be purchased,
canned, at any grocery store. Drain, wash them in cold water, dish them
on a bed of shaved cabbage or lettuce leaves, and cover them with French
dressing. All these vegetables may be cooked at home and used cold. String
beans garnished with carrots make an excellent salad.

BANANA SALAD

For this use the red bananas. Roll them out of the skin rather than strip
the skin from them, and cut them into slices a half inch thick. Cover the
bottom of your salad bowl with crisp lettuce leaves, then put over the
bananas, allowing one banana to each two persons. Squeeze over the juice of
a lemon, and, when ready to serve, baste with French dressing.

APPLE AND NUT SALAD

     4 tart apples
     1 cupful of pecan meats
    24 blanched almonds
     2 sweet Spanish peppers
       The rule for French dressing

Peel the apples, cut them into dice, squeeze over the juice of one or two
lemons, and stand them aside until wanted. The lemon juice will prevent
discoloration. Chop the nuts. At serving time line the salad bowl with
a layer of chopped celery or cabbage or lettuce leaves, then a layer of
apples, nuts, celery, apples and nuts. Baste with the French dressing, and,
if you have them, garnish with the sweet peppers cut into strips, and use
at once.

This, using a pint of chopped cabbage or celery, will serve six persons.

CANTALOUPE SALAD

This is the newest and most sightly of salads. Arrange crisp lettuce or
Romaine leaves on individual plates. Cut a cold ripe cantaloupe into
halves, take out the seeds, and with a large vegetable scoop or teaspoon
scoop out balls or egg-shaped pieces. Heap a half dozen of these on the
lettuce leaves, and, at serving time, baste them well with French dressing,
and serve. Watermelon may be substituted for cantaloupe.

SANDWICHES

Sandwiches may be made from thin white bread, or whole wheat bread, or
Boston brown bread, or nut bread. A nut loaf is easily made at short
notice, and needs only butter to make an excellent sandwich. An endless
variety of sandwiches may be made from materials always at hand.

For CHEESE SANDWICHES: Grind or mash common American cheese, add a
palatable seasoning of tomato catsup, Worcestershire sauce, and a little
melted butter. A teaspoonful of these will be sufficient for a quarter of
a pound of cheese. Put this between thin slices of unbuttered bread. If
a large quantity of sandwiches is to be made, beat the butter to a cream
before using it.

MEATS: All sorts of meats, just a little left over, may be chopped,
seasoned and utilized for sandwiches. If the meat is slightly moistened
with a little olive oil, cream or melted butter, and the sandwiches are
wrapped in a damp cloth, as soon as made, and closed in a tin bread box,
they will keep nicely for several hours.

On a warm day put a few moist lettuce leaves on top of the sandwiches,
under the cloth, and put the box in a cold place.

CANNED SALMON, SARDINES, or BOILED SALT COD, pounded and nicely seasoned
with oil and lemon juice, or mayonnaise, make nice sandwiches to serve with
molded tomato jelly, and coffee, for a "winter evening." They are quite
enough with coffee alone in an emergency.

NUT SANDWICHES are made by putting chopped nuts or nut butter between thin
slices of buttered bread, or crackers.

SWEET SANDWICHES are made by putting a mixture of chopped fruits between
thin slices of buttered bread. The fruits best suited for sandwiches are
dates, raisins, candied ginger and cherries, and washed figs. These may be
used separately or blended, using less ginger than other fruits. A nice
filling may be made from a half pound of dates, an ounce of ginger, and ten
cents' worth of roasted peanuts, or a quarter of a pound of pecans. Put
these through a meat chopper, add the juice of an orange, and pack the
mixture in jelly tumblers. Keep in a cold place. This will keep a month in
winter, and equally long in a refrigerator in summer.

Sweet sandwiches are usually cut into "fingers," or into rounds with an
ordinary biscuit cutter.

HONOLULU SANDWICHES are made by rubbing one roll of Neufchatel cheese with
a half cupful of grated apple, two sweet Spanish peppers, and twenty-four
blanched and chopped almonds. Add salt and a drop of Tabasco sauce. Spread
between thin slices of unbuttered bread.

JELLY OR CANNED FRUIT SANDWICHES are made by spreading jelly or mashed
fruit, drained, on a very thin slice of buttered bread. Trim off the crusts
and roll quickly. Tie with baby ribbon, or press it firmly together. These
are usually served with chocolate or tea.

CHICKEN SALAD OR CELERY MAYONNAISE SANDWICHES are usually served with
coffee, and can be made quickly by mixing any left-over chicken, or tender
white celery, with mayonnaise, and putting the mixture between thin slices
of buttered bread. A lettuce leaf on the bread first holds the salad
nicely. One may use two lettuce leaves if necessary.

NUT BREAD

     2 cupfuls of flour
   1/2 cupful of chopped nuts
     2 teaspoonfuls of baking powder
     1 cupful of milk
     1 egg
     2 tablespoonfuls of sugar
   1/2 teaspoonful of salt

Sift the salt, baking powder and flour together, add and mix in the nuts
and sugar. Beat the egg, add the milk, and stir these in the flour. Mix
well, and turn it in a greased bread pan. Cover, and allow it to stand
fifteen minutes. Bake in a moderately quick oven a half hour. Pecans,
hickory nuts, peanuts, or English walnuts may be used.

Use the next day after it is baked. Cut thin, butter lightly, and press two
slices together. Serve whole, or cut into halves. Do not remove the crusts.

SUGGESTIONS FOR CHURCH SUPPERS

NUT MEAT ROLL

     1 pound of chopped beef
     1 quart of roasted peanuts in shells
     1 teaspoonful of salt
     1 saltspoonful of pepper
     3 shredded wheat biscuits
     2 eggs
     1 tablespoonful onion juice
     1 tablespoonful of parsley

Shell and chop the peanuts, mix them with the meat, and add the shredded
wheat rubbed fine; salt, pepper, parsley, chopped, and onion juice. Mix
well. Beat the egg slightly, add three tablespoonfuls of water, and mix
this into the meat. Form in a roll about eight inches long, roll in oiled
paper, place it in a baking pan, add a half cupful of water to the pan and
bake in a moderate oven three-quarters of an hour. Remove the paper and
stand aside to cool. Serve in thin slices with either tomato or potato
salad.

This will serve eight persons at a cost of about four cents each.

JELLIED VEAL

     3 knuckles of veal
     4 onions
     1 carrot
     3 teaspoonfuls of salt
     8 tablespoonfuls of vinegar
     6 gherkins
     1 teaspoonful of black pepper

Wash the knuckles, remove the meat and cut it in pieces. Put the bones in a
kettle, the meat on top, and pour over six quarts of cold water. Bring to a
boil, skim, and simmer gently two hours. Add the onion sliced, the carrot
chopped, salt and pepper, and simmer one hour longer. Drain in a colander.
Dip long molds, or ordinary bread pans, in cold water, cover the bottom
with slices of hard boiled eggs, put the meat in bits on top of this,
seasoning it with a little salt. Slice the gherkins and put them in layers
between the meat. Strain the liquid, add the vinegar, and pour it over the
meat. There should be just enough to cover it nicely. If there is more
than this, boil it down before adding vinegar. Stand aside over night.
When cold, dip the mold a second in boiling water, and turn the jelly in a
platter. Serve cut in slices, with either a nice cold slaw, or cabbage and
celery salad. Jellied beef is made the same, substituting a leg or shin of
beef.

This will cost about seventy five cents, and will make twenty-five to
thirty slices.

BAGGED VEAL

     2 pounds of lean ham
     4 pounds of veal cutlet
     3 shredded wheat biscuits
     2 eggs
     2 onions
     1 teaspoonful of powdered sage
   1/2 teaspoonful of allspice
     1 teaspoonful of salt
   1/2 teaspoonful of black pepper

Put the meat, raw, through a meat chopper, add the biscuits crumbed, the
onions grated, and all the seasonings. Work it well with the hands, and mix
in the eggs, slightly beaten. Pack the mixture in clean salt bags or bags
about that size, plunge them in a kettle of boiling water, boil rapidly ten
minutes, and simmer three hours. When cool, turn the bags wrong side out
off the meat. Serve sliced like summer sausage.

This will cost one and a half dollars, and will serve twenty five persons.

A SPANISH STEW FOR ONE HUNDRED PERSONS

    25 pounds of round of beef
     6 sweet peppers, or
     1 can of Spanish pimentos
    12 sweet turnips
   1/2 bottle of Worcestershire sauce
     1 cupful of flour
     1 pound of suet
    10 large onions
     3 gallon cans of peas
    12 carrots
     1 jar of beef extract
     4 tablespoonfuls of salt
     4 tablespoonfuls of cornstarch
   1/4 pound of butter

Put the suet into a large kettle or in two smaller ones; try it out and
remove the crackling. Add to the hot fat the onions and peppers chopped
fine. Shake until they are well cooked and slightly browned. Add the
meat cut into cubes of one inch, cover the kettles and cook a half hour,
stirring now and then. Dissolve the beef extract in three gallons of hot
water, pour it over the meat, and simmer for two hours. Add the carrots
and turnips cut into dice, and more water if necessary, and cook one hour
longer. Add the flour and cornstarch moistened in cold water, and all the
seasonings. Stir and boil ten minutes, add the peas, drained, and serve.
This is nice garnished with small hot milk biscuits. Taste before serving
it, to see if you have added sufficient salt.

VEAL ROLL

     4 pounds of lean veal
     3 shredded wheat biscuits
     1 teaspoonful of salt
   1/2 teaspoonful of sage
   1/2 pound of lean ham
     2 eggs
     1 tablespoonful of parsley
     1 saltspoonful of pepper

Put the veal and ham through a meat chopper, add all the seasonings, and
the biscuits rubbed fine. Mix thoroughly, add the egg slightly beaten, mix
again, and form into a roll three inches in diameter. Roll in oiled paper,
place in a baking pan, cover the bottom of the pan with hot water, add a
slice of onion, and, if you have it, a little chopped celery tops. Bake
slowly one and a half hours, basting over the paper every fifteen minutes.
When done, remove the paper, and put in a cold place. Serve in thin slices
with tomato jelly salad.

This will cost about one dollar and will serve eighteen persons.

MAN-OF-WAR SALAD

For twenty-five persons, chop sufficient hard white cabbage to make two
quarts. Cover it with cold water, let it soak for an hour, and then wash
it through several cold waters, and dry it in a towel. Cover three boxes
of gelatin with a pint of cold water to soak a half hour. Open three cans
of tomatoes, put them in a saucepan with four chopped onions, a cupful of
chopped celery tops, if you have them, bring to a boil, add the juice of
a lemon, a level tablespoonful of salt, ten drops of Tabasco sauce, the
juice of a lemon, or two tablespoonfuls of vinegar, and the gelatin. Stir
a moment, and press through a sieve. Dip bread pans or melon molds in cold
water, put in a layer of cabbage, then a very thin layer of Indian relish,
then cabbage, and so continue until the molds are filled. Pour over the
tomato jelly, cold, and stand aside over night. Serve in slices with cooked
or French dressing.

COOKED DRESSING

Put a pint of milk over the fire in a double boiler, add three level
tablespoonfuls of cornstarch moistened in a little cold milk. Cook until
thick and smooth. Take from the fire, add the beaten yolks of four eggs,
and work in slowly two tablespoonfuls of butter. Add a teaspoonful of salt
and a saltspoonful of pepper. When cool add the juice of a lemon or four
tablespoonfuls of vinegar. Fold in carefully the well-beaten whites of the
eggs, and stand aside until very cold.

GRANDMOTHER'S POTATO SALAD

Boil ten large potatoes in their jackets. Peel them and, when cool, cut
eight into dice. Peel and mash the remaining two while hot; add to them a
quarter pound of sweet butter, four tablespoonfuls of grated onion, two
teaspoonfuls of salt, a dash of cayenne, two drops of Tabasco sauce, and
press through a fine sieve. Hard boil two eggs; rub the yolks to a paste,
and add two raw yolks. When smooth, add to these gradually the potato
mixture. Thin to the consistency of good mayonnaise, with vinegar. At
serving time mix the potato blocks and one can of drained peas with the
dressing, being very careful not to break them. Dish on lettuce leaves,
and garnish with chopped red beets, or, better, chopped celery. This is an
excellent cheap salad, and will serve fifteen persons.

SALMON PUDDING

Remove the bone, skin and oil from two pound cans of salmon. Boil together
two cupfuls of white bread crumbs and one cupful of milk. Take from
the fire, and add one cupful of boiled rice, a teaspoonful of salt, a
saltspoonful of pepper, a teaspoonful of onion juice, and four eggs
slightly beaten. Mix and work in the fish. Press the whole through a
colander, and pack it at once into a mold. Cover and steam three-quarters
of an hour. Serve hot with cream sauce. This will serve twelve persons.

NUT CAKE

At suppers where the yolks of eggs are used for mayonnaise or cooked
dressing, the whites accumulate and are lost if not used in some white
cake.

   1/2 cupful of butter
     2 cupfuls of flour
 1-1/2 cupfuls of sugar
   3/4 cupful  of water
     1 cupful of English walnut or hickory nut meats
     2 rounding teaspoonfuls of baking powder
       Whites of four eggs

Cream the butter, add the water and flour, alternately, beating all the
while. Beat the whites, add half of them to the mixture, then all the nuts,
chopped, then the baking powder, dry, and beat well. Fold in the remaining
whites. Bake in a round cake pan in a moderate oven three-quarters of an
hour. When cool, ice the top and decorate it with nut meats.

SCONES FOR TWENTY-FIVE PERSONS

Sift three quarts of flour with six rounding teaspoonfuls of baking powder
and two of salt. Beat, without separating, three eggs. Rub into the flour a
quarter of a pound of butter, or three tablespoonfuls of snowdrift. Add to
the eggs one quart and a half of milk, and stir this into the flour. Mix
quickly and drop by spoonfuls in greased baking pans, and bake fifteen
minutes in a quick oven. Serve at once. These are better and more easily
made than biscuits.

POOR MAN'S FRUIT CAKE

 3-1/2 cupfuls of flour
     1 cupful of brown sugar
   1/2 cupful of New Orleans molasses
     1 pound of seeded raisins
     1 cupful of sour milk
   1/2 cupful of butter
     1 teaspoonful of cinnamon
     1 teaspoonful of allspice
     1 teaspoonful of soda

Cut the raisins into halves and flour them with four tablespoonfuls of the
flour. Dissolve the soda in a tablespoonful of water, add it to the thick
sour milk, beat a minute, add the molasses, beat again, add the butter,
melted carefully, and stir in the flour; add the spices, and beat well.
Stir in the raisins, and turn into a greased bread pan. Bake in a
_moderate_ oven one hour. When done, turn from the pan, baste with a syrup,
made by boiling four tablespoonfuls of sugar with three of water, and add
two teaspoonfuls of currant or grape jelly. Shut the cake in a tin box for
a week or more. If made well this is moist and rich at very little cost.

BANANA LAYER

   1/4 cupful of butter
     1 cupful of sugar
   2/3 cupful of water
     2 cupfuls of flour
     2 rounding teaspoonfuls of baking powder
       Whites of four eggs

Put together the same as Ice Cream Cake, and bake in three layers. When
cold, put together with Banana Filling.

BANANA FILLING

Boil together one cupful of sugar and a half cupful of water until they
spin a heavy thread, and pour slowly, beating all the while, into the
well-beaten whites of two eggs. Beat until rather stiff and cold. When the
cakes are cold, spread one-third of this filling over one cake, cover with
thin slices of red bananas, put on another cake, on this another third of
filling and bananas, and the remaining cake; cover this with the remaining
filling, and dust thickly with chopped nuts. Do not let this stand too
long, or the filling will absorb moisture from the bananas and run down the
cake.

ICE CREAM CAKE

 1-1/2 cupfuls of sugar
 2-1/2 cupfuls of flour
   1/4 cupful of butter
     1 cupful of water
     2 rounding teaspoonfuls of baking powder
       Whites of five eggs

Cream the butter, adding slowly the sugar. Sift the flour with the baking
powder. Add the water and flour alternately to the sugar mixture, and
beat well. Fold in the well-beaten whites, and bake in three layers. Put
together with a soft icing made from the whites of two eggs.

FRUIT JELLY

Dip a fancy mold into cold water, fill it half full of mixed chopped
candied fruits, or use dates, figs and bananas chopped. Fill the mold with
a well-made lemon or orange gelatin. Serve plain, or with whipped cream.

MOCK EGGS

   1/2 box of gelatin
     1 can pared apricots
     1 cupful of sugar
     1 pint of water
       Whites of three eggs
       Juice of three lemons

Cover the gelatin with a half cupful of cold water to soak for a half hour,
add the sugar and the water boiling; stir until the gelatin is dissolved;
add the lemon juice, strain, and cool until congealed but not too hard. Add
the unbeaten whites of eggs, stand the bowl in a pan of cracked ice or cold
water, and beat until the whole mass is as white as snow. Pour into ramekin
dishes or paper cases, press a half apricot, rounding side up, in the
centre, and stand aside in a cold place.

INDEX

ICE CREAMS, WATER ICES AND FROZEN PUDDINGS

   Alaska Bake
   Alexander Bomb
   Almond Ice Cream, Burnt
          Mousse, Burnt
   Apple Ice
         Ice Cream
   Apricot Cream, English
           Ice
           Ice Cream
   Apricots, Frozen
   Arrowroot Cream

   Banana Ice Cream
   Bananas, Frozen
   Biscuit Ice Cream
           Tortoni
   Biscuits à la Marie
            Americana
            German Cherry
            Glacés
   Bisque Ice Cream
   Blocks, Neapolitan
   Bomb, Alexander
         Glacé
   Boston Pudding
   Brown  Bread Ice Cream
   Burnt Almond Ice Cream
                Mousse

   Cabinet Pudding, Iced
   Café Parfait, Quick
   Cake, Iced
   Caramel Ice Cream
                     No. 1
                     No. 2
           Neapolitan
           Parfait, Quick
   Charlotte Glacé
   Cherry Biscuits, German
          Ice
   Chocolate Ice Cream
             Frozen
             Neapolitan
             Ice Cream, No. 1
                        No. 2
             Parfait, Quick
             Sauce, Hot
   Claret Sauce
   Cocoanut Ice Cream
   Coffee, Frozen
           Ice Cream
           Mousse
           Neapolitan
   Compote of Oranges with Iced Rice Pudding
   Compote of Mandarins, with Rice Mousse
   Coupe St. Jacque
   Cranberry Sherbet
   Cream, Arrowroot
          English Apricot
          Orange Gelatin
   Creams, Neapolitan
   Croquettes, Ice Cream
   Cucumber Sorbet
   Curaçao Ice Cream
   Currant and Raspberry Water Ice
           Water Ice
   Custard, Frozen

   Directions for Freezing
   Duchess Mousse

   Egyptian Mousse
   English Apricot Cream

   Foreword
   Frappé
   Frozen Apricots
          Bananas
          Coffee
          Chocolate
          Custard
          Fruits
          Peaches, No. 1
          Peaches, No. 2
          Pineapple
          Plum Pudding
          Puddings and Desserts
          Raspberries
          Strawberries
          Watermelon
   Fruit Salad, Iced
         Water Ice, Mille
   Fruits, Frozen

   Gelatin Cream, Orange
           Ice Cream
   German Cherry Biscuits
   Ginger Ice Cream
          Water Ice
   Glacé, Bomb
          Charlotte
   Glacés, Biscuits
   Gooseberry Sorbet
   Grape Water Ice
   Green Gage Ice Cream

   Hot Chocolate Sauce

   Ice, Apple
        Apricot
        Cherry
        Currant and Raspberry Water
        Currant Water
        Ginger Water
        Grape Water
        Lemon Water
        Mille Fruit Water
        Orange Water
        Pineapple Water
        Pomegranate Water
        Raspberry Water
        Strawberry Water
        Sour Sop
   Ice Cream, Apple
              Apricot
              Banana
              Biscuit
              Bisque
              Brown Bread
              Burnt Almond
              Caramel
              Caramel, No. 1
                       No. 2
              Chocolate
              Coffee
              Croquettes
              Curaçao
              Gelatin
              Ginger
              Green Gage
              Lemon
              Maraschino
              Orange
              Peach
                    No. 1
                    No. 2
              Pineapple
              Pistachio
              Raspberry
              Strawberry
              Vanilla
              Walnut
   Ice Creams, Directions for Freezing
               from Condensed Milk
               Philadelphia
               Quantities for
               Serving
               Sauces for
               Time for Freezing
               To Mold
               To remove from Molds
               To repack
               Use of Fruits in
   Iced Cabinet Pudding
        Cake
        Fruit Salad
        Rice Pudding with Compote of Oranges
   Ices, To Mold
         To Remove from Molds

   Lalla Rookh
   Lemon Ice Cream
         Water Ice
   Lillian Russell

   Maple Panachée
         Sauce
   Maraschino Ice Cream
   Melba, Peaches
   Merry Widow, The
   Mille Fruit Water Ice
   Mint Sherbet
   Monte Carlo Pudding
   Montrose Pudding
            Sauce
   Mousse
          Burnt Almond
          Coffee
          Duchess
          Egyptian
          Pistachio
          Rice with Compote of Mandarins

   Neapolitan Blocks
              Creams
   Nesselrode Pudding
                      Americana
   Nut Sauce

   Orange Gelatin Cream
          Ice Cream
                    No. 1
                    No. 2
          Sauce
          Sherbet
          Soufflé
          Water Ice

   Parfait
           Quick Café
           Quick Caramel
           Quick Chocolate
           Quick Strawberry
   Panachée, Maple
   Peach Ice Cream
   Peaches No. 1, Frozen
           No. 2, Frozen
           Melba
   Philadelphia Ice Creams
   Pineapple, Frozen
              Ice Cream
              Water Ice
   Pistachio Ice Cream
             Mousse
   Plombiere
   Plum Pudding, Frozen
   Pomegranate Water Ice
   Pudding, Boston
            Cabinet, Iced
            Frozen Plum
            Iced Rice, with Compote of Oranges
            Monte Carlo
            Montrose
            Nesselrode
            Nesselrode, Americana
            Queen
            Sultana
            Tutti Frutti
            To Mold
            To Remove from Molds
   Punch, Roman

   Quantities for Serving
   Queen Pudding
   Quick Café Parfait
         Caramel Parfait
         Chocolate Parfait
         Strawberry Parfait

   Raspberry and Currant Water Ice
   Raspberry Ice Cream
             Water Ice
   Raspberries, Frozen
   Rice Mousse with Compote of Mandarins
        Pudding, Iced, with Compote of Oranges
   Roll Sultana
   Roman Punch

   Salad, Iced Fruit
   Sauce, Claret
          Hot Chocolate
          Maple
          Montrose
          Nut
          Orange
          Walnut
   Sauces for Ice Creams
   Sherbet, Cranberry
            Mint
            Orange
            Sour Sop
            Tomato
   Sherbets
   Sorbet, Cucumber
           Gooseberry
           Tomato
   Sorbets
   Soufflé, Orange
   Sour Sop
     Sherbet or Ice
   Strawberry Ice Cream
              Parfait, Quick
              Water Ice
   Strawberries, Frozen
   Sultana Pudding
           Roll

   Time for Freezing
   Tomato Sorbet or Sherbet
   To Mold Ice Creams, Ices or Puddings
     Remove Ice Creams, Ices and Puddings from Molds
     Repack Ice Creams
   Tutti Frutti, Italian Fashion
                 Pudding

   Use of Fruits

   Vanilla Ice Cream
           Neapolitan

   Walnut Ice Cream
          Neapolitan
   Water Ice, Currant
              Currant and Raspberry
              Ginger
              Grape
              Lemon
              Mille Fruit
              Orange
              Pineapple
              Pomegranate
              Raspberry
              Strawberry
   Water Ices and Sherbets or Sorbets
   Watermelon, Frozen
   Walnut Sauce

INDEX

REFRESHMENTS FOR AFFAIRS

   Apple and Nut Salad

   Bagged Veal
   Banana Filling
          Layer
          Salad
   Baked  Sweetbreads
   Bechamel Sauce
   Beef Salad, Roast
   Bellevue  Bouillon
   Boiled Salt Cod Sandwiches
   Boned Quail
         Turkey
   Boudins à la Reine
   Bouillon
            Bellevue
            Chicken
            Clam
            Oyster
   Bread, Nut

   Cake, Ice Cream
         Nut
         Poor Man's Fruit
   Canned Fruit Sandwiches
          Salmon Sandwiches
   Cantaloupe Salad
   Celery Mayonnaise Sandwiches
   Cheese Sandwiches
   Chicken à la Creme
           à la King
           Bouillon
           Croquettes
           Galantine of
           Mousse
           Salad
                 Sandwiches
           Timbale
   Church Suppers, Suggestions for
   Clam  Bouillon
   Cod Sandwiches, Boiled Salt
   Coffee for Large Home Affairs
   Cold Dishes
   Cooked Dressing
   Crab Backs à la Caracas
        Meat à la Dewey
        Salad
   Crabs, Deviled
          Ravigot
   Cream Cake, Ice
         Mushroom Sauce
   Croquettes, Chicken
               Oyster
   Cucumber Molds
   Cutlets, Lobster

   Deviled Crabs
   Dressing, Cooked
             French

   East Indian Salad
   Eggs, Mock

   Filling, Banana
   French Dressing
          Potato Salad
   Fruit Cake, Poor Man's
         Jelly
         Sandwiches, Canned

   Galantine of Chicken
   Glaze
   Grandmother's Potato Salad

   Home Affairs, Coffee for Large
   Honolulu Sandwiches

   Ice Cream Cake

   Jelly, Fruit
          Sandwiches
   Jellied Veal

   Lamb Salad
   Lamb's Sweetbreads in Paper Cases
   Large Home Affairs, Coffee for
   Layer, Banana
   Lobster Cutlets
           Newburg
           Salad

   Macedoine Salad
   Man-of-War Salad
   Mayonnaise Sandwiches, Celery
   Meat Roll, Nut
   Meat Sandwiches
   Mock Eggs
   Molds, Cucumber
          Tomato
   Mousse,  Chicken
   Mushroom Sauce, Cream

   Nut and Apple Salad
       Bread
       Cake
       Meat Roll
      Sandwiches

   Oyster Bouillon
          Croquettes

   Pate-de-foie-gras in Aspic
   Poor Man's Fruit Cake
   Potato Salad
                French
                Grandmother's
   Poulet en Bellevue
   Poultry and Game Dishes
   Pudding, Salmon
   Purée, Tomato, à la Rorer

   Quail, Boned

   Ravigot Crabs
   Refreshments for Affairs
   Roast Beef Salad
   Roll, Nut Meat
         Veal

   Salad, Apple and Nut
          Banana
          Cantaloupe
          Chicken
          Crab
          East Indian
          French Potato
          Grandmother's Potato
          Lamb
          Lobster
          Macedoine
          Man-of-War
          Potato
          Roast Beef
          Sandwiches, Chicken
          Sweetbread
          Tongue
   Salads
   Salmon Pudding
          Sandwiches, Canned
   Salt Cod Sandwiches, Boiled
   Sandwiches
              Boiled Salt Cod
              Canned Fruit
                     Salmon
              Celery Mayonnaise
              Chicken Salad
              Cheese
              Honolulu
              Jelly
              Meat
              Nut
              Sardine
              Sweet
   Sardine  Sandwiches
   Sauce Bechamel
         Cream Mushroom
         Suedoise
         Tartar
   Scones
   Shell Fish Dishes
   Soups
         Bellevue Bouillon
         Bouillon
         Chicken Bouillon
         Clam Bouillon
         Glaze
         Oyster Bouillon
         Tomato Purée à la Rorer
   Spanish Stew
   Stew, Spanish
   Suedoise Sauce
   Suggestions for Church Suppers
   Sweetbreads
               à la Bordelaise
               à la Creme
                          No. 1
                          No. 2
               à la Newburg
               Baked
               Lambs, in Paper Cases
   Sweetbread Salad
   Sweet Sandwiches

   Tartar Sauce
   Timbale, Chicken
   Tomatoes à l'Algerienne
            en Surprise
   Tomato Molds
          Purée, à la Rorer
   Tongue Salad
   Turkey, Boned

   Veal, Bagged
         Jellied
         Roll