Mount Royal, Volume 3 of 3

splendour; there was every chance of a fine day to-morrow. De Cazalet had interviewed the housekeeper, and ordered luncheon. Mo

imself exclusively to Mrs. Tregonell. FitzJesse will go in the pony-trap with Mrs. Torrington, and they'll have vivisected everybody they know before they get there. And I can't get on a little bit with Mr. Faddie, thou

such a confoundedly infantine business. I always feel a hundred years old when I attempt to be gay and frisky before dusk-feel as if I had been dead and c

hrilling look from under her painted lashes.

shion of the easy chair in which he lolled at full length, to

r circle were grouped about the hearth at the opposite end of the hall. Jack Vandeleur and little Monty stood in front of the

gonell all about t

who pinches her feet and her waist to a degree that makes locomotion impossible. We are all to walk except her. And I believe we are to have tea at the farm by St. Pi

d have your tea a great deal more comfortably here,

ery afternoon," said Mopsy. "Thi

his picnic is th

all between them. And they are going to get

ed Leonard, scowl

Sangfroid and she Pauline-the husband and wife who quarrel and pretend to separate an

wha

wdered wigs and patches, and all th

Mrs. Tregonell and Baron de Cazalet are to be husb

s awfully fetching. But yo

Not the

; and you will come to

hink

y n

is a short one, and I want to

r society," exclaimed Mopsy coquettishly. "F

h his dark, bright eyes; eyes which had that har

when poor Mr. Hamleigh was killed. If he had not gon

illing sneer; "no effect without a cause. But I don't think you need waste your

ss Vandeleur were alone at their end of the old hall. Ripples of silvery laughter, and the sound of mirthful voices came from the group about the other fireplac

now, and we both thought he meant to propose. It would have been such

imes in your case would hav

ling," sighed Mopsy. "I know Dop hadn't one mercenary feeling about

," sneered Leonard. "However poor the specimen of your sex may be, they p

y really adored Angus Hamleigh for his own sake. I know how kindl

Leonard. "I brought him here,

poke very sharply to Mr.

m that he had no right to come into my house a

d he ta

ty qu

ot quarrel

rplexed by an indescribable something in his tone and manner. Surely there must be some fatal meaning in that dark evil smile, which changed to so black a frown, and that deep sigh which seemed wrun

r in his own house, the husband of a woman who was almost as strange to him as if he had seen her face for the first time on his return from South America. This beautiful brilliant creature, who held him at arm's length, defied him openly with looks and tones in which his guilty soul recognized a terrible meaning-looks and tones which he dare

as he kicked the logs about upon his fire, and then got up to dress for the

thin the past week he had asked himself that question. Could it be? He had heard strange stories-had known of queer cases of the falling away of good women from the path of virtue. He had heard of sober matrons-mothers of fair children, wives of many years-the Cornelias of their circle, staking home, husband, children, honour, good name, and troops of friends against the wild delirium of some new-born fancy, sudden, demoniac as the dance of death. The women who go wrong are not always the most likely women. It is not the trampled slave, the neglected and forlorn wife of a bad husband-but the pearl and treasure of a happy circle who takes the fatal plunge into the mire. The forlorn slave-wife stays in the dr

dinner, and only talk about as much as is required for the assistance of digestion. She told prosy stories about her pigs and poultry-which were altogether superior, intellectually and physically, to other people's pigs and poultry-and only paused once or twice to exclaim, "You are look

d voice that this might hav

ess-but I shall never take liqueur at that house

g to this pic

f Mrs. Torrington to enjoy two hours' tête-à-tête in a pony-carriage. My girls will g

Monty, and I are

wife I should not leave her to go picnicking about

le laugh, meant to convey t

t," he said. "Surely you don'

emselves at the further end of the table, on Christabel's left hand-she had Mr. St. Aubyn's grey, contented face, gliste

sly. "But I suppose after you married S

tion. I should never have encouraged such a man-hands

sness will make any difference to my wife," said

se you from the duty of taking car

Cazalet; and that is just the one supposition I could not stand," answered Leonard. "It would take a dozen such fascinati

ickening for scarlet fever, or that her eldest girl looked consumptive. She prophesied rheumatics and bronchitis to incautious people who went out in wet weather-she held it as a fixed belief that all her friends' houses were damp. It was in vain that vexed householders protested against such a suspicion, and held forth

her friendly warning. She had made up her mind that it was her duty to speak. She had t

dged along the lane in their waterproofs, caring very little for a sof

sure. She does flirt outrageously with the Baron, I admit; but an open flirtation of that kind seldom means m

Mrs. St. Aubyn. "All I can say is, I don't like it,

n a convent," retorted the younger of the damsels. "If you don't want u

ter Mr. Tregonell's birthday, the 14th of November, for the theatricals will be fine fun. They talk of "High Life below Stairs" for us girls, after "Delicate Groun

never saw such a change in any one. Do you remember how quiet s