CHAPTER XLIV

It was five o'clock on a June evening; a day of tropical heat had almost prostrated London, and many people were in the Park, strolling slowly to and fro, or sitting on penny chairs, watching the crowds near the Achilles statue. Among these lookers-on were Sir Horace Haig and his nephew, recently returned from India on sick leave. Sir Horace's little blue eyes peered forth from beneath their shaggy brows, with an even fiercer intentness than of old, as he leant on his cane, and delivered criticisms on those unfortunates who passed along the surrounding brown grass.

"I say, see these smart women!" he growled, "Mrs. Blynne and her daughter—flaunting in French frocks. I'll swear they live in two rooms, and have not a stiver over three hundred a year. How the dickens do they do it?"

"Credit," muttered his companion.

"Bah! widows with small incomes don't get that. It's my belief she is going to induce that old fool, Montlevi, to marry her."

"I am sure I haven't the smallest objection," drawled Captain Haig.

"And here comes Lady Tracy-Fleet, with her two little girls on show, quite the pattern matron! and I happen to know that she lost eight hundred pounds one night last week at bridge. There is Leoni and his daughter; she will have a great fortune. Eh, Malcolm? rather dark, but you can't have everything!" But Malcolm made no reply; he was gravely considering his boots.

"Hallo!" exclaimed his uncle after a pause; "I say, do you remember that girl at Homburg—Miss Chandos, the heiress? Why, of course you do—you were rather gone in that quarter, eh?—old woman left her nothing, and she went to India and got mixed up with a lot of shady people."

"Yes; what about her?"

"Why, she is over there! and coming this way, with Lord Sombourne and Lady Ida Eustace."

Malcolm ceased to lounge and contemplate his favourite pair of boots, and instantly sat up erect and alert.

Yes; walking with measured ease between a tall, aristocratic old man and a tall, aristocratic woman, he beheld Verona. She wore a long, flowing white gown, a black hat, and carried in her hand a dainty pink parasol. She looked lovely!

"So it turned out that she was Sombourne's grand-daughter," resumed Sir Horace, "daughter of that Lady Vera, who made a bolt of it instead of marrying Sir Job Gilderman. Lord, what a hub-bub! I remember it like yesterday. The girl has not lost her looks, and, by all accounts, she will have a good fortune. I say, what do you think?"

"Oh, I think I'm going to speak to her," replied his nephew, who had risen to his feet, yielding to an impulse he only half understood.

"All right; don't mind me."

Captain Haig walked a few paces across the turf and confronted Verona, and swept off his hat.

"Oh, Captain Haig, how do you do?" she exclaimed. "I did not know you were at home."

"I arrived a month ago—sick certificate."

"Let me introduce you to my aunt, Lady Ida Eustace—my grandfather, Lord Sombourne."

What a different class to the former family to which she had made him known!

"I believe we met in India," said Lady Ida, offering her five and three-quarter hand. "Positively this has been a real Indian day; we came out for a breath of air and are just going home to tea, close by. Will you join us?"

Captain Haig accepted the invitation with flattering alacrity, and presently fell behind with the young lady. As they passed close to Sir Horace that gentleman made a quick little sign to his nephew, as much as to say:

"Bless you, my children!"

Lord Sombourne's town house was spacious, imposing, and at the present moment delightfully cool and dim. Tea was served in a lofty drawing room, lined with priceless old tapestry, and opening out of which was a conservatory full of palms and tropical plants, cooled by a splashing fountain. Here indeed was a home in every way worthy of Miss Verona; and as Captain Haig furtively surveyed the powdered servants, the Queen Anne silver, the rare old Sèvres service, all his former admiration for his Princess suddenly flamed into life! He felt convinced that she was the one woman in the world for him. There had been a temporary interregnum, but no one had been exalted to the throne! Yes, he assured himself—he had always been true to her. Could he persuade her to believe this?

After tea Lady Ida, having excused herself to write a note, departed into the front drawing room, and the pair were alone.

"It is hot enough, as Lady Ida says, to recall India!" exclaimed Captain Haig as he passed a delicate silk handkerchief over his forehead. "I don't suppose you care to be reminded of anything out there! It must be all like a bad dream."

"Oh, I don't know," she responded; "there were some good days, and I made some good friends."

"The Lepells, for instance."

"Yes; I came home with Mrs. Lepell."

"And so you were not a Chandos after all!"

"No; I have had a most varied circle of connections, and now I belong at last to my real relations."

"I cannot somehow call you Miss Hargreaves."

"To tell the truth I have hardly got accustomed to it myself!" and she laughed.

"I was always so puzzled—I may say dumbfounded. You were so utterly different to Pussy and Dominga. Dom appalled me."

"Did she?—and now," looking at him with a mischievous smile, she added, "you are connected with her—and I am not!"

"Yes; and do you know, she is quite a success!—has swept the old Lord straight off his legs, and my uncle, Sir Horace, is actually enslaved! I say," he added, leaning towards her, and lowering his voice mysteriously—"they don't know."

"No? I used to be dreadfully prejudiced; now I am not. I agree with Mr. Salwey that a slight mixture of Eastern blood is not a disadvantage."

"Salwey! By the way, that reminds me, I saw the death of his father in this evening's paper."

"Really!" she exclaimed, and her colour deepened. After a pause she added, "It must have been rather sudden."

"I cannot say—I am sure," he rejoined indifferently. "I believe it is a fine property, and I am glad poor old Salwey will get his innings at last. It will make a great difference to him. What do you think?"

"Yes," drawing a long breath, "and it will make a great difference to me!"

"Why," he asked, "should it affect you?"

"Because I need not now return to India."

"Then—then," he stammered, "I gather that you and Salwey are engaged."

"It is true," she answered softly, "though not yet announced in the Morning Post, and I tell you as an old friend. He is on his way home."

"Oh, Miss Hargreaves! I—of course—wish you every happiness, but this is very terrible news to me."

"To you? I don't quite understand," she said sedately.

"You know very well how long I have been attached to you, don't you? And now I'm too late. Do you realise what brought me to England?"

"Sick leave, I think you said."

"Home-sick leave. I wanted to see you."

"Now, Captain Haig, please don't be so tragic!" she exclaimed with a touch of impatience, "you know very well that in your heart of hearts you did not care so very much for me. You will soon forget all about Homburg, and I will forget all about India, and so we will be quits, and, I trust, good friends."

"I am sure you two must have had quite a nice Indian gossip!" said Lady Ida, sweeping into the room, note in hand; "I suppose you have been going over all your mutual experiences out there?"

"I—I—suppose we have," assented the visitor mechanically.

"I daresay you know Mr. Salwey?"

"Yes; we were at Harrow together. I was his fag, and he used to lick me for not cleaning his boots! I also knew him in India."

"He is on his way home now."

"So I hear," rising as he spoke. "Well, I am afraid I ought to be on my way home too. I am staying down the river."

"I hope you will come and look us up again, and meet your old school-fellow," said Lady Ida. "You will generally find us here at tea-time. We are always glad to see Verona's friends."

"Oh, thank you very much." Then he suddenly shook hands, gave the young lady one glance, and without another word took his departure. Presently the door below was heard to slam.

Verona went to the balcony, and gazed after the retreating figure. He walked rapidly for an invalid—his quick footfall had an impatient ring—and as he passed out of sight she heaved a little sigh.

"My dear child! what is the meaning of this?" enquired her aunt, placing two hands heavily on her shoulders, "gazing after a young man, and sighing like—I don't know what!"

"I am only looking after him—to see the last of an old love affair."

"What a funny girl you are!"

"That was what Mrs. Chandos used to say."

"Pray, don't mention that odious woman. And Brian—what would he say?"

"I adore Brian; I would not marry anyone else for the whole world, but really you must allow me to be a little sorry for the—other young man!"

"Because you will not be his wife!" exclaimed Lady Ida, with dancing eyes. "What a pretty, conceited niece!" and she kissed her with effusion.

Dominga and Pussy are married; so also, to the surprise of her friends, is Lizzie Trotter, and there are some changes at Manora. For instance, Mr. Lepell is at home, and Mr. Watkin officiates as a somewhat pompous regent, with Mrs. Watkin as his insufferable consort. The Chandos bungalow still stands empty, and the squirrels share the verandah with the sparrows and the crows. Unmindful of the drowsy Chokedar, they race along the flags or execute gymnastic feats in the lattice work with many a "Chir—ip—pip—pip—pip." Pretty little creatures, with sleek bodies and bushy barred tails.

One of the squirrels has a bit of faded ribbon round his neck—he is very tame. No, Johnny has not forgotten! at a sudden footfall, he will start and listen. When the house is open, he scours through all the rooms; in a certain window he is often to be seen for hours watching and waiting.

Alas, faithful little heart! your hopes are never to be realised. Other steps and other voices may come and go within the Chandos bungalow—but Verona will never return.

THE END.

Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey.

[Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation left as printed.]

UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME

Madame Albanesi

Drusilla's Point of View
Marian Sax
A Question of Quality
The Strongest of all Things
A Young Man from the Country

Alice and Claude Askew

Destiny

M. E. Braddon

The White House
During Her Majesty's Pleasure

Mrs. B. M. Croker

Her Own People
The Youngest Miss Mowbray
The Company's Servant

Jessie Fothergill

A March in the Ranks

Cosmo Hamilton

The Infinite Capacity

E. W. Hornung

Peccavi

Justin Huntly McCarthy

The God of Love
The Illustrious O'Hagan
Needles and Pins

Mary E. Mann

Moonlight

Charles Marriott

The Intruding Angel

Mrs. Oliphant

The Cuckoo in the Nest
It was a Lover and His Lass
Janet
Agnes

William Le Queux

The Man from Downing Street

Mrs. Baillie Reynolds

The Ides of March

"Rita"

The Seventh Dream

Adeline Sergeant

Kitty Holden
A Soul Apart
Jacobi's Wife

Beatrice Whitby

Bequeathed

Percy White

Colonel Daveron
The House of Intrigue

Mrs. C. N. Williamson

The Turnstile of Night
The Silent Battle