If Only etc.

by F. C. Philips; Sir Augustus Harris

"Yes, Bella Blackall was my wife," John Chetwynd answered with unruffled equanimity, picking up the paper which the other had thrown down. "She used to be rather a clever dancer, too."

And he calmly perused the line which included her name among some well known American stars touring in the provinces.

"And he never turned a grizzled hair! I give you my word I felt more over the thing than he did," remarked Captain Hetherington afterwards; "without exception the most cold-blooded individual ever met."

But John Chetwynd was far from being this. He had felt his wife's desertion far too deeply to show his scars, nor was he a man to wear his heart upon his sleeve; but as time went by and the utter callousness of Bella's conduct came home to him, he realised to the full that she was unworthy of a single pang, and he became reconciled to the inevitable. His profession claimed every spare moment, and for a man ill at ease there is no specific like hard work. By-and-by as the years rolled on, another distraction presented itself. He became interested in one of his patients, the only daughter of the Duke of Huddersfield, Lady Ethel Claremont, and this interest blossomed into something stronger and warmer—something that at last he dignified by the name of love, though he was by no means without misgivings as to whether it could ever really lay claim to the title.

Certain it was that there was no more of the old exultation about his heart that had formed so large a part of his former courtship; there were no extravagances, no quickened pulses—rapture's warmth had yielded to the mildest of after-glows; but there was no reason that it should not prove as satisfactory in the long run. It is an open question whether the doctor, popular though he undoubtedly was, would have been considered an eligible suitor from the maternal point of view, had it not been that just about this time fortune elected to bestow another favour upon him; his career had reached its apex, and (again through sheer good luck, as John Chetwynd modestly declared) he was offered a baronetcy.

Now, every man is flattered and gratified that his merits should be recognised, and Chetwynd was no exception to the general rule, but there were a good many bitters mingled with the sweets, and the hidden thorn among the rose-leaves had a nasty trick of obtruding itself. This step in social advancement materially helped his cause with Lady Ethel, and the Duchess of Huddersfield deigned to smile graciously upon her future son-in-law.

Ethel Claremont was an excellent girl, precisely the type he ought to marry. Decorous, with an ease and repose about her manner that were eminently patrician, she would be even more admirable as a wife than as a fiancée, but he could have found it in him to wish that she were just a little less faultless, a little more "human," he would have said, only that the word has not a pleasant ring; yet it was not easy to substitute another unless it were "womanly."

"Pshaw!" he cried angrily, "who am I that I should be exacting, with such a past, such a history? and yet I am ready to quarrel with perfection, I who can never be grateful enough! A little wealth and the love of a charming woman—what more can I possibly desire? It is strange how soon one becomes accustomed to changes in life, and how quickly an emotion fades into a memory. If I could but feel as I felt when I was struggling along battling with the hundred and one difficulties which beset the path of a poor man, instead of having to remind myself perpetually what my emotions were then, there would be some excitement in the contrast. I—I wonder—what she is doing? Is she alive or is she dead? What does it matter? But at times the doubt will come whether—no, no; it is wicked—I was always good to her. I loved her, and she dishonoured me. The book is closed for ever, and I am weak when I reopen it."

CHAPTER V.

Since the thing was to be, there was nothing to be gained by postponement. So decided the Duchess, and however fond of airing her own sentiments and securing her own way Lady Ethel might be, on ordinary occasions, for once she raised no objection. She was perfectly willing that her marriage with Sir John Chetwynd should take place at once. Perhaps in her home Lady Ethel was not quite the plastic lay figure she was wont to appear in public, and the Duchess had spoken to her most intimate and confidential friends of the approaching nuptials with almost a sigh of relief, and a whispered word.