HER OWN PEOPLE

"Oh yes! I know what it is to be hard up myself! I'm hard up now!—but I'll help you in another way. You must marry, Malcolm, my boy! Leave it to me, and I'll find you a rich wife!"

In making the foregoing boastful promise, Sir Horace Haig raised a naturally harsh voice, and all but shouted his officious announcement. The empty air seemed to echo the words, "rich wife"—"rich wife," their regular measured tread to repeat, "rich wife"—"rich wife," as the two men, uncle and nephew, hurried down a by-street in Homburg.

There was good reason for haste, a neighbouring clock was chiming the hour, and already they were unfashionably late for the morning ceremonies at the Elisabeth Brunnen.

"But——" began the prospective Benedict, in a doubtful tone.

"My grandfather used to say," interrupted his uncle, in a loud authoritative key, "that a man should marry young, and marry often. He had four wives!"

"And you, sir, have not had one!" rejoined his companion, with unexpected audacity.

"Oh—ah—well, yes—that is true—but the fact is, I had an unhappy love affair—(a fiction invented on the spot)—a—a—blighted life—a blighted life!!—it is a—a painful subject."

Here Sir Horace suddenly turned into a narrow footpath, where, as it was necessary to walk in single file, awkward questions were evaded, or postponed.

The subject of "a blighted life" was a spruce, straight-backed gentleman of sixty, with a large hooked nose, and two keen little blue eyes, sheltered by a pair of beetling brows; he dressed in a careful middle-aged style, and wore his clothes, and his years, with ease.

Sir Horace was the seventh Baronet—a resolute old bachelor, who enjoyed a comfortable income, and was on the committee of the Bellona Club. He claimed an immense acquaintance, and was fairly popular, being recognised as a fine judge of a vintage, or a cook, and one of the best bridge players in London. It is painful to add that he was incredibly selfish, and never expended a shilling on any more deserving object than Horace Haig, Baronet, and yet, in a hearty jovial fashion, he contrived to extract an astonishing amount of hospitality and favours, from other people!

Such an individual was naturally the last man in the world to trouble himself respecting his relations—and above all, his poor relations. Nevertheless, on the present occasion he was accompanied by his nephew and heir. Indeed it was in answer to his uncle's warm invitation (but not at his expense) that Captain Haig was visiting Homburg before rejoining his regiment in India.

Malcolm Haig was a well-set-up young officer, with a pair of merry blue eyes, and a touch of sunshine in his closely cropped locks. Sir Horace introduced, with an air of bland complacency, a kinsman who did him credit, made no demands on his patience, nor yet upon his pocket. All the same, he had excellent reason to know that Malcolm was "hard up." His private means were nominal, and he was about to conclude a year's leave in England—a year's leave is often an expensive luxury. Under such circumstances his banker's account would be uncomfortably low—in fact, Malcolm had said as much. Sir Horace was disposed to exert his social influence, and endeavour to do the poor young fellow a good turn. He was handsome and well born; if his purse was lean, he had an adventurous spirit and a susceptible heart.

As uncle and nephew followed the winding path which led to the far-famed Elisabeth Well, the latter was struck by the exceptional beauty of their surroundings, the admirably-kept greensward, the shady trees and flowering shrubs, on which the early dew was still glistening.

There was a delicious perfume of roses in the air, and the inspiriting sound of a string band in the near distance.

"I say," began the young man, now walking beside his companion, "I had no idea that Homburg was like this—half park, half garden, and so pretty."

"Hadn't you!" rejoined his uncle gruffly; "well, I suppose it is! This is my twenty-seventh season—I've got over my first raptures by this time."

"I don't believe I could ever come back to the same place twenty-seven times."

"Think it argues a lack of originality? It would depend on its attractions. You don't want to go back to Perapore twenty-seven times, eh?"

"By Jove, no—nor twice!" he answered, with emphasis.

"But here it is different, my boy. It is good for one's liver, it is gay, and, as you remark, pretty. There is any amount of entertaining; dinners and luncheons; there is golf and tennis. I meet the people I know—or want to know. In short, Homburg has become an agreeable habit, which there is no occasion to relinquish. And here we are!" he announced, as they emerged from a shady walk into a wide and crowded promenade.

At one end of this promenade was the celebrated well, at present closely invested by a number of votaries, who were sipping their first glass, or waiting to be served by the active, blue-gowned maidens.

Here were young and old, society folk and nobodies, a Russian Grand Duke stood elbow to elbow with a Scotch grocer, and the Countess of Marmalade was patiently waiting till Cora Sans Souci was served.

As soon as Sir Horace had swallowed his glass (he took it warm), and having vainly urged his nephew to pledge him in another, he carried him off to stroll up and down, between the bandstand and the jewellers' shops. As they sauntered along he saluted almost every second person, and indicated the chief notabilities to his relation.

"Here comes the Duke of Luxembourg," and he swept off his hat, "getting very shaky on his pins, poor old boy. This man passing now with the lady in the Ascot frock is De Jeers, the great Jew financier. She is Lady Merrythought, and getting all she can out of him, I'll lay long odds. The pale girl in the white linen gown is the notorious 'Sauta'—the Spanish dancer. She stabbed a man with a hat pin the other day. This couple comparing prescriptions are the Bishop of Timbucktoo and Dooley, the steeplechase jock. The lady with the herd of Borzois is the Duchess of Valetta, and the little woman with the brown poodle is Madame Cuzco; that poodle is a European celebrity, and has his own manservant and barber. Now let us go and sit on one of the seats and watch the madding crowd."

"All right," assented his nephew, "they certainly are a wonderfully-mixed lot! Look at these two swarthy giantesses—regular six-footers—a most formidable couple!"

"Oh, the Misses Rookes—twins. They go by the name of the 'Powerful' and the 'Terrible'!"

Captain Haig laughed aloud.

"Yes," resumed his mentor, "and this little dressy woman, with tremendous knee action, who prances alongside of the rosy-cheeked youth, is Mrs. Waller, with her third husband. They are known as 'the Skipper and the Boy'!"

"Splendid!" ejaculated the other.

"And that red-faced man yonder is Turnbull, the great traveller. He is called 'the Crimson Rambler!' Rather good, eh?"

"Rather—but who are these coming now?—this girl and the squat old woman—walking in a sort of crowd, with a dog?"

"Oh, that is Madame de Godez—Madame de Gaudy they call her—a fabulously wealthy widow. She always reminds me of a toad, with her dark, mottled face, bright black eyes, and huge chinless mouth. Madame is a personage here, as you may see. Gives wonderful dinners and picnics, subscribes to everything, and is quite in the smart set!"

"Great Scotland!" ejaculated his listener, "why, she looks for all the world like an old Portuguese half-caste!"

"She is Portuguese, I believe; of blue, not black, blood."

"And the girl?—she is a jewel, if the other is a toad. The princess and the witch. What do they call her here?"

"Miss Chandos. She is Madame's adopted daughter, and lives with old de Godez—goes everywhere, and has a good time."

"What do you call a good time?" questioned Captain Haig as his eyes followed the de Godez group.

"She has everything money can purchase, each wish forestalled, boundless admiration, forty-guinea frocks, and as many proposals of marriage as there are days in the week."

"Oh, I say, come!" expostulated his nephew.

"Well, I know for a fact that she refused Dormer Lisle and Tubby Coote, and, they say, Lord Caraway. Observe that young officer in the Frankfort Dragoons rushing on his fate, and the dark, foreign-looking chap leading the dog is Prince Tossati, an Italian prince, long pedigree, lean purse!"

Captain Haig stared intently at the group, which had halted to greet some friends within a few yards of his seat—at the stout old woman, who had no chin or neck to speak of, but a shrewd, piercing eye—a bargaining eye—and a far-reaching, authoritative voice. She was dressed with great magnificence, in a crimson and black foulard, and in her ears blazed two large diamonds. There was something tragic in the intensity of the effort and the insufficiency of the result; for all her pains Madame de Godez was merely an ugly old woman who waddled like a duck. During her progress she talked incessantly in a high falsetto—chiefly to a man who strolled beside her—listening with an air of reverent attention, his head bent, his hands loosely clasped behind his back. It would be difficult to imagine a more complete contrast than that presented by Madame de Godez and her niece. Miss Chandos was a tall and graceful demoiselle, who moved with deliberate, indolent gait; her flowing white gown was studiously plain; she wore no ornaments, and few would have cast a second glance at her large black hat. It was a certain air of personal distinction which arrested attention, for if her toilet was simple, her carriage was regal. Her head was firmly set upon a long white throat, and the face beneath the shady hat was unquestionably beautiful. The girl's complexion indicated the morn and dew of youth; her features were cut with the precision of a cameo; her eyes and hair were dark, and both were glorious.

The young lady's manner was considerably more animated than her movements. She talked and laughed gaily and uninterruptedly, with a slim, sallow cavalier (obviously her bondslave) who conducted Madame's morose-looking pet by a long leather strap.

This animal was an elderly terrier, who did not appreciate these early promenades where he was restrained from speaking to his own species—and was secretly dosed with nasty waters. He loathed the foreign food, foreign manners, foreign tongue—he never met an English pal, or enjoyed a day's good English sport. Oh, where were the rabbits, the cats, the friends and the enemies of his youth? He was an ill-used, expatriated animal, as surly and injured as any other old gentleman compelled to reside on the Continent against his inclination. Madame de Godez invariably addressed the poor creature as "Dog Darling," for she was passionately attached to him, despite his churlish humours; but he remained his own dog, and nobody's darling, as he was half-dragged, half-led, in the train of a triumphal progress.

Captain Haig's eyes dwelt long on this particular group, and his uncle, noting the fact, made a sudden and startling remark.

"Malcolm, my boy, that girl would be the very wife for you!" and when he had enunciated this opinion, he coughed, and gave his neat washing tie an emphatic twitch.

"Wife for me, sir?" repeated his relative, "but I'm not looking for one!"

"No! well it is never too late to mend—and fully time you were making a search. Handsome heiresses won't fall into your mouth, and nothing but an heiress will suit. I may live till I'm ninety, you know—and, anyway, I'm a poor man. Don't wait till you are a stiff, stocky old fellow, for, if you do, you may wait. But now, when you are a smart-looking chap, and I can give you a shove, is your time. There is a tide in the affairs of men, which, taken at the flood, leads on to a fortune."

"I don't think a lady with a fortune would care to swelter in India," remarked his companion, "and I could not bring myself to live at home on my wife's money."

"Hut-tut-tut!" exclaimed Sir Horace, and his eyebrows assumed an expression which invariably struck terror to the hearts of club waiters. "That sort of talk is bosh! It's of no consequence which has the coin, so long as it's there—and I could show you a dozen men who live quite happily with wealthy wives—and haven't a rap of their own!"

There was a silence for two or three moments, broken only by the buzz of voices and the strains of the "Valse Bleu." At last the younger man spoke.

"What sort of a girl is this Miss Chandos?"

"The sort of girl you see. A beautiful creature who carries herself superbly, knows how to talk, and to walk, and to put on her clothes. As far as I'm aware, she neither gambles, swears, smokes nor drinks!"

"Good Lord, I should hope not!" ejaculated his nephew.

"But, mind you" (here Sir Horace's tone changed into a graver key), "she is perfectly sensible of her own value—though affable and gracious to all. Perhaps a little supercilious to her foreign slaves—especially the Italian—she has a horror of dusky complexions and black blood which amounts to a craze."

"Then what about the aunt?" inquired Captain Haig, with rather malicious significance.

"My dear boy, I've already assured you that Madame is of sang azur—an old Alcantara family. She married a Scotchman who made a fortune in indigo. The girl has been brought up in England, and polished abroad. I believe she is twenty-two years of age. From personal experience I am in a position to inform you that she can keep her temper, hold her tongue, write a fine hand, and add up a bridge account."

"Oh, well, that is something."

"The old woman has given her a superior education, and lavished money on her, and now takes her everywhere, for the pure pleasure of the reflected glory she enjoys as aunt of the celebrated Miss Chandos! The girl is her hobby. Instead of cats, china, or old furniture, her craze is Verona, and she carries her about, and exhibits her, like a prize animal, enters her for all the big shows, such as this—and when her property comes in an easy first, looks on with a grin extending from ear to ear, and for all I know, meeting under her wig!"

Here Sir Horace paused, and struck his cane forcibly on the gravel as he added:

"Miss Chandos is the beauty here this year; all the world is at her feet."

"And what does she say to all the world?"

"Nothing particular. Takes it as a matter of course—though she is not a bit conceited, to give her her due—smiles and laughs, as you see, and turns to conquests new."

"Such as the chap in the blue coat! Are the poor devils never out of uniform?"

"Never, except at tennis, and then they change before leaving the pavilion. Miss Chandos would be a splendid match for some needy baron or princelet. She will come in for fifteen thousand a year, and the money is all there—I happen to know it for a fact."

"Fifteen thousand a year—and beauty—will never stoop to a poor captain in the line!"

"Why not!" argued Sir Horace, "a good-looking chap, a future baronet, with a pedigree that goes back to the Picts, is not to be despised!"

"He will be despised, all the same," muttered his nephew, in a tone of sombre conviction.

"And I tell you, you can't do better, Malcolm. I'll present you; it's an intimate sort of life—we all meet three or four times daily; golf and picnics are easily arranged. Then there is the Casino Terrace of a night, and romantic and sequestered walks hard by. In a week you should be able to report progress. The game lies to your hand!"

"I assure you, sir, I really could not face it; it's too cold-blooded! too bare-faced—and there is something unnatural in sitting here, on a bench before breakfast, coolly discussing a possible marriage with a girl to whom I've never even spoken!"

"A marriage discussed before breakfast is far more likely to be a success than one arranged after dinner!" responded Sir Horace, with knitted brows. "I'm afraid you are a fool! What have you against it?"

"Nothing. I admit that Miss Chandos is the prettiest girl I've seen for ages. I admire her immensely. Now if she had but a few hundreds a year——"

"She would not do at all," interrupted his uncle impatiently. "Well! the gods cannot help a man who refuses opportunity. Why should you not try your luck?"

"What's the good—it will only be adding to her scalps."

"Nothing venture, nothing have," declared Sir Horace, rising as he spoke. "Come, we must be moving—it is long past the time for my second glass."

Captain Haig got upon his legs with some reluctance, gave himself a little shake, stamped down his trousers, and in another moment was walking away in the footsteps of his mentor.

CHAPTER II

Sir Horace, followed by his nephew, made his way briskly to the well, and having cast one searching glance among the crowd, immediately descended the steps, where in a few moments, he and Captain Haig found themselves wedged in closest proximity to Madame de Godez. On nearer inspection, she really proved to be one of the ugliest old women in Homburg, in spite of her costly clothes, elaborate black wig, and brilliant earrings: but it was a shrewd—nay, a clever face; and the countenance expressed not only determination, but animation. Madame instantly accosted her neighbour in a sort of bleating foreign key, each syllable most distinctly articulated.

"Oh ho, my friend! so here you are! Just get my glass filled, will you? it is my own propertee," and as she spoke Madame handed Sir Horace a gorgeous red and gold tumbler. "This ees your nephew, ees it not?" and she looked up at Malcolm, with an eager twinkling gaze, and nodded her head with an air of affable encouragement.

"Good Lord!" he said to himself, "why the old woman talks the purest Chi-Chi!"

Meanwhile the old woman was inspecting him with her quick black eyes, and as he swept off his Homburg hat, and stood momentarily bare-headed, she was aware of his shining locks, deep blue eyes and winning smile (oh, the hypocrite!). Here was a young man, with the face of the hero in a picture-book. Between two sips of water she remarked:

"Your nephew is not one beet like you, Sir Horace. He is quite nice-looking."

"Oh, but, dear lady, you should have seen me at his age," protested the Baronet, with a ludicrous effort to look languishing, but the beetling brows frustrated the attempt.

"Now do not pretend that you were handsome," she retorted, giving him a playful poke, "for I will nott believe eet."

"How cruel of you, madame," he rejoined, as he took her tumbler and held it, whilst he gazed down into her swarthy, wrinkled face with an air of melancholy reproach, "when I am prepared to believe anything you tell me, and to swear that you were the belle of—was it Lisbon?"

"Verona," screeched the quondam beauty, ignoring Sir Horace and his tender question—"where is Dog Darling? Do take care that he is not trampled on."

"He is all right, auntie," replied her niece, "I left him with the Prince."

"Ah," with a gasp of relief, "then thatt is arl-right. This is Sir Horace's nephew, Verona—my niece, Miss Chandos."

The young lady looked at Malcolm gravely, and inclined her head an inch or two. Unlike her aunt, her appearance challenged the most critical inspection, and bore, triumphantly, the ordeal of a searching gaze. The shape of her face was perfect, her beautiful dark eyes were merry and intelligent, but the short upper lip was slightly—slightly—supercilious.

"A frightful crowd, is it not?" she observed.

"Yes, and getting worse every moment," declared Sir Horace, taking the remark entirely to himself; "allow me to pilot you out of it," and to the amusement and admiration of his companion, he proceeded to manœuvre madame and her niece far away from their own party. Giving the former his arm up the steps, he said:

"Malcolm, I will leave you to look after Miss Chandos."

"Who is very well able to take care of herself, thank you," she answered. Then, turning to Malcolm as they strolled along in the wake of their elders, she continued:

"Have you come to do the cure?"

"Well, no, I'm merely an outsider—a spectator," he confessed, "but I suppose I must drink something to give me the run of the place. Something to talk about, and to establish a common interest with other people."

"Very well, then," she rejoined with equal gravity, "between seven and eight o'clock, you take three glasses of the Elisabeth Brunnen—with a promenade of fifteen minutes between each. This, with a salt bath at eleven, and a couple of tumblers of the Staal Brunnen at three o'clock, will instantly place you on a proper footing in society. Now"—and she came to a standstill—"where is that dog?"

"Are you his keeper?" he asked in a bantering tone.

"Not exactly; I left him in charge of Prince Allessandro when we went down to the well."

"Proud animal!" ejaculated Captain Haig, "it is not every terrier who has a Prince for dog boy!"

"Dog boy," she echoed, "what do you mean?"

"It is an Indian term. All Europe dogs there keep their servant body to look after them, and accompany them out walking."

"Oh, I see, and the Prince is doing dog boy for me. Well, he is quite devoted to Dog Darling. You were going to say something?" and she looked at her companion interrogatively.

"I was," he admitted, with a laugh, "but second thoughts are best."

"But I should like to hear your first thought. I insist on your telling me; it is sure to be far more entertaining than its successor."

"Oh, well, I was merely going to quote an old saw!"

"Yes?"

"Love me, love my dog!"

"A decrepit saying, and entirely out of fashion. Love me, and loathe my dog, is far more up to date, especially since these lap dogs are the rage. Then why not hate me, and love my dog! There are one or two people—whose dogs I adore. Oh, dear me! just look at auntie! who cannot be trusted out of my sight. She is eating peaches. That is Sir Horace's doing! He has offered them to her, and she cannot resist, although she is strictly forbidden to touch raw fruit!"

"Would you imply that my respectable uncle is playing the part of the serpent?"

"No, but auntie is here for the cure, in order to get thin, and she won't give herself a chance. She promises and vows all manner of things to her doctor, and breaks her word as soon as she is out of his sight. She sits up late, she eats creams and rich dishes, takes no exercise, and is full of stern resolutions for to-morrow—it is always to-morrow!"

"I gather that between your aunt and the dog your responsibilities are serious."

"Yes, very serious," she answered with a gay little nod.

As they loitered along together, Captain Haig was sensible of the many admiring eyes which were turned towards his companion, and of certain envious scowls which fell to him. Half glances, whole stares, beaming smiles, and impressive salutes attended the lady's progress. Yes, for sheer, blazing, aggressive admiration Miss Chandos received the palm.

After all, he asked himself, what was she to be thus acclaimed? A tall girl, with a pair of wonderful dark eyes, a brilliant complexion, a radiant smile!

"I suppose you come abroad every year?" he questioned, after a pause.

"Oh, no," she replied, "we live abroad. And you?"

"Yes; but my abroad is Asia; yours, I conclude, is Europe. My abroad spells duty, and yours pleasure."

"Not altogether," rejoined Miss Chandos. "We live out of England as a duty to an animal. We roam the continent because of the dog!"

Captain Haig looked at her with a puzzled air, then gave a short incredulous laugh.

"But, I assure you that it is quite true," she continued, "Auntie is devoted to Dog Darling, and owing to these dreadful new regulations he would have to go into quarantine in England for six months; either that, or be left at Calais. Such a separation would break his dear heart—and be the death of auntie."

"And so you remain an exile as long as he lives."

"Yes."

"Is he old?"

"About nine; but he comes of a long-lived family, and has a fine constitution."

"If I were you, I should administer some of the waters," suggested Captain Haig.

"If you mean with felonious intent, I repudiate your heartless advice. I am sincerely attached to Toby."

"But are you not also attached to home?"

"Well, you see, we have no home. When we were in England we lived at hotels—and I am thoroughly at home on the Continent."

"And know it well?"

"Yes, some places, such as Paris, the Riviera, and Aix. I've also been to Rome and Venice. We always winter in the South."

"Possibly on account of Toby," suggested the young man. "I absolutely decline to call him Darling."

"You have made a sort of half-guess," she answered with a smile. "I will not conceal from you that a certain chemist at Nice is a celebrated dog doctor, and once, when Darling had bronchitis, auntie stayed on a month longer, on purpose to be near him, although we had taken our rooms at Venice. Is this your first visit to Germany?"

"Yes, I only arrived yesterday. I had no idea Homburg was such a charming place—partly garden, park and forest. My uncle never prepared me."

"I don't fancy the beauties of nature would appeal to Sir Horace."

"No, he is a practical man. If he were shown the mountains of the moon in a strong telescope, he would immediately wonder if there was grouse on them!"

"Then he and auntie would thoroughly agree. Are you remaining long?"

"I'm on my way back to India, worse luck, and sail from Marseilles in ten days."

"Ah, so you don't like the East?"

"No, I suppose because I'm nailed out there by duty. Just as you are held fast by the dog. Of course, it's the best country for soldiering—lots of room to manœuvre and turn round."

"I've always cherished a wild wish to see India," she said. "Auntie lived there for years, but she abhors it, and has not one single good word for the country. Other people rave in its praise. What do you say, Captain Haig—speaking unofficially?"

"Well"—and he took a long breath—"I admit that, like the curate's egg, parts of it are good. But where I am stationed it is all cotton soil, sugar cane, and sun."

"No antiquities?"

"Nothing more venerable than the oldest resident! Of course, your aunt was born out there?" he rashly ventured, then could have bitten his tongue in two. He glanced at his companion, but she appeared to be serenely unconscious of any faux pas, the exquisite pink in her fair cheek had not deepened in shade, as she answered with an air of cool reflection.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so. But I know that she was married out there!"

"Ah!" he ejaculated, "then, perhaps, that is why she dislikes the country?"

Miss Chandos gave him a quick look and made no reply. Captain Haig again regretted having spoken unadvisedly, and on this occasion he felt distinctly snubbed.

"Do you play golf?" asked the lady abruptly.

"No, I cannot say that I play," he stammered, "but my uncle does."

"That sounds exactly like a sentence from Ollendorf. 'I do not ride on horseback, but the sister of our neighbour does.' You really must take to golf!"

"Verona, child," screamed her aunt, "what are you loitering for? Come along, this sun is too hot for Dog Darling. We must be going. Captain Haig," turning to Malcolm, "your uncle has promised to bring you to dine with me to-night, at Ritter's. I have engaged a table—seven o'clock is the hour. So mind you are not late! Good-bye—good-bye—good-bye!"

As she made her adieux, madame—who was decidedly solid in figure—was respectfully hoisted into a smart victoria. Verona took a place beside her. Dog Darling nimbly accepted the front seat, and in another moment a pair of smart bay steppers had borne the trio out of sight.

CHAPTER III

"I flatter myself I managed that rather neatly," remarked the Baronet, as he surveyed his nephew with a complacent grin, "an introduction, a tête-à-têtes, and an invitation, all within half-an-hour."

"You could not have done more, sir, had you been a London chaperone of twenty seasons. I assure you I am duly grateful."

"And I tell you what, young man," resumed Sir Horace, now turning to pace beside him, "whilst you were laying siege to the young lady's heart, I was compelled to listen to a history of her aunt's liver affection, and an alarming account of the condition of her internal organs. Some old women have only three topics: disease, domestics, and diet. Besides these, Madame de Godez has a famous appetite—for compliments."

"Which I presume you were good enough to feed."

"Yes; in my experience, the uglier the old beldame, the more she craves for admiration. I am deservedly well established in Madame's good graces—in fact, in her present frame of mind, I believe she would marry me to-morrow—if I asked her!"

"She is enormously rich, and looks the soul of good nature," urged the young man, and his tone implied encouragement.

"Quite true; but I have lived very comfortably without a wife for sixty-one years, and I'm not going to be such an old fool as to take one now, even if she is worth her weight in gold. No, no, Malcolm, my boy, joking apart, if the dowager favours you, and the young lady accepts you, you can chuck the Service to-morrow, and forfeit your return ticket, for your fortune is made!"

"Don't you think you are going ahead too fast, sir? For all you and I know, there may be twenty Richmonds in the field."

"No," responded Sir Horace, with emphasis, "your only serious rival is young Prince Tossati, the chap she left to mind the dog and carry the parasol. He is one of the five sons of an impoverished Italian duke, who has a palace full of priceless pictures and statuary, which he may not sell—desperately as he is in need of ready money. His pedigree goes back to the Cæsars, but unfortunately that is also non-transferable. I don't believe the poor beggar can lay hands on more than six hundred a year, and the sole chances for the sons—are heiresses. One has married an American girl in Pork, and our friend Allessandro has figuratively marked the fair Verona for his own."

"He is an insignificant little chap! as dark as an Arab," sneered Captain Haig.

"Yes," assented his uncle, "I declare when I see him, I can't help looking for the monkey and the organ! but he has a title—a real one, mind you—and I believe Madame would give one of her eyes, or even go without her dinner for a whole week, to be in a position to say, 'my niece, the Princess!'"

"Oh, but she is not really her niece," objected Malcolm, with a touch of impatience. "Why, Madame is exactly like an old Portuguese half-caste, such as one sees on the West coast!"

"I can only tell you, that the girl has lived with her for twenty years," responded Sir Horace with solemn deliberation, "and no one has ever heard of, or seen, any other relations."

"And how did Madame de Godez get into Society?"

"Possibly because she did not care a straw about it, for one thing; for another, she makes no false pretences, is notoriously good-natured, and enormously rich, and she has also a fair supply of homely honesty and a brusque wit."

"And where did her fortune come from?"

"Ah! now you go beyond me!" said Sir Horace, "from piracy, for all I know!" and he laughed. "Madame is rather like the stock character of a pirate's wife. But one thing is certain, the money is all there. Madame will give us a first-rate dinner to-night, so don't eat a heavy lunch. It will be none of your Homburg affairs, no occasion to bring your purse and ask for the bill at dessert!"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's a good old local custom. Friends invite you to dine at their hotel, and you go. They pay for the flowers, and perhaps the coffee—everyone settles for themselves—and there you are!"

"There I should not be," rejoined his nephew, with a laugh of contempt.

"I grant that it is undoubtedly a moderate form of entertainment, but you meet your acquaintance. Of course, there are other dinners, too, the dear familiar kinds. See here—" suddenly coming to a halt in front of a flower stall not far from Ritter's Hotel, and lifting as he spoke a bunch of exquisite roses to his face—"I'll send this to the aunt; the old lady likes little attentions. Do you buy one for the niece. We can leave them with the hall porter as we pass."

"Oh, but I say," expostulated his companion, "I don't like to send a bouquet to a girl I've only spoken to once; she would think it such awful cheek."

"Not at all," replied Sir Horace, "it is perfectly correct here. At Homburg you do as Homburg does. I know my way about, my boy; pay up and look pleasant; four marks, and—oh, you may as well pay for me too. I've no change. I'll make it all right by-and-by."

Captain Haig nodded, as he produced a small gold piece and handed it across the stand, well aware that he was about to present not one, but two bouquets.

"You don't think she'd like a little dog as well?" suggested Sir Horace facetiously, as he eyed some black Spitz puppies, which were being hawked about hard by.

"No, I fancy Miss Chandos finds one dog enough, to go on with."

His uncle gave a loud harsh laugh as they moved away, each carrying a superb bunch of La France roses.

Madame de Godez and her niece were at déjeûner when the two bouquets made their appearance. To be perfectly correct, Miss Chandos had finished and was busy with a pencil and paper; but her aunt was still actively engaged.

"What do you think of Sir Horace's nephew, Verona?" she enquired, as she turned over the flowers and sniffed at them.

"Oh," looking up from her writing, "he is not bad."

"Bad—not bad! whatt a girl to talk so! Why he is very good-looking."

"Yes, I suppose he is; and it is rather a relief to meet with a stranger who has never been here before, and does not know anyone, or even his way about. I declare his ignorance is quite refreshing!"

"O—ah! he will not be long ignorant," replied Madame, squeezing up her eyes, "his uncle is worldly wise. He will educate him!"

"Oh, auntie, you know you promised Dr. Krauss you would not touch fruit and cream, and you have had two helpings, besides macaroni and fish. You really must not be so foolish."

"Now, now, now, Verona," she protested peevishly, "do let me a-lone! Why may I not eat my food? It is all I have to enjoy. You spoil my appetite; you always worry so. Here, Dog Darling! come and taste this lobstar cutlet—so good, dear! Why!" with a gasp of surprise, "he won't touch it!"

"Wise dog," said Verona, "he knows what agrees with him. I'm sure animals are more sensible about their food than we are. I must write out the cards for the dinner table now. We shall be thirty with these two men."

"Their flowers may as well be sent down for the table," suggested Madame (who dearly loved similar small economies). "Let me see, dear, the names," and she glanced over a half-sheet of paper. "Lord and Lady Bosworth, Monsieur and Madame de la Vallance, General Huntly, Prince Tossati—oh, by the way, my dear child, why were you so unkind to him to-day, leaving the poor fellow to carry your things, and lead about Dog Darling, whilst you walked off with a stranger? Better not do so again. He was hurt, I could see, he looked quite white with emotion!"

"Dearest auntie, he never could look white. His skin is the colour of café au lait when he turns pale—he merely becomes sallow."

"He is a handsome young fellow, with the blood of emperors in his veins."

"Maybe so, but he is as swarthy as a Moor. He might be Emperor of Morocco. His hair is lank, his eyes are two ink pools. I am sure he is a most estimable young man, who writes every day to his mother, but if we get up tableaux, I solemnly warn you that I shall certainly invite him to do Othello."

"O—ah, Verona, for shame of you! You prefer the red-haired young officer."

"Red hair—oh, oh!" she laughed. "You know very well, auntie, that I prefer no one."

"Because you are so hard to please—so proud! Pray, what is the difference between Tossati and Sir Horace's nephew?"

"Well, if you ask me, I should say, that one was a black prince, and the other a white man!"

"Oh, my! my! my! whatt things you do say! quite shocking—though you are but joking; you are nevarre in earnest—nevarre!"

"But occasionally I am," retorted the girl, suddenly rising. "For instance, I am in earnest now, when I tell you that your mud bath will be ready in a quarter of an hour." And as she spoke, she rang a loud peal on the bell.

"Oh, no, no!" wailed her companion, beating the air with two little dumpy hands. "I will not to-day, I will—not. These early hours do kill me. I am too fatigued. No, I will go and lie down for a while and be fresh for this afternoon. I will not take the bath, I will not."

"But really, auntie——"

"Really, child, I promised the duchess to go to her bazaar. I know you are going to play golf. No, I will not take this nasty mud bath—you must not insist—you must not!"

"Well, I shall tell Dr. Krauss," said Verona, nodding her head, "you know you are dreadfully afraid of him."

"I will take it to-morrow—really and truly—oh, truly, I give you my word! Look here, dearie, I cannot take Dog Darling to the bazaar. I think you might allow him to go with you to the Golf. Do!"

"No, indeed, he fetches half the balls, then loses them, and disgraces me."

"Oh, well, then I must ask Minette to get a fly and take him for a nice drive round Saarbruck. The air will do him good, poor darling!"

CHAPTER IV

The dinner at Ritter's proved a brilliant affair, but Sir Horace experienced an unexpected disappointment, when he discovered that instead of being a guest at a pleasant little informal meal, he and his nephew were two in a party of thirty. The menu was everything that a Homburg menu could, and should, be; the company were crême de la crême; but the crafty Baronet realised that this kind of entertainment afforded no opportunities to advance his schemes. He and Malcolm might as well have dined at their own hostelry—save that in that case, they would have been obliged to pay for their food.

A long table, carefully screened from public gaze, was decorated with a profusion of roses and silver; the company were smart, and Madame herself was magnificent in black and gold, with touches of crimson—her natural taste was for the primary colours, and many jewels, but this weakness was sternly repressed by a strong-willed French maid.

The hostess was supported by a titled guest on either hand, ate a hearty (and extremely unwholesome) meal, and enjoyed herself prodigiously. Sir Horace sat beside a talkative, elderly dame, a neighbour entirely after his own heart. They were in the same set, and exchanged quotations from letters, highly spiced morsels of gossip, and nodded and cackled, as they consumed various delicacies, and sipped dry champagne.

Malcolm Haig was by no means so fortunate, for he was placed between a deaf man and a plain dowdy woman. Far, far away, on the opposite side of the table, he espied Miss Chandos—and the Prince—the former was more beautiful than ever without her hat; the wealth of her wonderful hair, exposed in all its glory, made a fitting frame for her brilliant face.

She wore a gown of white lace, with long sleeves, a chain of splendid pearls, and to his romantic imagination seemed the dazzling embodiment of a princess in a fairy tale. The Prince, who was eating little, talked to her incessantly, enforcing his conversation with flashing eyes and quick, impassioned gestures.

What was he saying? Malcolm watched and wondered; finally he arrived at the conclusion that he was making love after the most approved Italian mode, and became sensible of a flaming desire to go round and punch his sleek head.

Poor Allessandro! he really was devoted to the lovely English Signorina. He could not sleep, he would not eat, he chiefly existed on cigarettes and her society—and yet he was a little afraid of his enchantress. She was so fascinating, yet elusive; always charming and gracious, but when he became sentimental she laughed with heartless indifference and brushed all his tender compliments aside. And then she was so rich! Mother of Heaven, what a fortune! With this girl, and her money, his existence would be heaven on earth. Good-bye for ever to insolent creditors, to third-class tickets, shabby clothes and undignified poverty.

"Ah, Verona," he murmured, "you are called after one of our most beautiful towns; you ought to belong to Italy."

"Do you think so?" she answered gaily; "then, in that case, you should belong to Turkey!"

"I would ever belong to where you were," he murmured tenderly.

Miss Chandos merely helped herself to a salted almond. She had lovely hands.

"Why were you called Verona?" he pursued.

"I have not the faintest idea. I suppose they thought it more uncommon than Florence!"

"Did you never ask them the reason?" he continued in his soft voice.

"If by 'them' you allude to my father and mother, I am sorry to say I have not even a dim recollection of either."

"Ah! So you are an orphan?"

She bowed her head.

"How sad! How I pity you!" he ejaculated. "Now I have the good fortune to have a charming father and mother—my mother is a beautiful woman. How much I should like to make you known to her. I assure you she would love you as a—daughter."

"It is very kind of you to say so, Prince."

"She lives in a noble old castle. It still retains many splendid pictures and works of art. Perhaps you would visit her there one day? It has such a wonderful view, being high on the top of a mountain—almost in the clouds."

"Almost a castle in the air?" suggested Verona.

"Yes, yes, it is; and I, too, have my real castle in the air," he added with tremulous significance. "Oh, such an adorable one." This speech was accompanied by a long, intense look.

"Don't you think these castles in the air cost a good deal to keep up?" remarked Miss Chandos. "I cannot afford to build them myself." Then she smiled her sweet smile, and turned away to address her left-hand neighbour.

All this time Malcolm was inwardly fuming, although he was eating his dinner critically and carrying on a conversation with the lady beside him, a lady who was blessed with a copious stock of words and laboured under the delusion that she was a brilliant and dramatic talker. She speedily discovered that her neighbour had been in India, and plied him with opinions, suggestions and numerous questions with regard to native life.

At last, utterly wearied by this severe cross-examination, he exclaimed:

"I am truly sorry my information appears so meagre, but the truth is that India—real India—is to the European a closed book!"

"Oh no, surely not!" she protested warmly. "Only stupid, lazy people say so!"

"Well, I have been out in the East seven years, and I know precious little of the natives, although I speak their language. I was born there, too, and sent home as a kid. My father was a judge in the Punjaub for thirty years. Shall I tell you what he said?"

"Oh, pray do!"

"That we Europeans are like drops of oil on a great ocean of water, and will never penetrate or mix!"

"Really! Well, I am afraid I do not share his opinion," declared the listener with a shrug of her round shoulders.

"You have been in the country, of course?"

"No; but I have read about it, which amounts to almost the same thing. Have you seen a book called 'Thrills from the Hills, or The Curse of the Khitmagar'?"

"Yes, as it happens, I have! A fellow on board ship had it, and I looked into it."

"Tell me, how did it strike you?" she demanded, and the lady's key was pitched in the imperative mood.

"As absolutely the greatest drivel and rot I ever read—and that is saying a good deal! It is no more like India than it's like Homburg! I should say that the author took her facts from fiction, her local colour from Earl's Court, and her grammar from her cook!"

There was an unusually spacious pause. Captain Haig glanced furtively at his companion, and noticed that her face had become alarmingly red. Presently she remarked in a repressed, but throaty voice:

"It is a misfortune that the book fails to meet with your approval. As it happens it was written by my sister," and she turned her head away and gave him a view of nearly the whole of her shoulders.

"Well, what was said was said!" reflected her neighbour, apologies were useless. He tossed off a glass of champagne and settled himself to brazen out the situation until a welcome signal should give him his release.

For a considerable time the culprit was compelled to subsist on disjointed scraps of the adjoining conversations. Among the crumbs he gathered were these: "Fancy going 'no trumps' on such a hand! Wasn't it sickening?"

"Oh—I don't know! He had two aces. It was unlucky he was done in spades."

"A lovely piece of Persian lamb. Just enough for the collar."

"No; a man with a beard never takes on the stage."

"So they got the grand slam!"

"I'm sure the Staal Brunnen would suit you."

"But she is so dark—her eyes and hair—you don't think——?" Voice dropped, man's raised in reply, and in the key of D sharp.

"Good heavens, no! What an awful suspicion! Not with that complexion."

Pushing back of chairs, general rising, general exit.

After coffee in the garden the party strolled over to the Casino in order to see the grand fireworks. The grounds were illuminated, and the crowd was immense. The entire scene was delightful, so gay, so exhilarating and so foreign. People of many nations sat about, or promenaded in groups, staring at the brilliant display, and listening to the band.

Some of the members of the late festivity assembled on the terrace, where they paced to and fro, or stood to exclaim at some specially marvellous effect. Miss Chandos was so closely invested by Uhlan officers and other friends that Captain Haig had no opportunity of exchanging a word with her. After several frustrated attempts he turned aside, took a seat apart, and, we may as well admit it, sulked! He watched with discontented eyes the gay throng of well-dressed people, the glitter of diamonds, the bright stars overhead, the bright light around. He saw Verona (as he mentally called her) now holding a little court on the terrace, again strolling up and down with an Austrian field-marshal or a Russian grand duke, and he realised how difficult it would be for him to improve their acquaintance, and what a complete outsider he was. There were too many notable worshippers, all competing for a lady's society and favour, and he was but an impecunious officer who must not venture to claim the privilege of sunning himself in the beauty's smiles.

Nevertheless, Captain Haig had some brief visions of Miss Chandos; for instance, at the Elisabeth Well of a morning, at the opera, or at church, now and then they exchanged a few sentences.

At the annual Battle of Flowers—which was attended by all Homburg and Frankfort—the carriage of Madame de Godez was accorded a coveted banner, and first prize. The landau was entirely covered with pink roses, the very wheels had been transformed into colossal wreaths. Four milk-white horses, caparisoned with roses and silver, were led by grooms wearing pink and silver livery and white wigs. It was the chariot of a Fairy Queen, and was received with shouts of admiration and pelted with a hurricane of flowers.

Enthroned in the vehicle reclined Madame de Godez, arrayed (despite her maid) in a gorgeous pink and silver pelisse, with feathered headgear of the most imposing assumption. ("The blot on the escutcheon," Sir Horace dubbed the lady.) Beside her was seated the Princess, clad in white, her hat crowned with roses; on the coach box was perched Dog Darling, decorated en suite, with an enormous pink bow—glowering at all the world and shivering with shame!

The carriage was crammed with flowers of the most costly varieties, which the two ladies tossed to the crowd with liberal hands.

As the splendid equipage rolled majestically between dense masses of admiring spectators it seemed to represent the triumphal car of Beauty and Mammon.

Captain Haig, posted in a coign of vantage, pelted the occupants with the best of his assortment. He had no eyes, or flowers, for others, not even for the cart laden with sheaves of corn and pretty girls and drawn by oxen, nor for the gorgeous yellow coach, or yet the charming Japanese; his flowers were only for Verona. Once he had the good fortune to catch her eye, and as she passed she smiled and tossed him a rose. This he kissed with fervour and stowed away as if it were some holy relic, for Malcolm Haig was really in love. So much in love, that he actually attended a charity bazaar in the extravagant and foolish hope of finding her within; but unfortunately Miss Chandos was elsewhere, playing golf, and his temerity cost him three sovereigns. His leave was ebbing hourly—his luck was dead out. Sir Horace, too, was selfishly absorbed in his own affairs and the progress of his cure, and had never given his unhappy nephew a helping hand since that first notable morning. At last Fortune smiled! Captain Haig was returning from a sad and solitary ramble in the woods, when to his surprise, and, needless to add, joy, he came upon Miss Chandos and Dog Darling. She was seated on the trunk of a fallen tree with the enviable animal in her lap.

"Oh, this is fortunate!" she exclaimed, "I am in rather a quandary, like the ferryman with the fox and goose and corn. Dog Darling has cut his foot, and I don't know how I am to get him home. I dare not leave him; he might stray, or be stolen, and, much as I love him—I cannot carry him!"

"No, indeed," agreed the delighted lover. "Pray how do you happen to be here all alone?"

"I was driving with Auntie from Nauheim, I got out to walk back the rest of the way, and give Dog Darling a run. He has cut his foot on a broken bottle, poor dear; so wicked of people to leave their picnics loose."

"I see, his poor paw is badly cut," said Malcolm; "shall I bandage it up?"

"I shall be most grateful if you will, but I warn you that he may bite you!"

"And then you'll have to bandage me! Eh, is it a bargain?"

"I will guarantee to hold his mouth quite firmly, and you can please take my handkerchief."

"No, no; mine is the best," said the impromptu surgeon, and in five minutes the business was successfully accomplished.

"I think he has sense to know that I mean well," said Captain Haig, "and now I propose to carry him home; it is not more than a mile."

"But he is so heavy!" objected the young lady. "If you were to go back and send a carriage to fetch us—how would that do?"

Naturally this arrangement did not appeal to her companion, and he replied with deliberate untruth:

"The patient is a mere feather! You lay him in my arms and I'll do nurse as if to the manner born."

Having effected this amicable arrangement without any contretemps, the pair set off, the young man carrying the dog, who proved to be a dead weight and exceedingly irritable and sorry for himself.

"Where did Madame get him?" asked his bearer abruptly.

"Well, the fact is, he belonged to me originally, and is a native of England," replied the girl. "I lived with a family from the time I was eight till I was seventeen, and enjoyed a delightful country life."

"No lessons—all haymaking, jam and holidays, I presume?"

"Any amount of lessons and governesses. The Melvilles' daughter and I shared them. Auntie paid me flying visits, and on one of these occasions she noticed Toby, a young dog, full of tricks and spirits. He was very nice to her (as he can be when he likes), and she simply insisted on carrying him off."

"Precisely as I am doing."

"Oh, no; in a dog-box. It changed his whole career and outlook on life. Instead of living in a barrel, hunting water rats and rabbits, and having a brother in the house, and cousins in the village, he has become a society dog, and a cynical, disappointed person."

"Poor old boy!" exclaimed his nurse, "so he is out of his element like many of his betters."

From Dog Darling the conversation gradually became more personal, Captain Haig walking as slowly as possible, and occasionally coming to a dead halt, would have gladly carried his burden many miles—for the sake of the dog's mistress. But everything, however agreeable, must end, and the delightful tête-à-tête concluded all too soon at the door of Ritter's Hotel. Madame de Godez professed herself to be much touched by Captain Haig's attention to her sweet darling, and, as a suitable reward, the following evening she invited him to coffee on the Casino terrace, which invitation he grasped at, since he had now come to his last hours in Homburg. After the coffee had been served Captain Haig and Miss Chandos instinctively, by a sort of mute mutual consent, descended into the grounds, and strolled there in the moonlight, listening to the superb string band. It happened to be playing "Die Lieben Langen Tag," when Malcolm said:

"Do you know this is my last day here? I'm off tomorrow morning."

"Oh, are you?" she exclaimed, "must you really leave so soon? I am sorry."

"Not a thousandth part as sorry as I am," he responded, with what seemed unnecessary emphasis. "I wonder if we shall ever meet again?"