KISMET.
It was not because Laurence Alsager had been for a twelvemonth in the
East that he believed in the Mohammedan doctrine of fatalism. That had
been an unacknowledged part of his creed long before the
disappointment which sent him flying from the ordinary routine of life
had fallen upon him. Even under that disappointment he allowed the
power of the wondrous "to be," and, bowing to its influence, accepted
his exile with far greater equanimity than many others would have done
under similar circumstances. He had suffered his plans--undecided
when he left England--to be entirely guided by chance; had
followed suggestions for his route made by hotel-landlords or
conveyance-advertisements; had dallied over one part of his journey
and hurried over another, simply in obedience to the promptings of the
feeling of the moment; and had finally decided on returning to be
present at the first night of Spofforth's play at the Parthenium in
the haphazard spirit which had prompted all his movements.
His belief in Kismet had been enormously strengthened since his
return. It was "arranged" that Lady Mitford should be present on the
occasion in question; that he should be presented to her after trying
to avoid her and her party; that Lord Dollamore should be at the Club,
and should give utterance to those sentiments which had aroused so
deep a disgust in Laurence's breast. As to the events of the next
day,--the visit to Saunderson's, the drive to Acton, the trial of Sir
Launcelot and its consequences,--therein was the most marvellous
illustration of the doctrine of Kismet that ever he had yet seen.
He thought of all this as he woke the next morning; and clearly saw in
an instant that it would be running directly contrary to his fate to
go down to see his father just then. He felt impelled to remain in
London, and in London he should stay. He felt--Ah, how beautiful she
looked as he dragged her out from amidst the _débris_ of the carriage
and the plunging hoofs of the ponies, though her face was as pale as
marble, and the light of her eyes was quenched beneath the drooping
lids! It was Kismet that had kept that handsome oaf, her husband, at
home, and prevented his interfering with the little romance. Not that
Sir Charles Mitford was by any means an oaf; he was a man of less
worldly experience, of less polish, of social standing, higher in
rank, but decidedly lower in reputation, than Laurence; and so
Laurence regarded him as an oaf, and, since the pony-carriage
adventure, began to find a little hatred mingling with the contempt
with which he had previously regarded the latest addition to the
baronetage.
This last feeling may have been in accordance with the rules of
Kismet, but it certainly was not in accordance with the practice of
the world. There were many men in his old regiment, and generally
throughout the brigade of Guards,--men who, as professedly _coureurs
des dames_, held that, for the correct carrying out of a flirtation
with a married woman, an intimacy of a certain kind with the lady's
husband was almost indispensable. And, though not good at argument,
had they been put to it, they could have indorsed their _dicta_ with
plenty of examples. They could have told of picnics improvised solely
for the pleasure of madame's society, when monsieur was of the
greatest assistance, the life and soul of the party, opening
champagne, finding salt, cracking jokes; the only man who could induce
the gathered leaves to burst into a fire for kettle-boiling purposes;
the first to volunteer to sit in the rumble with the captain's valet
on the journey homewards. They could have told of visits paid in
opera-boxes at a time when it was certain that monsieur was just
smacking his lips over something peculiar in claret at a dinner at the
Junior, specially given by the captain's brother-officer, the major.
They could have told of capital fishing and excellent shooting
obtained by them for monsieur with a tendency in that direction;
stream or lake, moor or stubble, always happening to be at a very
remote distance from monsieur's family abode. There were even some of
them who for the time being would thoroughly interest themselves in
monsieur and his affairs, would bear with his children, would listen
to his stories, would, on rare occasions, be seen about with him, and
would, when very hard hit, invite him to the Windsor mess, or give him
a seat in the Derby drag.
But that sort of thing did not do for Laurence Alsager. Such a line of
conduct might have suited him once; but it would have been years ago,
and with a very different style of wife and husband from Lady Mitford
and Sir Charles. He could not think of her with any feeling that was
not deeply tinged with respect, and that in itself was sufficient to
remove this new passion from the category of his past loves. His new
passion? Yes; he could not deny it to himself; he felt a singular
interest in this woman; there was an attraction in her such as he had
never experienced in any one else. He smiled as he recollected how in
the bygone times he would have called her "cold" and "statuesque;" how
he would have despised her slight figure, and thought her manners
rustic, if not _gauche_. How he had sneered at love, as distinguished
from intrigue, when he was a mere boy; and now, at thirty, after
thirteen years of hard life of all kinds--traces of which might be
seen in a few lines round the eyes and on the forehead--he was lapsing
into the calf-love which boys at school feel for the master's
daughter. He laughed; but he knew it was all true, nevertheless.
He must see her that day, of course; at least, he must call--mere
politeness required so much after the events of the previous day.
Meanwhile he would go down to the club, to read the papers and get
some luncheon, and kill time.
There were several men in the morning-room at the club, some of whom
he had seen on the first night of his arrival, others whom he met now
for the first time since his return.
Lord Dollamore was there, his legs up on a sofa, reading a newspaper,
with a very peculiar grin upon his face.
"Here he is!" he said, looking towards the door as Laurence entered
the room; "here's the man himself! Why don't we have a band to play
'See the conquering'?"
"So we ought, by Jove!" said Cis Hetherington. "Hallo, Laurence, old
boy! no sling or anything?"
"Looks well after it, don't he?" said another; while several old
gentlemen looked up from their newspapers, partly in admiration,
partly in awe.
"Fire away, gentlemen!" said Laurence. "Be as funny as you please;
it's all lost upon me. What the deuce do you mean by 'sling,' Cis?"
"He's been so long away, that he's forgotten the English language,"
sneered Dollamore.
"O no, he hasn't, Lord Dollamore, as he'd quickly show you, were there
the least occasion," said Laurence. "But," added he more quietly,
"what is the joke? I give you my honour I don't know what you're
talking about."
"A lovely lady and a gallant knight! Bring forth the steed! The
accident; the leap; the rescue! Ha, ha! she's saved! Slow music and
curtain! Stunnin' draymer it would make. I can introduce you to
several enterprising managers if you'd like to tour in the provinces,"
said jolly Mr. Wisconsin, who spent nearly all his time and
two-third's of his income amongst theatrical people.
"Why, how on earth did that story get here?" asked Laurence, on whom
the truth was beginning slowly to dawn.
"Here! why, it's all over town--all over England by this time. It's in
the papers."
"In the papers! Ah, you're selling me."
"Take it, and read for yourself," said Wisconsin. "Open the paper, and
knock it back with your hand--that's the legitimate business."
"Doosid well Alsager pretends to be astonished, don't he, considering
he put that in the paper himself?"
"No, he didn't do it himself; he got Cis Hetherington to do it."
"Cis couldn't have spelt it," said Lord Dollamore. "There are some
devilish long words, over which Cis would have come a cropper."
While his friends were thus pleasantly discussing him, Laurence was
reading a remarkably full-flavoured and eloquent description of a
"Serious Accident and Gallant Conduct," as the paragraph was headed,
in which Lady Mitford's name and his own figured amongst the longest
adjectives and most difficult adverbs. How the wildly excited steeds
dashed away at a terrific pace; how the grasp of the lovely charioteer
gradually relaxed, and how her control over the fiery animals was
finally lost; how the attendant groom did everything that strength and
science in equine matters could suggest, until he was flung, stunned
and breathless, into the mire; and how finally, the gallant son of
Mars, mounted on a matchless barb, came bounding over the hedge, and
extricated the prostrate and palpitating form of the lovely member of
the aristocracy from utter demolition at the hoofs of the infuriated
animals. All this was to be found in the newspaper paragraph which
Laurence was reading. This paragraph originated in a short story told
by the groom in the bar of a public-house close to the mews, whither
he had gone to solace himself with beer after the indignities he had
suffered at Mr. Spurrier's hands, and where he had the satisfaction of
repeating it to a broken-down seedy man, who "stood" a pint, and who
took short notes of the groom's conversation in a very greasy
pocketbook.
Laurence was horribly disgusted, as could be seen by the expression of
his face, and the nervous manner in which he kept twisting the ends of
his moustache. The amusement of the other men was rather increased
than diminished at his annoyance, and was at its height when Cis
Hetherington asked:
"What the doose is a 'matchless barb,' Alsager? I've seen all sorts of
hacks in my time, but never met with one of that kind."
"What do you mean by hacks?" said another. "A barb is a fellow that
writes plays, ain't it? They call Shakespeare the immortal barb."
"Ah, but they call him a Swan, and all kinds of things. There's no
making out what a thing is by what they call him."
Meanwhile Lord Dollamore had risen from the couch, and strolled over
to the rug in front of the fire, where Laurence was standing.
"You've begun your duties quickly, my dear Alsager. There are few
fellows who get the chance of falling into their position so rapidly."
"What position?"
"That of champion of beauty in distress."
"Position! I declare I don't follow you, my lord."
"My dear Alsager, surely the East has not had the effect of rendering
obtuse one of the keenest of men. Don't you recollect our talk the
other night?"
"Perfectly."
"When I then expressed my opinion that Lady Mitford would have to go
through the usual amount of danger, of course I meant moral, not
actual, peril. However, the actual seems to have come first."
"Ye-es. A smashed carriage and plunging horses may, I suppose, be
looked upon as actual danger."
"Ah, she'll have worse things than those to contend against and
encounter. You were lucky enough to save her from a fractured skull; I
suppose we shall see you doing the 'sweet-little-cherub' business, and
watching over her generally, henceforth."
"You seem to forget that Lady Mitford has a husband, Lord Dollamore."
"Not for an instant, my good fellow. But so has--well, Mrs.
Hammond--and so have lots of women; but then the husbands are
generally engaged in taking care of somebody else. Well, well, to
think that _you_ should become a sheep-dog,--you whose whole early
life was spent in worrying the lambs!"
"Whose whole _early_ life--that's it! _Quand le diable est vieux il se
fait ermite!_"
"Ye-es; but if I were the husband of a very pretty young wife, I doubt
whether I should particularly like you being her father confessor."
"You need not alarm yourself, my lord; I'm not going in for the
position."
"_Qui a bu, boira_, my dear Alsager. I distrust sudden conversions,
and have no great reliance on sheep-dogs whose fangs are scarcely
cleared of wool."
Laurence might have replied somewhat sharply to this, had he heard it;
but he was off on his way to the coffee-room to his luncheon, which
had been announced by the waiter; that finished, he started off for
Eaton Place.
He had sufficient matter for reflection on his walk. This preposterous
story which had crept into the papers would of course form a splendid
subject of gossip for all those who had nothing better to do than to
talk about such things. There was already a certain amount of interest
attaching to the Mitfords from the fact of Sir Charles having
inherited the baronetcy in a singular and unlooked-for manner, and
from his wife's having had the audacity--although sprung from an
unknown family--to have a beautiful face and agreeable manners. For
this presumption Alsager felt that a terrible retribution was in store
for her, poor child, when the regular season came on, and the dowagers
brought up their saleable daughters to the market. Then the notion
that a common country parson's daughter had been beforehand with them,
and had carried off an unexceptionable _parti_ before he had been
regularly advertised as ready for stalking, would drive these old
ladies to a pitch of rankling and venomous despair which would find
vent in such taunts, hints, insinuations, and open lies as are only
learnt in the great finishing-school of London society. Lady Mitford's
beauty, style, and position were in themselves quite sufficient to
render her an object of dislike to nine-tenths of the other women in
society, who would eagerly search for something against her, however
slight it might be. Had not that unfortunate accident and its result
given them this "something"? Laurence had been too long amongst the
ranks of _nous autres_ not to recognize the meaning of the grins and
winks which went round the assembled circle of club-men when the
newspaper paragraph was read, not fully to understand every sneering
inflexion of Lord Dollamore's voice. Thus was the sin of his youth
visited on him in later life, with a vengeance. Hundreds of other
men might have done exactly as he had--an act simply of manly
impulse--without anything having been said about it save praise; but
with him, that infernal reputation for gallantry, of which he was once
so proud, and which he now so intensely loathed, would set shoulders
shrugging and eyebrows lifting at once. The old story! Laurence
Alsager again! What else could be expected? For an instant, as all
these thoughts came rushing through his mind, he stopped short,
wondering whether it would not be better to retrace his steps to the
hotel, and to fulfil his first-formed resolution of paying a hurried
visit to his father, and then quitting England at once. Yes; it would
be much better; it would save any chance of scandal or talk, and--And
yet he did not like to miss the chance of being thanked by those sweet
eyes and that soft voice. He had thought so much of how she would
look, not as he had hitherto seen her in full evening-dress or in her
bonnet, but in that simple morning-costume in which all charming women
look most charming. Besides, it was his duty as a gentleman to call,
after the events of the previous day, and see whether she was
suffering from any result of her accident, or from any fright which
might have arisen from it. Yes; he would first call and see her, and
then go away;--at least, he was not quite certain whether he would go
away or not. He was not sure that it would not be far more advisable
that he should stay in England, and be on the spot to put a stop at
once to any preposterous talk that might arise; and especially to
watch over her in case of any attempts which might be made by men of
the Dollamore class. Lord Dollamore was a most dangerous fellow, a man
who would stick at nothing to gain his ends; and what those ends were,
it was, to a man of Alsager's experience, by no means difficult to
imagine. Besides, he was merely the type of a class; and if all he had
stated about Sir Charles Mitford were really true, if the baronet were
a man of dissolute tastes and habits, and utterly unable to withstand
the temptation which his wealth and position would at once open up to
him, it was absolutely necessary that some one should be there to
prevent his wife's falling a prey to the numerous libertines who would
immediately attempt to take advantage of her husband's _escapades_,
and ingratiate themselves into her favour.
When the wish is father not merely to the thought, but to the
subsequent argument, it is by no means difficult to beat down and
utterly vanquish the subtlest and most logical self-reasoning. Three
minutes' reflection and balancing served to show Laurence how wrong he
had been in thinking of absenting himself at such a critical time; and
though for a moment the "still small voice" ventured to insinuate a
doubt of the soundness of his argument, yet he felt that leaving
future events to take such course as they might ultimately fall
into--it was at least his bounden duty to go then and inquire after
Lady Mitford; and onwards he proceeded.
Lady Mitford was at home. In a charming drawing-room--everything in it
bearing evidence of exquisite womanly taste,--he found her, dressed,
as he expected, in the most lovely of morning-costumes--a high
violet-silk dress with a simple linen collar and cuffs; her hair
perfectly plain, showing the small classic head in all its beauty: she
looked to him the loveliest creature he had ever seen. She rose at the
announcement of his name, and came forward with a pleasant smile on
her face and with outstretched hand Laurence noticed--not, perhaps,
without a little disappointment--that there was not the smallest sign
of a blush on her cheek, nor the slightest tremor in her voice.
"I'm so glad to see you, Colonel Alsager," she said frankly; "I'm sure
I've thought a hundred times since we parted of my _gaucherie_ in not
thanking you sufficiently for the real service you did me yesterday."
"Pray don't say another word about it, Lady Mitford; it was a simple
duty which merits no further mention."
"Indeed, I don't think so. It was a very gallant act in itself, and
one which, so far as I'm concerned, renders me your debtor for life."
"The acknowledgment cancels the obligation. I only trust you are none
the worse for the mishap."
"Thank you, not in the least.. I was a little shaken and unstrung by
the fall, and rather stupid yesterday evening, I'm inclined to think;
but the night's rest has set me perfectly right. You know I'm
country-bred, and therefore what my husband would call in good
condition; and I've had so many tumbles off ponies, and been upset so
many times in our Devonshire lanes by papa,--who, I'm afraid, is not a
very good whip, bless him!--that I'm not entirely unused to such
accidents."
"That accounts for your pluck, then. I never saw any one go through
what--now it's over--I may say was a very ugly runaway, with more
perfect calmness."
"Ah, that's what I wanted to ask you. I lost my head just as we
started down that descent, and knew nothing afterwards. I do so hope I
didn't scream."
"You may make yourself thoroughly easy on that score. You were
perfectly mute."
"I _am_ delighted at that!" she laughed out with childish glee.
"Charley asked me the very first thing whether I hadn't 'yelled out,'
as he called it; and I told him I thought not. It was very weak of me
to faint, and I fought against it as long as I could; but I felt it
must come, and it did."
"You would have been more than woman if you could have deprived
yourself of that treat," said Laurence "How is Sir Charles?"
"Well, not very well. I fancy that this accident has upset him very
much, poor fellow. I think he blames himself for having allowed me to
go without him; and yet he couldn't come, as he had some horrid man
here on business. But he's been very dull and preoccupied ever since.
He'll be annoyed at having missed you, as he went out specially to
call and thank you for your great kindness. We did not know your
address, and he went down to Mr. Bertram's office to get it from him."
"Oh, Bertram is a very old friend of mine. It was from him I first
heard of you."
"Yes, he knew Charley at Oxford. He is a kind gentle creature, I
should think; a man that it must be impossible for any one to dislike.
And really his silence is sometimes anything but disagreeable--at a
theatre, you know, and that sort of thing."
"Silence! I can assure you, Lady Mitford, that when you are the theme
of his discourse, he is a perfect Demosthenes. 'The common mouth, so
gross to express delight, in praise of her grew oratory,' as Tennyson
says.. He is one of your stanchest admirers."
Lady Mitford looked uncomfortable and a little vexed, as she said,
"Indeed!" then smiled again as she added, "You also have the effect of
loosening the dumb man's tongue. In Mr. Bertram you have the loudest
of trumpeters. In fact, ever since he heard from you of your intended
return, we have grown almost tired of hearing of your good qualities."
"I hope you won't banish me, as the Athenians did Aristides for the
same reason. Old George is one of the best fellows living. Do you know
many people now in town, Lady Mitford?"
"No, indeed. Our Devonshire neighbours have not come up yet, and will
not, I suppose, until Parliament meets. And then Sir Charles having
been--been away for some time, and I not having lived in society, we
scarcely know anybody yet; at least, I mean--I--some of Charley's old.
friends have found us out. Mr. Bertram, Captain Bligh and Major
Winton, and Lord Dollamore."
"Ah, Lord Dollamore! yes, to be sure. And what, if it's a fair
question, do you think of Lord Dollamore?"
Georgie laughed. "It certainly is _not_ a fair question, and if
Charley were here, I should not be allowed to answer it; but I don't
mind telling you, Colonel Alsager, that I have a great horror of Lord
Dollamore."
Laurence smiled grimly, but with the greatest inward satisfaction, as
he said, "Poor Dollamore! And will you tell me why you have a horror
of him, Lady Mitford?"
"I can scarcely say. I'm sure I ought not to bare it, as he is always
studiously polite to me; but there is something strange to me in his
manner and in his conversation, something such as I have never met
with before, and which, though I don't comprehend it, rouses my
antipathy and makes me shudder. I never know what to say to him
either, and he always seems to be watching every word that you speak.
Now you're laughing at me, Colonel Alsager; and I can't explain what I
mean."
Her cheeks flushed as she said this, and the heightened colour added
to her beauty. Laurence found himself staring mutely at her, in sheer
wonderment at her loveliness; then roused himself and said, "Indeed, I
was not laughing, and I can fully comprehend you. Now tell me; the
ponies are none the worse for their race?"
"Not much. One has a cut fetlock, and both have had a good deal of air
rubbed off; but nothing to signify. I was round in the stables the
first thing this morning, and came in great glee to tell Charley how
little harm had been done to them. But he's dreadfully angry about it,
and declares they shall both be sent away. And all because I was too
weak to hold them."
"Well, I should like to be on your side; but I don't think your
husband is very far wrong in the present instance. They are plainly
unfit for any lady's driving, unless she is what no lady would like to
be,--undeniably horsey, and masculine, so far at least as her wrists
are concerned."
"Ah, and your horse; that splendid fellow that took the tremendous
leap,--Mr. Saunderson told me this; I knew nothing of it at the
time,--what of him?"
"Oh, he's wonderfully well. He landed splendidly; but just heeled over
for a second and touched his knees,--the merest graze, and that all
through my clumsiness; but I was too much excited at the time to
attend to him. But it's a mere hair-scratch, and he'll be as right as
ever in a week or two."
"Well, the whole thing seems to me like a dream; but a dream from
which I should never have woke, had it not been for your promptitude
and presence of mind. Those I have said I shall never forget; and--Now
here comes Charley to indorse my gratitude."
As she spoke, a heavy tread was heard on the staircase; the door
opened, and Sir Charles Mitford entered, full of life and radiant with
happiness. Any preoccupation or anxiety, for which his wife had
prepared her visitor, seemed entirely to have disappeared. He advanced
with open hand, and in his cheeriest manner said, "My dear Alsager,
delighted to see you! A thousand thanks, my dear fellow,--much more
than I can express,--for your conduct yesterday! I've heard all about
it, and know how much I owe to you. Tremendous pluck! O yes, I know;
you needn't pretend to be modest about it. I've been round to
Saunderson's, and seen Spurrier; and he tells me that it was just one
of the pluckiest things ever done. You staked the horse, or did
something damaging to him, didn't you? so of course I told Spurrier to
enter him in my account."
"You're very good; but you're a little late, Sir Charles. I bought him
on the spot, and would not part with him for treble his price."
Laurence could not resist stealing a glance at Lady Mitford as he said
this. Her eyes were downcast; but a bright red spot burned on her
cheeks, and her brows were contracted.
"Well, you've the right of refusal, and you know a good fencer when
you see one, Alsager, I know. I only wished to have the horse as a
memento of the day."
Laurence muttered something inaudible.
"I went down to call upon you, to thank you for all your kindness to
my wife," continued Sir Charles; "and then finding I didn't know your
address, I looked up Bertram at the Foreign Office; and after being
handed about from one room to another, I found him, and he took me to
your hotel. Don't seem to have much to do, those fellows at the
Foreign Office. Bertram had only just arrived; but he left immediately
when I told him I wanted him to come with me."
"I'm very sorry I was not at home."
"Well, so was I partly, and partly not. Of course I should have wished
to have given you my thanks for your kindness the very first thing;
but then of course you understand that I meant all that. When a man
rescues another man's wife from tremendous danger, of course he
understands that her husband is tremendously thankful to him, unless
it's in a book or play, or that kind of thing, where husbands wish
their wives were dead. And then again, if you had been in, I should
have missed being introduced to such a charming woman."
"To such a what, Charley?" asked Lady Mitford.
"Oh, don't you be frightened, dear; it's all square and above-board.
She asked me if she might call upon you; and she'll be here to-morrow
or the next day; so mind you're at home to receive her."
"Her? who?"
"O yes, I forgot. I'll tell you all about it. When we found Alsager
was not at his hotel, Bertram evidently didn't want to go back to his
office, so he proposed a stretch round the Park. I said I was quite
agreeable, and off we started; right round the Oxford Street side,
back by the powder-magazine, and so into the Drive. When we got there,
there was not a single trap to be seen--not one, I give you my
honour; but as we stumped along, and Bertram--most delightful
companion!--never opened his mouth, I saw a pair of bright chesnuts in
black harness come whirling a low pony-phaeton along; and as it
passed, Bertram took off his hat to the lady driving. She pulled up,
and we went to the trap, and Bertram introduced me. She was a very
pretty little woman, and had a sable cloak;--you must have a sable
cloak, Georgie; I'll find out where she got hers;--and there was
another woman whom I could not see--kept her veil down, and looked
like companion or something of that sort-sitting by her. She certainly
drove splendidly. I couldn't help thinking if she'd had those grays of
yours yesterday, Georgie, she'd have mastered them."
"I sincerely wish she had," said Lady Mitford with a little petulance;
"I can't say I entirely relish the adventure, even though it called
forth Colonel Alsager's assistance." ["That's a thorough woman's blow,"
thought Laurence, listening.] "But you haven't told us the name of
this charming Amazon."
"I don't know anything about Amazon or not," said Sir Charles, who
began to be a little bit nettled; "the lady's name is Hammond--Mrs.
Hammond, wife of a man who was something in the government service.
Ah, you know her, Alsager. Yes, by the way, I recollect her asking
Bertram whether you had come back."
The mention of Mrs. Hammond's name seemed to throw rather a damp upon
the conversation. Lady Mitford did not appear in the least to share
her husband's rhapsodies,--as how should she, being ignorant of their
object?--and Colonel Alsager's expression was moody, and his voice
silent. But when he rose to take his leave the expressions of
gratitude were renewed both by husband and wife, each in their
peculiar manner--Sir Charles was boisterously hearty; Lady Mitford
quietly impressive.
"We shall see a good deal of you now, I hope, Alsager; you won't stand
on any ridiculous ceremony, or anything of that sort, but come in and
out just as you like. There's no one who will be more welcome here,
and no one who's earned the right so much, for the matter of that. It
rests with you now entirely how far you pursue the acquaintance."
"Goodbye, Colonel Alsager," said Lady Mitford with a sweet smile;
"and I'll promise, when you do come to see us, not to give you so much
trouble as I did yesterday."
Laurence was equally averse to commonplaces and to committing himself,
so he bowed and smiled, and went away.
"Kismet," he muttered to himself as he strode down the
street,--"Kismet in full force. Laura Hammond back in England, and an
acquaintance formed between her and Mitford already. Taken with her,
he seemed too. She's just the woman that would fetch such a man as he.
Well, let Kismet do its worst; I shall stand by and see the play."