II.

"I shall go up in the smoking-carriage, Johnny."

"Shall you! You'll smell finely of smoke when we get there."

"Not I. I'll give my coat a shake at the end of the journey. By Jove!

I shall be left behind, if I don't take care."

Tod was right. The train was already on the move. He dashed into the

smoking-compartment; the porter closed the doors, and we were off.

Off to London. He and I were going up to Helen Whitney's wedding, to

which we had been invited when staying at Malvern some weeks ago. The

Squire declined for himself, though Sir John had wanted him also. This

was Monday; the wedding was to be on Thursday; and on the Saturday Anna

and William were to go back with us to Dyke Manor.

It was September weather, and a glorious day. Now, as the train steamed

away on its windings and turnings, the Malvern Hills would glide into

view; and now be lost again. But the beautiful landscape was always to

be seen, with its woods and dales and fertile plains; and there was not

a cloud in the deep blue sky to obscure the sun.

I had the carriage to myself; and pictured Tod one of a crowd of

smokers. At Oxford he came back to the carriage, and got in.

"Had enough smoke, Tod?"

"Just for now, lad," he shortly answered; and began to whistle softly

and pull at his whiskers. By which I knew he had something on his mind.

"I say, Johnny, I am in a dilemma," he began abruptly, when we were

going on again, bending towards me from the opposite seat till his face

nearly touched mine.

"What about? What is it?"

"Look here. When I got into the smoking-carriage it was full, all but

one seat, which I took--and that was a corner one, which they had been

polite enough to leave. The carriage was dark with smoke: pipes had been

going, I expect, all the way from Worcester. I lighted mine, saying

nothing, and nobody said anything to me. The man opposite to me and the

one next me had a hot discussion on hand, touching a racehorse; not

quarrelling, but talking loudly, so that they made a tolerable noise. At

the other end of the carriage sat two men facing one another, just as

you and I sit now; and one of them I'll vow was an Oxford man: I could

tell him by his cut. They were talking together also, but rather in an

undertone. All at once, when we were nearing Oxford, there was a lull at

my end, and I heard a bit of what they were saying. The first word that

particularly caught my ear was Foliott. 'What plant is Foliott up to

now, I wonder?' cried one. 'Don't know,' said the other; 'nothing good,

we may be sure of. A rumour reached me that he was going to be married.'

'What a chance for the girl!' cried the first. 'Poor thing! But it may

not be true,' he went on, knocking the ashes out of his pipe: 'who would

marry such a scamp as that?' Now, Johnny," broke off Tod, "the question

is, were they speaking of this Foliott? This man that we are now on our

way to see married to Helen?"

"Was that all you heard, Tod?"

"Every word. The train began to slacken speed then for the Oxford

station, and the two men stood up to reach their overcoats and

hand-bags, for they got out there. I had half a mind to stop them and

ask what Foliott they had been speaking of; but I did not much like to,

and while I hesitated they disappeared. They might just have told me to

mind my own business if I had spoken; so perhaps it comes to the same."

"Foliott is not an absolutely uncommon name, Tod. There may be plenty of

Foliotts about."

"Just so, lad. But, on the other hand, it may be the one we know of,

Richard Foliott. One point coincides--he is going to be married."

I sat back on the seat, revolving probabilities, and thinking of many

things. That instinctive dislike I had taken to Captain Foliott's eyes,

or to himself, or to both, flashed over me with vivid force. The fine

scenery we were just then whirling past, and on which my eyes seemed to

be fixed, might have been a sandy desert, for all I saw of it.

"The worst is, the dilemma it puts one in," continued Tod. "To speak

of this to the Whitneys, or not to speak?--that's the question. If it

should turn out to be another Foliott, they might never forgive me.

_He_ never would."

"But then--Helen's whole future may be at stake. It may be in peril."

Tod pulled at his whiskers again. I read the name of the station we were

flashing past.

"I hate a doubt of this sort," cried Tod impatiently, "where one can't

see how one's duty lies. It bothers the mind. I think I'll let it go,

Johnny."

"But, if it should turn out, when too late, that he is a scamp: and, for

the want of a word, you have let him--let him make havoc of Helen's

life!"

"What could I say?" he asked irritably. "That I overheard two fellows,

in the smoking-compartment of a railway train, saying that one Foliott

was a scamp. Sir John would naturally ask me what grounds I had for

assuming that it was their Foliott. Well, I have no grounds. And how

small I should look!"

"There are slight grounds, at any rate, Tod. The name is his, Foliott;

and both are going to be married."

"All the same, I don't see that I can speak."

"Put it in this light, Tod," I said. "You don't speak; and they get

married; and then something or other bad turns up about Foliott; and Sir

John finds out that it was in your power to warn him in time, and you

did not. What will he say then?"

"I'm sure I don't know," grunted Tod. "I wish I could see on which side

land lies."

All the rest of the way to London we continued to discuss it by fits

and starts, and at last hit upon a good thought--to tell the whole to

William Whitney. It was the best thing to do, so far as we could see.

It might all end in smoke, or--it might not.

The Whitneys had found a furnished house in Gloucester Place, near

Portman Square. The maid who had taken the illness was soon well again,

and the Hall was being regularly fumigated now, preparatory to their

return. In Gloucester Place they were within a short drive of Miss

Deveen's, a fact which had guided them to the locality. Indeed, it was

only a walk for the younger of us.

Not until night did we get any chance of a private talk with William.

Our bedrooms opened into one another; and after we went up for good, he

sat down in our room.

"You won't be affronted, Bill, at something I am about to say?" struck

in Tod, by way of prelude.

"Affronted!" cried Bill. "I! What on earth do you ask that stupid

question for?"

"In coming up to-day, I heard a few words in the train," went on Tod.

"Two fellows were talking, and they brought up a man's name in a

disparaging manner. It is a friend of yours, Bill; and Johnny and I

had a precious discussion, I can tell you, as to whether we should

repeat it to you or not."

"Was it my name?" asked Bill. "What could they have to say against me?"

"No, no; they'd have got an answer from me had it been yours. First of

all, we thought of mentioning it to Sir John; but I did not like to, and

that's the truth. So we just concluded to put it before you, as one of

ourselves, and you can tell him if you like."

"All right," said Bill. "Go ahead."

Tod told him all from beginning to end. Not that it was very much to

tell: but he brought in our own conversation; the delicacy we felt in

speaking at all, and the arguments for and against. Bill was not in the

least put out; rather wondered, I thought, that we should be.

"It can't be Dick Foliott, you know," said he. "There's not anything

against him; impossible that there should be."

"I am glad you say so," cried Tod, relieved. "It was only for Helen's

sake we gave a thought to it."

"The name was the same, you see--Foliott," I put in. "And that man is

going to be married as well as this one."

"True," answered Bill, slowly. "Still I feel sure it is quite impossible

that it can be Foliott. If--if you think I had better mention it, I

will. I'll mention it to himself."

"I should," said I eagerly, for somehow my doubts of the man were

growing larger. "Better be on the safe side. You don't know much about

him, after all, Bill."

"Not know much about him! What do you mean, Johnny? We know enough. He

is Riverside's nephew, a very respectable old Scotch peer, and he is

Foliott the mill-owner's nephew; and I'm sure _he_ is to be respected,

if it's only for the money he has made. And Dick has a very fair income

of his own, and settles ten thousand pounds upon Helen, and will come

into a hundred thousand by-and-by, or more. What would you have?"

I could not say what I would have; but the uneasiness lay on my mind.

Tod spoke.

"The men alluded to conduct, I expect, Bill; not to means. They spoke of

that Foliott as an out-and-out scamp, and called the girl he was going

to marry 'Poor thing,' in a piteous tone. You wouldn't like that applied

to Helen."

"By Jove, no. Better be on the safe side, as Johnny says. We'll say

nothing to my father at present; but you and I, Tod, will quietly repeat

to Foliott what you heard, and we'll put it to him, as man to man, to

tell us in all honour whether the words could have related to himself.

Of course the idea is altogether absurd; we will tell him that, and beg

his pardon."

So that was resolved upon. And a great relief it was. To decide upon a

course of action, in any unpleasant difficulty, takes away half its

discomfort.

Captain Foliott had come to London but once since they met at Malvern.

His stay was short; three days; and during those days he was so busy

that Gloucester Place only saw him in the evenings. He had a great deal

to do down in the North against his marriage, arranging his property

preparatory to settling it on Helen, and seeing to other business

matters. But the zeal he lacked in personal attention, he made up by

letter. Helen had one every morning as regularly as the post came in.

He was expected in town on the morrow, Tuesday: indeed, Helen had

thought he might perhaps have come to-day. Twelve o'clock on Wednesday,

at Gloucester Place, was the hour fixed for signing the deeds of

settlement: and by twelve o'clock on Thursday, the following day, all

going well, he and Helen would be man and wife.

Amidst the letters waiting on the breakfast-table on Tuesday morning was

one for Helen. Its red seal and crest told whence it came.

"Foliott always seals his letters to Helen," announced Bill for our

information. "And what ill news has that one inside it?" continued he to

his sister. "You look as cross as two sticks, Nelly."

"Just mind your own business," said Helen.

"What time will Captain Foliott be here to-day, my dear?" questioned her

mother.

"He will not be here at all to-day," answered Helen, fractiously. "It's

too bad. He says it is impossible for him to get away by any train, in

time to see us to-night; but he will be here the first thing in the

morning. His mother is worse, and he is anxious about her. People always

fall ill at the wrong time."

"Is Mrs. Foliott coming up to the wedding?" I asked.

"No," said Lady Whitney. "I of course invited her, and she accepted the

invitation; but a week ago she wrote me word she was not well enough to

come. And now, children, what shall we set about first? Oh dear! there

is such a great deal to do and to think of to-day!"

But we had another arrival that day, if we had not Captain Foliott. That

was Mary Seabright, who was to act as bridesmaid with Anna. Brides did

not have a string of maids in those days, as some have in these. Leaving

them to get through their multiplicity of work--which must be connected,

Bill thought, with bonnets and wedding-cake--we went up with Sir John in

a boat to Richmond.

That evening we all dined at Miss Deveen's. It was to be one of the

quietest of weddings; partly by Captain Foliott's express wish, chiefly

because they were not at home at the Hall. Miss Deveen and Miss

Cattledon were to be the only guests besides ourselves and Mary

Seabright, and a Major White who would go to the church with Foliott.

Just twelve of us, all told.

"But where's the bridegroom?" asked Miss Deveen, when we reached her

house.

"He can't get up until late to-night; perhaps not until to-morrow

morning," pouted Helen.

The dinner-table was a downright merry one, and we did not seem

to miss Captain Foliott. Afterwards, when Sir John had made up his

whist-table--with my lady, Miss Deveen, and the grey-haired curate, Mr.

Lake, who had dropped in--we amused ourselves with music and games in

the other room.

"What do you think of the bridegroom, Johnny Ludlow?" suddenly demanded

Miss Cattledon, who had sat down by me. "I hear you saw him at

Malvern."

"Think of him! Oh, he--he is a very fine man; good-looking, and all

that."

"That I have seen for myself," retorted Cattledon, pinching her hands

round her thin waist. "When he was staying in London, two or three weeks

ago, we spent an evening in Gloucester Place. Do you _like_ him?"

She put the "like" so very pointedly, staring into my face at the time,

that I was rather taken aback. I did _not_ like Captain Foliott: but

there was no particular necessity for telling her so.

"I like him--pretty well, Miss Cattledon."

"Well, I do not, Johnny Ludlow. I fancy he has a temper; I'm sure he is

not good-natured; and I--I don't think he'll make a very good husband."

"That will be a pity. Helen is fond of him."

Miss Cattledon coughed significantly. "Is she? Helen is fond of him

in-so-far as that she is eager to be married--all girls are--and the

match with Captain Foliott is an advantageous one. But if you think she

cares for him in any other way, Johnny Ludlow, you are quite mistaken.

Helen Whitney is no more in love with Captain Foliott than you are in

love with me."

At which I laughed.

"Very few girls marry for love," she went on. "They fall in love,

generally speaking, with the wrong person."

"Then what do they marry for?"

"For the sake of being married. With the fear of old-maidism staring

them in the face, they are ready, silly things, to snap at almost any

offer they receive. Go up to Helen Whitney now, tell her she is destined

to live in single blessedness, and she would be ready to fret herself

into a fever. Every girl would not be, mind you: but there are girls and

girls."

Well, perhaps Miss Cattledon was not far wrong. I did not think as she

did then, and laughed again in answer: but I have learned more of the

world and its ways since.

In every corner of the house went Helen's eyes when we got back to

Gloucester Place, but they could not see Captain Foliott. She had been

hoping against hope.