"MARRIED IN HASTE"
I
Among the passengers accompanying Mrs. Craigie on the long voyage to
Southampton was a Lieutenant Thomas James, a debonair young officer of
the Bengal Infantry, who made himself very agreeable to her and with
whom he exchanged many confidences. He was going home on a year's sick
leave; and at the suggestion of his ship-board acquaintance he decided
to spend the first month of it in Bath.
"It's time I settled down," he said. "Who knows, but I might pick up a
wife in Bath and take her back to India with me."
"Who knows," agreed Mrs. Craigie, her match-making instincts aroused.
"Bath is full of pretty girls."
The meeting between mother and daughter developed very differently
from the lines on which she had planned it. Contrary to what she had
expected, Lola did not evince any marked readiness to fall in with
them. Quite undazzled by the prospects of becoming Lady Lumley, and
reclining on Sir Abraham's elderly bosom, she even went so far as to
dub the learned judge a "gouty old rascal," and declared that nothing
would induce her to marry him. Neither reproaches nor arguments had
any effect. Nor would she exhibit the smallest interest in the
trousseau for which (but without her knowledge) lavish orders had been
given.
Poor Mrs. Craigie could scarcely believe her ears. For a daughter to
run counter to the wishes of her mother, and to snap her fingers at
the chance of marrying a "title," was something she had considered
impossible. What on earth were girls coming to, she wondered. Either
the Paris "finishing school" or the Bath air had gone to her head. The
times were out of joint, and the theory that daughters did what they
were told was being rudely upset. It was all very disturbing.
In her astonishment and annoyance, Mrs. Craigie took to her bed.
However, she did not stop there long, for prompt measures had to be
adopted. As it was useless to tackle Sir Jasper Nicolls (whom she held
responsible for the upset to her plans) she sought counsel of somebody
else. This was her military friend, who, as luck would have it, was
still lingering in Bath, where he had evidently discovered some
special attraction. After all, he was a "man of the world" and would
know what to do. Accordingly, she summoned him to a consultation, and
unburdened her mind on the subject of Lola's "oddness."
"Of course, the girl's mad," she declared. "Nothing else would account
for it. Can you imagine any girl in her senses turning up her nose at
such a match? I never heard such rubbish. I'm sure I don't know what
Sir Abraham will say. He expects her to join him in Calcutta by the
end of the year. As a matter of fact, I've already booked her passage.
The wedding is to be from our house there. Something will have to be
done. The question is, what?"
"Leave it to me," was the airy response. "I'll talk to her."
Thomas James did "talk." He talked to some effect, but not at all in
the fashion Mrs. Craigie had intended. Expressing sympathy with Lola,
he declared himself entirely on her side. She was much too young and
pretty and attractive, he said, to dream for an instant of marrying a
man who was old enough to be her grandfather, and bury herself in
India. The idea was ridiculous. He had a much better plan to offer.
When Lola, smiling through her tears, asked him what it was, he said
that she must run away with him and they would get married. Thus the
problem of her future would be solved automatically.
The luxuriant whiskers and dashing air of Lieutenant Thomas James did
their work. Further, the suggestion was just the sort of thing that
happened to heroines in novels. Lola Gilbert, young and romantic and
inexperienced, succumbed. Watching her opportunity, she slipped out of
the house early the next morning. Her lover had a post-chaise in
readiness, and they set off in it for Bristol. There they took the
packet and crossed over to Ireland, where James had relatives, who, he
promised, would look after her until their marriage should be
accomplished.
"Elopement in High Life!" A tit-bit of gossip for the tea-tables and
for the bucks at the clubs. No longer a sleepy hollow. Bath was in the
"news."
It was not until they were gone that Mrs. Craigie discovered what had
happened. Her first reaction was one of furious indignation. This,
however, was natural, for not only had her ambitious project gone
astray, but she had been deceived by the very man she had trusted. It
was more than enough to upset anybody, especially as she was also
confronted with the unpleasant task of writing to Sir Abraham Lumley,
and telling him what had happened. As a result, she announced that she
would "wash her hands" of the pair of them.
While it was one thing to run away, it was, as Lola soon discovered,
another thing to get married. An unexpected difficulty presented
itself, as the parish priest whom they consulted refused to perform
the ceremony for so young a girl without being first assured of her
mother's consent. Mrs. Craigie, erupting tears and threats, declined
to give it. Thereupon, James's married sister, Mrs. Watson, sprang
into the breach and pointed out that "things have gone so far that it
is now too late to draw back, if scandal is to be avoided." The
argument was effective; and, a reluctant consent having been secured,
on July 23, 1837, the "position was regularised" by the
bridegroom's brother, the Rev. John James, vicar of Rathbiggon, County
Meath. "Thomas James, bachelor, Lieutenant, 21st Bengal Native
Infantry, and Rose Anna Gilbert, condition, spinster," was the entry
on the certificate.
[Illustration: _Her Majesty's Theatre, Haymarket, where Lola Montez
made her début_]
After a short honeymoon in Dublin, first at the Shamrock Hotel, and
then in rather squalid lodgings (for cash was not plentiful), Lola was
taken back to her husband's relatives. They lived in a dull Irish
village on the edge of a peat bog, where the young bride found
existence very boring. Then, too, when the glamour of the elopement
had dimmed, it was obvious that her action in running away from Bath
had been precipitate. Thomas, for all his luxuriant whiskers and dash,
was, she reflected sadly, "nothing but the outside shell of a man,
with neither a brain that she could respect nor a heart she could
love." A sorry awakening from the dreams in which she had indulged. As
a matter of fact, they had nothing in common. The husband, who was
sixteen years his wife's senior, cared for little but hunting and
drinking, and Lola's tastes were mainly for dancing and flirting.
It was in Dublin, where, much to her satisfaction, her spouse was
ordered on temporary duty, that she discovered a ready outlet for
these activities.
"Dear dirty Dublin" was, to Lola's way of thinking, a vast improvement
on Rathbiggon. At any rate, there was "society," smart young officers
and rising politicians, instead of clodhopping squireens and village
boors, to talk to, and shops where the new fashions could be examined,
and theatres with real London actors and actresses. If only she had
had a little money to spend, she would have been perfectly happy. But
Tom James had nothing beyond his pay, which scarcely kept him in
cheroots and car fares. Still, this did not prevent him running up
debts.
The Lord Lieutenant of Ireland at that period was the Earl of Mulgrave
("the Elegant Mulgrave"), afterwards Marquess of Normanby. A great
admirer of pretty women, and fond of exercising the Viceregal
privilege of kissing attractive débutantes, the drawing-rooms at the
Castle were popular functions under his regime. He showed young Mrs.
James much attention. The aides-de-camp, prominent among whom were
Bernal Osborne and Francis Sheridan, followed the example thus set
them by their chief; and tickets for balls and concerts and
dinner-parties and drums and routs were showered upon her.
Thinking that these compliments and attentions were being overdone,
Lieutenant James took them amiss and elected to become jealous. He
talked darkly of "calling out" one of his wife's admirers. But before
there could be any early morning pistol-play in the Phoenix Park, an
unexpected solution offered itself. Trouble was suddenly threatened on
the Afghan frontier; and, in the summer of 1837, all officers on leave
from India were ordered to rejoin their regiments. Welcoming the
prospect of thus renewing her acquaintance with a country of which she
still had pleasant memories, Lola set to work to pack her trunks.
If she had followed the advice of a certain "travellers' handbook,"
written by Miss Emma Roberts, that was then very popular, she must
have had a considerable amount of baggage. Thus, according to this
authority, the "List of Necessaries for a Lady on a Voyage from
England to India" included, among other items, the following articles:
"72 chemises; 36 nightcaps; 70 pocket-handkerchiefs; 30 pairs of
drawers (or combinations, at choice); 15 petticoats; 60 pairs of
stockings; 45 pairs of gloves; at least 20 dresses of different
texture; 12 shawls and parasols; and 3 bonnets and 15 morning caps,
together with biscuits and preserves at discretion, and a dozen boxes
of aperient pills." Nothing omitted. Provision for all contingencies.
Officers were also required to provide themselves with an elaborate
outfit. Thus, the list recommended in the _East India Voyage_ gives,
among other necessary items, "72 calico shirts; 60 pairs of stockings;
18 pairs of drawers; 24 pairs of gloves; and 20 pairs of trousers";
together with uniform, saddlery, and camp equipment; and such odds
and ends as "60 lbs. of wax candles and several bottles of ink."
Nothing, however, about red-tape.
A helpful hint furnished by Miss Roberts was that "A lady on
ship-board, spruced up for the Park or the Opera, would only be an
object of ridicule to her experienced companions. Frippery which would
be discarded in England is often useful in India. Members of my sex,"
she adds, "who have to study economy, can always secure bargains by
acquiring at small cost items of fashion which, while outmoded in
London, will be new enough by the time they reach Calcutta."
A lady with such sound views on managing the domestic budget as Miss
Emma Roberts should not have remained long in single blessedness.
II
Those were not the days of ocean greyhounds, covering the distance
between England and India in a couple of weeks. Nor was there then any
Suez Canal route to shorten the long miles that had to be traversed.
Thus, when Lola and her spouse embarked from England in an East
Indiaman, the voyage took nearly five months to accomplish, with calls
at Madeira, St. Helena, and the Cape, before the welcome cry, "Land
Ahead!" was heard and anchor was dropped at Calcutta.
Lola's first acquaintance with India's coral strand had been made as a
child of five. Now she was returning as a married woman. Yet she was
scarcely eighteen. She did not stop in Calcutta long, for her
husband's regiment was in the Punjaub, and a peremptory message from
the brigadier required him to rejoin as soon as possible. It was at
Kurnaul (as it was then spelled) that Lola began her experience of
garrison life. Among the other officers she met there was a young
subaltern of the Bengal Artillery, who, in the years to come, was to
make a name for himself as "Lawrence of Lucknow."
The year 1838 was, for both the Company's troops and the Queen's Army,
an eventful one where India was concerned. During the spring Lord
Auckland, the newly-appointed Governor-General, hatched the foolish
and ill-conceived policy which led to the first Afghan war. His idea
(so far as he had one) was, with the help of Brown Bess and British
bayonets, to replace Dost Muhammed, who had sat on the throne there
for twenty years without giving any real trouble, by an incompetent
upstart of his own nomination, Shah Shuja.
Lieutenant James's regiment, the 21st Bengal Native Infantry, was
among those selected to join the expeditionary force appointed to
"uphold the prestige of the British Raj"; and, as was the custom at
that time, Lola, mounted on an elephant (which she shared with the
colonel's better half), and followed by a train of baggage camels and
a pack of foxhounds complete, accompanied her husband to the frontier.
The other ladies included Mrs. McNaghten and Mrs. Robert Sale and the
Governor-General's two daughters. It is just possible that Macaulay
had a glimpse of Lola, for a contemporary letter says that "he turned
out to wish the party farewell."
The "Army of the Indus" was given a good send off by a loyal native
prince, Ranjeet Singh (the "Lion of the Punjaub"), who, on their march
up country, entertained the column in a rest-camp at Lahore with "showy
pageants and gay doings," among which were nautch dances, cock-fights,
and theatricals. He meant well, no doubt, but he contrived to upset a
chaplain, who declared himself shocked that a "bevy of dancing
prostitutes should appear in the presence of the ladies of the family of
a British Governor-General." Judging from a luscious account that Lola
gives of a big durbar, to which all the officers and their wives were
bidden, these strictures were not unjustifiable. Thus, after Lord
Auckland ("in sky blue inexpressibles") and his host had delivered
patriotic speeches (with florid allusions to the "British Raj," the
"Sahib Log," and the "Great White Queen," and all the rest of it) gifts
were distributed among the assembled company. Some of these were of an
embarrassing description, since they took the form of "beautiful
Circassian slave maidens, covered with very little beyond precious
gems." To the obvious annoyance, however, of a number of prospective
recipients, "the Rajah was officially informed that English custom and
military regulations alike did not permit Her Majesty's warriors to
accept such tokens of goodwill."
But, if they could not receive them, the guests had to make presents
in turn, and Ranjeet Singh for his part had no qualms about accepting
them. With true Oriental politeness, and "without moving a muscle," he
registered rapture at a "miscellaneous collection of imitation gold
and silver trinkets and rusty old pistols offered him on behalf of the
Honourable East India Company."
A correspondent of the _Calcutta Englishman_ was much impressed. "The
particular gift," he says, "before which the Maharajah bent with the
devotion of a _preux chevalier_ was a full-length portrait of our
gracious little Queen, from the brush of the Hon. Miss Eden herself."
In a letter from Lord Auckland's military secretary, the Hon. William
Osborne, there is an account of these doings at Lahore:
Ranjeet has entertained us all most handsomely. No one in
the camp is allowed to purchase a single thing; and a list
is sent round twice a week in which you put down just what
you require, and it is furnished at his expense. It costs
him 25,000 rupees a day. Nothing could exceed his liberality
and friendship during the whole of the Governor-General's
visit.
A second durbar, held at Simla, was accompanied by much florid
imagery, all of which had to be interpreted for the benefit of Lord
Auckland. "It took a quarter of an hour," says his sister, "to satisfy
him about the Maharajah's health, and to ascertain that the roses had
bloomed in the garden of friendship, and the nightingales had sung in
the bowers of affection sweeter than ever since the two Powers had
approached each other."
The Afghan campaign, as ill conceived as it was ill carried out,
followed its appointed course. That is to say, it was punctuated by
"regrettable incidents" and quarrels among the generals (two of whom,
Sir Henry Fane and Sir John Keane, were not on speaking terms); and,
with the Afghans living to fight another day, a "success for British
arms" was announced. Thereupon, the column returned to India, bands
playing, elephants trumpeting a salute, and guns thundering a welcome.
"The war," declared His Excellency (who had received an earldom) in an
official despatch, "is all over." Unfortunately, however, it was all
over Afghanistan, with the result that there had to be another
campaign in the following year. This time, not even Lord Auckland's
imagination could call it "successful."
"There will be a great deal of prize money," was the complacent
fashion in which Miss Eden summed up the situation. "Another man has
been put on the Khelat throne, so that business is finished." But it
was not finished. It was only just beginning. "Within six months,"
says Edward Thompson, "Khelat was recaptured by a son of the slain
Khan, Lord Auckland's puppet ejected, and the English commander of the
garrison murdered."
Although the expedition that followed was the subject of a highly
eulogistic despatch from the Commander-in-Chief and the big-wigs at
headquarters, a number of "regrettable incidents" were officially
admitted. As a result, a regiment of Light Cavalry was disbanded, "as
a punishment for poltroonery in the hour of trial and the dastards
struck off the Army List."
Later on, when Lord Ellenborough was Governor-General, a bombastic
memorandum, addressed "To all the Princes and Chiefs and People of
India," was issued by him:
"Our victorious army bears the gates of the Temple of Somnauth in
triumph from Afghanistan, and the despoiled tomb of Sultan Mahmood
looks down upon the ruins of Ghuznee. The insult of 800 years is at
last avenged!
"To you I shall commit this glorious trophy of successful war. You
will yourselves with all honour transmit the gates of sandalwood to
the restored Temple of Somnauth.
"May that good Providence, which has hitherto so manifestly protected
me, still extend to me its favour, that I may so use the power
entrusted to my hands to advance your prosperity and happiness by
placing the union of our two countries upon foundations that may
render it eternal."
There was a good deal more in a similar style, for his lordship loved
composing florid despatches. But this one had a bad reception when it
was sent home to England. "At this puerile piece of business," says
the plain spoken Stocqueler, "the commonsense of the British community
at large revolted. The ministers of religion protested against it as a
most unpardonable homage to an idolatrous temple. Ridiculed by the
Press of India and England, and laughed at by the members of his own
party in Parliament, Lord Ellenborough halted the gates at Agra, and
postponed the completion of the monstrous folly he had more than begun
to perpetrate."
Severe as was this criticism, it was not unmerited. Ellenborough's
theatrical bombast, like that of Napoleon at the Pyramids, recoiled
upon him, bringing a hornets' nest about his own ears and leading to
his recall. As a matter of fact, too, the gates which he held in such
reverence were found to be replicas of the pair that the Sultan
Mahmood had pilfered from Somnauth; and were not of sandalwood at all,
but of common deal.
III
While following the drum from camp to camp and from station to
station, Lola spent several months in Bareilly, a town that was
afterwards to play an important part in the Mutiny. Colonel Durand, an
officer who was present when the city was captured in 1858, says that
the bungalow she occupied there was destroyed. Yet, the mutineers, he
noticed, had spared the bath house that had been built for her in the
compound.
During the hot weather of 1839, young Mrs. James, accompanied by her
husband, went off to Simla for a month on a visit to her mother, who,
yielding to pressure, had at last held out the olive-branch. The
welcome, however--except from Captain Craigie, who still had a warm
corner in his heart for her--was somewhat frigid.
There is a reference to this visit in _Up the Country_, a once popular
book by Lord Auckland's sister, the Hon. Emily Eden. Following the coy
fashion of the period, however, she always refrained from giving a
name in full, but would merely allude to people as "Colonel A," "Mr.
B," "Mrs. C," and "Miss D," etc. Still, the identities of "Mrs. J" and
"Mrs. C" in this extract are clear enough:
_September 8, 1839._
Simla is much moved just now by the arrival of a Mrs. J, who
has been talked of as a great beauty all the year, and that
drives every other woman quite distracted.... Mrs. J is the
daughter of a Mrs. C, who is still very handsome herself,
and whose husband is deputy-adjutant-general, or some
military authority of that kind. She sent this only child to
be educated at home, and went home herself two years ago to
see her. In the same ship was Mr. J, a poor ensign, going
home on sick leave. He told her he was engaged to be
married, consulted her about his prospects, and in the
meantime privately married this child at school. It was
enough to provoke any mother; but, as it now cannot be
helped, we have all been trying to persuade her for the last
year to make it up. She has withstood it till now, but at
last has consented to ask them for a month, and they arrived
three days ago.
The rush on the road was remarkable. But nothing could be
more satisfactory than the result, for Mrs. J looked
lovely, and Mrs. C has set up for her a very grand jonpaun,
with bearers in fine orange and brown liveries; and J is a
sort of smart-looking man with bright waistcoats and bright
teeth, with a showy horse, and he rode along in an attitude
of respectful attention to _ma belle mère_. Altogether, it
was an imposing sight, and I cannot see any way out of it
but magnanimous admiration.
During this visit to Simla the couple were duly bidden to dine at
Auckland House, on Elysium Hill, where they met His Excellency.
"We had a dinner yesterday," wrote their hostess. "Mrs. J is
undoubtedly very pretty, and such a merry unaffected girl. She is only
seventeen now, and does not look so old; and when one thinks that she
is married to a junior lieutenant in the Indian Army, fifteen years
older than herself, and that they have 160 rupees a month, and are to
pass their whole lives in India, I do not wonder at Mrs. C's
resentment at her having run away from school."
Writing to Lady Teresa Lister in England, Miss Eden gives an
entertaining account of Simla at this date:
Everybody has been pleased and amused, except the two
clergymen who are here, and who have begun a course of
sermons against what they call a destructive torrent of
worldly gaiety. They had much better preach against the
destructive torrent of rain which has now set in for the
next three months, and not only washes away all gaiety, but
all the paths, in the literal sense, which lead to it.... I
do not count Simla as any grievance--nice climate, beautiful
place, constant fresh air, plenty of fleas, not much
society, everything that is desirable.
In another letter, this indefatigable correspondent remarks:
Here, society is not much trouble, nor much anything else.
We give sundry dinners and occasional balls, and have hit
upon one popular device. Our band plays twice a week on one
of the hills here, and we send ices and refreshments to the
listeners, and it makes a nice little reunion with very
little trouble.
* * * * *
A further reference to the amenities of Government House at Simla
during the Aucklands' regime is instructive, as showing that it was
not a case of all work and no play:
There are about ninety-six ladies here whose husbands are gone to the
wars, and about twenty-six gentlemen--at least, there will, with good
luck, be about that number. We have a very dancing set of
aides-de-camp just now, and they are utterly desperate at the notion
of our having no balls. I suppose we must begin on one in a fortnight;
but it will be difficult, and there are several young ladies here with
whom some of our gentlemen are much smitten. As they will have no
rivals here, I am horribly afraid the flirtations may become serious,
and then we shall lose some active aides-de-camp, and they will find
themselves on ensign's pay with a wife to keep. However, they _will_
have these balls, so it is not my fault.
* * * * *
After she had left Simla and its round of gaieties, Lola was to have
another meeting with the hospitable Aucklands. This took place in camp
at Kurnaul, "a great ugly cantonment, all barracks and dust and guns
and soldiers." Miss Eden, who was accompanying her brother on a tour
through the district, wrote to her sister in England:
_November 13, 1839._
We were at home in the evening, and it was an immense party;
but, except that pretty Mrs. J, who was at Simla, and who
looked like a star among the others, the women were all
plain.
[Illustration: _Benjamin Lumley. Lessee of Her Majesty's Theatre_]
A couple of days later, she added some further particulars:
We left Kurnaul yesterday morning. Little Mrs. J was so
unhappy at our going that we asked her to come and pass
the day here, and brought her with us. She went from tent to
tent and chattered all day and visited her friend, Mrs. M,
who is with the camp. I gave her a pink silk gown, and it
was altogether a very happy day for her evidently. It ended
in her going back to Kurnaul on my elephant, with E.N. by
her side, and Mr. J sitting behind. She had never been on an
elephant before, and thought it delightful.
She is very pretty, and a good little thing apparently. But
they are very poor, and she is very young and lively, and if
she falls into bad hands, she would laugh herself into
foolish scrapes. At present the husband and wife are very
fond of each other, but a girl who marries at fifteen hardly
knows what she likes.
When she wrote this passage, Miss Eden might have been a Sibyl, for
her words were to become abundantly true.
IV
Except when on active service, officers of the Company's Army were not
overworked. Everything was left to the sergeants and corporals; and,
while Thomas Atkins and Jack Sepoy trudged in the dust and sweated and
drilled in their absurd stocks and tight tunics, the commissioned
ranks, lolling in barracks, killed the long hours as they pleased.
Following form, Captain James (the Afghan business had brought him a
step in rank) did a certain amount of tiger-shooting and pig-sticking,
and a good deal of brandy-swilling, combined with card-playing and
gambling. As a husband, he was not a conspicuous success. "He slept,"
complained Lola, feeling herself neglected, "like a boa-constrictor,"
and, during the intervals of wakefulness, "drank too much porter." The
result was, there were quarrels, instead of love-making, for they both
had tempers.
"Runaway matches, like runaway horses," Lola had once written, "are
almost sure to end in a smash-up." In this case there was a
"smash-up," for Tom James was not always sleeping and drinking. He had
other activities. If fond of a glass, he was also fond of a lass. The
one among them for whom he evinced a special fondness was a Mrs.
Lomer, the wife of a brother officer, the adjutant of his regiment.
His partiality was reciprocated.
One morning when, without any suspicion of what was in store for them,
Mrs. James and Adjutant Lomer sat down to their _chota-hazree_, two
members of the accustomed breakfast party were missing. Enquiries
having been set on foot, the fact was elicited that Captain James and
Mrs. Lomer had gone out for an early ride. It must have been a long
one, thought the camp, as they did not appear at dinner that evening.
Messengers sent to look for them came back with a disturbing report.
This was to the effect that the couple had slipped off to the Nilgiri
Hills and had decided to stop there.
The next morning a panting native brought a letter from the errant
lady addressed to her furious spouse. This missive is (without
explaining how he got it) reproduced by an American journalist, T.
Everett Harré, in a series of articles, _The Heavenly Sinner_: "I
suggest," runs an extract, "you come to your senses and give me my
freedom ... I am going with a man of parts who knows how to give a
woman the attentions she craves, and is himself glad to shake off a
young chit of a wife who is too brainless to appreciate him."
A first-class sensation. The entire cantonment throbbed and buzzed
with excitement. The colonel fumed; the adjutant cursed; and there was
talk of bringing the Don Juan Captain James to a court-martial for
"conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman." But Lola, as was her
custom, took it philosophically, doubtless reflecting that she was
well rid of a spouse for whom she no longer cared, and went back to
her mother in Calcutta.
Mrs. Craigie's maternal heart-strings should have been wrung by the
unhappy position of her daughter. They were not wrung. The clandestine
marriage, with the upsetting of her own plans, still rankled and
remained unforgiven and unforgotten. As a result, when she asked for
shelter and sympathy, Lola received a very frigid welcome. Her
step-father, however, took her part, and declared that his bungalow
was open to her until other arrangements could be made for her future.
Not being possessed of much imagination, his idea was that she should
leave India temporarily and stop for a few months in Scotland with his
brother, Mr. David Craigie, a man of substance and Provost of Perth.
After an interval for reflection there, he felt that the differences
of opinion that had arisen between her husband and herself would
become adjusted, and the young couple resume marital relations.
Accordingly, he wrote to his brother, asking him to meet her when she
arrived in London and escort her to Perth.
Lola, however, while professing complete agreement, had other views as
to her future. She wanted neither a reconciliation with her husband
nor a second experience of life with the Craigie family in Scotland.
One such had been more than sufficient, but she was careful not to
breathe a word on the subject. She kept her own counsel, and matured
her own plans.