It was five o'clock on a June evening; a day of tropical heat had
almost prostrated London, and many people were in the Park, strolling
slowly to and fro, or sitting on penny chairs, watching the crowds near
the Achilles statue. Among these lookers-on were Sir Horace Haig and
his nephew, recently returned from India on sick leave. Sir Horace's
little blue eyes peered forth from beneath their shaggy brows, with
an even fiercer intentness than of old, as he leant on his cane,
and delivered criticisms on those unfortunates who passed along the
surrounding brown grass.
"I say, see these smart women!" he growled, "Mrs. Blynne and her
daughter--flaunting in French frocks. I'll swear they live in two
rooms, and have not a stiver over three hundred a year. How the dickens
do they do it?"
"Credit," muttered his companion.
"Bah! widows with small incomes don't get _that_. It's my belief she is
going to induce that old fool, Montlevi, to marry her."
"I am sure I haven't the smallest objection," drawled Captain Haig.
"And here comes Lady Tracy-Fleet, with her two little girls on show,
quite the pattern matron! and I happen to know that she lost eight
hundred pounds one night last week at bridge. There is Leoni and his
daughter; she will have a great fortune. Eh, Malcolm? rather dark, but
you can't have everything!" But Malcolm made no reply; he was gravely
considering his boots.
"Hallo!" exclaimed his uncle after a pause; "I say, do you remember
that girl at Homburg--Miss Chandos, the heiress? Why, of course you
do--you were rather gone in that quarter, eh?--old woman left her
nothing, and she went to India and got mixed up with a lot of shady
people."
"Yes; what about her?"
"Why, she is over there! and coming this way, with Lord Sombourne and
Lady Ida Eustace."
Malcolm ceased to lounge and contemplate his favourite pair of boots,
and instantly sat up erect and alert.
Yes; walking with measured ease between a tall, aristocratic old man
and a tall, aristocratic woman, he beheld Verona. She wore a long,
flowing white gown, a black hat, and carried in her hand a dainty pink
parasol. She looked lovely!
"So it turned out that she was Sombourne's grand-daughter," resumed Sir
Horace, "daughter of that Lady Vera, who made a bolt of it instead of
marrying Sir Job Gilderman. Lord, what a hub-bub! I remember it like
yesterday. The girl has not lost her looks, and, by all accounts, she
will have a good fortune. I say, what do you think?"
"Oh, I think I'm going to speak to her," replied his nephew, who had
risen to his feet, yielding to an impulse he only half understood.
"All right; don't mind me."
Captain Haig walked a few paces across the turf and confronted Verona,
and swept off his hat.
"Oh, Captain Haig, how do you do?" she exclaimed. "I did not know you
were at home."
"I arrived a month ago--sick certificate."
"Let me introduce you to my aunt, Lady Ida Eustace--my grandfather,
Lord Sombourne."
What a different class to the former family to which she had made him
known!
"I believe we met in India," said Lady Ida, offering her five and
three-quarter hand. "Positively this has been a real Indian day; we
came out for a breath of air and are just going home to tea, close by.
Will you join us?"
Captain Haig accepted the invitation with flattering alacrity, and
presently fell behind with the young lady. As they passed close to Sir
Horace that gentleman made a quick little sign to his nephew, as much
as to say:
"Bless you, my children!"
Lord Sombourne's town house was spacious, imposing, and at the present
moment delightfully cool and dim. Tea was served in a lofty drawing
room, lined with priceless old tapestry, and opening out of which was a
conservatory full of palms and tropical plants, cooled by a splashing
fountain. Here indeed was a home in every way worthy of Miss Verona;
and as Captain Haig furtively surveyed the powdered servants, the Queen
Anne silver, the rare old Sèvres service, all his former admiration
for his Princess suddenly flamed into life! He felt convinced that she
was the one woman in the world for him. There had been a temporary
interregnum, but no one had been exalted to the throne! Yes, he assured
himself--he had always been true to her. Could he persuade _her_ to
believe this?
After tea Lady Ida, having excused herself to write a note, departed
into the front drawing room, and the pair were alone.
"It is hot enough, as Lady Ida says, to recall India!" exclaimed
Captain Haig as he passed a delicate silk handkerchief over his
forehead. "I don't suppose you care to be reminded of anything out
there! It must be all like a bad dream."
"Oh, I don't know," she responded; "there were some good days, and I
made some good friends."
"The Lepells, for instance."
"Yes; I came home with Mrs. Lepell."
"And so you were not a Chandos after all!"
"No; I have had a most varied circle of connections, and now I belong
at last to my real relations."
"I cannot somehow call you Miss Hargreaves."
"To tell the truth I have hardly got accustomed to it myself!" and she
laughed.
"I was always so puzzled--I may say dumbfounded. You were so utterly
different to Pussy and Dominga. Dom appalled me."
"Did she?--and now," looking at him with a mischievous smile, she
added, "_you_ are connected with her--and I am not!"
"Yes; and do you know, she is quite a success!--has swept the old
Lord straight off his legs, and my uncle, Sir Horace, is actually
enslaved! I say," he added, leaning towards her, and lowering his voice
mysteriously--"_they don't know_."
"No? I used to be dreadfully prejudiced; now I am not. I agree with Mr.
Salwey that a slight mixture of Eastern blood is not a disadvantage."
"Salwey! By the way, that reminds me, I saw the death of his father in
this evening's paper."
"Really!" she exclaimed, and her colour deepened. After a pause she
added, "It must have been rather sudden."
"I cannot say--I am sure," he rejoined indifferently. "I believe it is
a fine property, and I am glad poor old Salwey will get his innings at
last. It will make a great difference to him. What do you think?"
"Yes," drawing a long breath, "and it will make a great difference to
me!"
"Why," he asked, "should it affect you?"
"Because I need not now return to India."
"Then--then," he stammered, "I gather that you and Salwey are engaged."
"It is true," she answered softly, "though not yet announced in the
_Morning Post_, and I tell you as an old friend. He is on his way home."
"Oh, Miss Hargreaves! I--of course--wish you every happiness, but this
is very terrible news to me."
"To you? I don't quite understand," she said sedately.
"You know very well how long I have been attached to you, don't you?
And now I'm too late. Do you realise what brought me to England?"
"Sick leave, I think you said."
"Home-sick leave. I wanted to see _you_."
"Now, Captain Haig, please don't be so tragic!" she exclaimed with a
touch of impatience, "you know very well that in your heart of hearts
you did not care so very much for me. You will soon forget all about
Homburg, and I will forget all about India, and so we will be quits,
and, I trust, good friends."
"I am sure you two must have had quite a nice Indian gossip!" said Lady
Ida, sweeping into the room, note in hand; "I suppose you have been
going over all your mutual experiences out there?"
"I--I--suppose we have," assented the visitor mechanically.
"I daresay you know Mr. Salwey?"
"Yes; we were at Harrow together. I was his fag, and he used to lick me
for not cleaning his boots! I also knew him in India."
"He is on his way home now."
"So I hear," rising as he spoke. "Well, I am afraid I ought to be on my
way home too. I am staying down the river."
"I hope you will come and look us up again, and meet your old
school-fellow," said Lady Ida. "You will generally find us here at
tea-time. We are always glad to see Verona's friends."
"Oh, thank you very much." Then he suddenly shook hands, gave the young
lady one glance, and without another word took his departure. Presently
the door below was heard to slam.
Verona went to the balcony, and gazed after the retreating figure. He
walked rapidly for an invalid--his quick footfall had an impatient
ring--and as he passed out of sight she heaved a little sigh.
"My dear child! what is the meaning of this?" enquired her aunt,
placing two hands heavily on her shoulders, "gazing after a young man,
and sighing like--I don't know what!"
"I am only looking after him--to see the last of an old love affair."
"What a funny girl you are!"
"That was what Mrs. Chandos used to say."
"Pray, don't mention that odious woman. And Brian--what would he say?"
"I adore Brian; I would not marry anyone else for the whole world, but
really you must allow me to be a little sorry for the--other young man!"
"Because you will not be his wife!" exclaimed Lady Ida, with dancing
eyes. "What a pretty, conceited niece!" and she kissed her with
effusion.
* * * * *
Dominga and Pussy are married; so also, to the surprise of her friends,
is Lizzie Trotter, and there are some changes at Manora. For instance,
Mr. Lepell is at home, and Mr. Watkin officiates as a somewhat pompous
regent, with Mrs. Watkin as his insufferable consort. The Chandos
bungalow still stands empty, and the squirrels share the verandah with
the sparrows and the crows. Unmindful of the drowsy Chokedar, they race
along the flags or execute gymnastic feats in the lattice work with
many a "Chir--ip--pip--pip--pip." Pretty little creatures, with sleek
bodies and bushy barred tails.
One of the squirrels has a bit of faded ribbon round his neck--he is
very tame. No, Johnny has not forgotten! at a sudden footfall, he will
start and listen. When the house is open, he scours through all the
rooms; in a certain window he is often to be seen for hours watching
and waiting.
Alas, faithful little heart! your hopes are never to be realised. Other
steps and other voices may come and go within the Chandos bungalow--but
Verona will never return.
THE END.
* * * * *
_Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey._
[Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation left as printed.]
* * * * *
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME
Madame Albanesi
Drusilla's Point of View
Marian Sax
A Question of Quality
The Strongest of all Things
A Young Man from the Country
Alice and Claude Askew
Destiny
M. E. Braddon
The White House
During Her Majesty's Pleasure
Mrs. B. M. Croker
Her Own People
The Youngest Miss Mowbray
The Company's Servant
Jessie Fothergill
A March in the Ranks
Cosmo Hamilton
The Infinite Capacity
E. W. Hornung
Peccavi
Justin Huntly McCarthy
The God of Love
The Illustrious O'Hagan
Needles and Pins
Mary E. Mann
Moonlight
Charles Marriott
The Intruding Angel
Mrs. Oliphant
The Cuckoo in the Nest
It was a Lover and His Lass
Janet
Agnes
William Le Queux
The Man from Downing Street
Mrs. Baillie Reynolds
The Ides of March
"Rita"
The Seventh Dream
Adeline Sergeant
Kitty Holden
A Soul Apart
Jacobi's Wife
Beatrice Whitby
Bequeathed
Percy White
Colonel Daveron
The House of Intrigue
Mrs. C. N. Williamson
The Turnstile of Night
The Silent Battle
HURST AND BLACKETT'S
7d. COPYRIGHT NOVELS.