blowing his cigar smoke away into the forest, to mix with the mist wreaths that were curling up from the soft ground. It was an offence of the

well-made road, but Rorie hated riding in a br

me my dog-cart?” he ask

ations savoured of the Regency: its furniture was old-fashioned, without being antique. The classic stiffness and straightness of the First French Empire distinguished the gilded chairs and tables in the drawing-room. There we

t-houses made amends. She was a profound horticulturist, and spent half her income on orchids and rare new

to her son, excusing herself for these extravagances. “I have no talent for music, painting, or poetry,

e curate at the little Gothic church, down in the tiny village in a hollow of the wooded hills, did not appeal to Lady Jane in his necessities for church or parish. She subscribed handsomely to all orthodox well-established charities, but was not prone to accidental benevolence. Nobody ever disappointed her when she gave a dinner, or omitted the duty-call afterwards; but she had no unceremonious gatherings, no gossipy kettle-drums, no hastily-arranged

m, with whom he had been discussing Lady Jane’s virtues; “but if a fellow could

land in Great Britain. Of Lord Lodway’s nine children, five were daughters, and of these Lady Jane was the eldest and the handsomest. Even in her nursery she had a very distinct notion that, for her, marriage meant promotion. She used to play at being married at St. George’s, Hanover Square, and would never consent to have the ceremony performed by lees than two bishops; even though the part of one hierarch had to be represented by the nursery hearth-broom. In due course Lady Jane Umleigh made her début in soc

and a dean, Jenny, if the Marquis comes to the scratch soon aft

lay-weddings of Lady Jane’s, very often

d Strishfogel had promised to come to Heron’s Nest, Lord Lodway’s place in the Wolds, for the grouse-shooting; but instead of keeping his promise, this erratic young peer went off to the Golden Horn, to race his yacht against the vessel of a great Turkish official. This was Lady Jane Umleigh’s first disappointment. She had liked Lord Strishfogel just well enough to fancy herself deeply

mery seas, and indulging in harmless flirtations with dusky princesses, whose chief attire was made of shells and flowers, and whose untutored dancing was more vigorous than refined. At the end of that second s

lately distinguished himself by some rather clever speeches in the House of Commons. His estate was worth fifteen thousand a year, and he was altogether a man of some

ane’s seemed to his mind the perfection of womanly grace. Here was a wife for a man to adore upon his knees,

dy Lodway urged with some iteration upon their daughter — but it would have been a terrible descent from the ideal marriage which Lady Jane had set up in her own mind, as the proper prize for so fair a runner in life’s race. She had imagined herself a marchioness, wit

rimonial market, and were inclined to regard Lady Jane as an “old shopkeeper,” but

her bird in a single season. She went home to Heron’s Nest a duchess in embryo. The Duke of Dovedale, a bulky, middle-aged nobleman, with a passion for fieldsports and high farming, had seen Lady Sophia riding a dangerous horse in Rotten Row, and had been so charmed by her management of the brute, as to become from that hour

nk that I shall be sitting in ermine robes in the House of Lords, while she is peeping through the nasty iron

elighted surprise, was accepted. Anything was better than standing out in the cold while the ducal engagement was absorbing everybody’s thoughts and conversation. Lady Sophia had boasted, in that playful way of h

nation for the man himself that had bidden her reject him. He was clever, distinguished, and he lo

Here were two daughters disposed of; and if the beauty had made the inferior match, it was only on

e’s childish desire was gratified. There were two bishops at the ceremony. True t

ow could waft strength or vitality to those feeble lungs. At thirty the Duchess of Dovedale had lost all her babies, save one frail sapling, a girl of two years old, who promised to have a somewhat better constitution than her perished brothers and sisters. On this small paragon the Duchess concentrated her cares and hopes. She gave up hunting — much to the disgust of that Nimrod, her husband — in order to superintend her nursery. From the most pleasure-loving of matrons, she became the most domestic. Lady Mabel Ashbourne was to grow up the perfection of health, wisdom, and beauty, under the mother’s loving care. She would have a great fortune, for there was a considerable portion of the Duke’s property which he was free to bequeath to his daughter. He had coal-pits in the North, and a tin-mine in the West. He had a house at Kensington which he had bui

an important figure in the senate, and had been on the eve of entering the cabinet as Colonial Secretary, when d

ajority. Upon that only child Lady Jane lavished all her care, but did not squander the wealth of her affection. Perhaps her capacity for loving had died with her husband. She had been proud and fond of him, but she was not proud of the little boy in

s the result of his latest fight. He spent a good deal of money, and in a manner that to his mother’s calm sense appeared simply idiotic. His hands were always grubby, his nails wore almost perpetual mourning, his boots were an outrage upon good taste, and he generally left a track of muddy foot-marks behind him along the crimson-carpeted corridors. What could any mother do for such a boy, except tolerate him? Love was out of the que

t of the world, and sighed, and loved her nephew better than ever his mother had loved him since his babyhood. When the Dovedales were at their place in the Forest, Roderick almost lived with them; or, at any rate, divided his time between Ashbourne Park and the Abbey House, and spent as little of his life at home as he could. He patronised Lady, Mabel, who was his junior by five years, rode her thorou

peerage, almost as a right; but his mother would have had him deserve it. With this idea Lady Jane urged on her son’s education. All his Hampshire friends called him clever, but he won no laurels at school. Lady Jane sent for grinders and had the boy ground; but all the grinding could not grind a love of classics or metaphysics into this free son of the forest. He went to Oxford, and got himself ploughed for his Little Go,