: Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature Science and Art Fifth Series No. 48 Vol. I November 29 1884 by Various - Periodicals

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ce to place, and seemed bent upon seeing all that there was to be seen. Jules kept a furtive eye upon him at meal-times, but not the slightest sign of recognition passed between the two men.

When Clarice got back to the hotel on the evening of the picnic, she found a telegram from Archie awaiting her. 'Governor not yet to hand,' ran the message. 'Probably fatigue of travelling has been too much for him. May have broken journey somewhere. Can only await his arrival. Hope he will turn up in the morning. Will telegraph again to-morrow.'

Clarice handed the telegram to Mr Etheridge. That gentleman read it slowly and carefully, and handed it back with a smile. 'I think it very likely, as Mr Archie suggests, that Sir William has broken his journey,' he observed. 'But I have long thought that Sir William fancies himself more of an invalid than he really is, and that if he chose to exert himself a little more, it might perhaps be all the better for his health. But there is no accounting for the whims of these rich people. I sometimes think that a little poverty would be a good thing for some of them.'

There was more cynicism in this speech than in any that Clarice had hitherto heard from the old gentleman's lips. But it was not in her province to make any reply to it. She had never even seen Sir William, whereas Mr Etheridge had known him for years.

When not with her sister--and Mora seemed to prefer to be as much alone as possible--Clarice spent most of her time with the old man. She could talk to him about Archie, whom he seemed to have known from childhood, and could listen with unfailing interest to all that he had to tell about the eccentric baronet; while Mr Etheridge seemed quite as fond of her society as she was of his. No message, either by telegram or letter, had yet arrived for him, but he never failed to ransack the letter-rack three or four times a day. 'We can only wait,' he said once or twice to Clarice, as he turned from the rack with that faint, patient smile which she was beginning to know so well. 'Sir William is a man who can never bear to be hurried in anything.'

'Just like Sir William--just like him; I'm not a bit surprised,' was Mr Etheridge's curt comment when he had read the telegram.

'He must indeed be a singular man,' said Clarice. Then her eyes began to sparkle, and a lovely colour flushed her cheeks. 'Perhaps by this time to-morrow Archie may be back again,' she said, more as if speaking to herself than addressing Mr Etheridge.

In the course of these two days Colonel Woodruffe and Mr Etheridge met more than once. They talked together, walking side by side on the lawn of the hotel. The chief part of the talking, however, seemed to be done by the colonel, his companion's share of it being mostly confined to 'Yes' or 'No,' a confirmatory nod of the head, or now and then a brief question.

When Lady Renshaw got back from the picnic on Wednesday evening, and was in a position to have a quiet chat with her niece, she declared that she had not spent so pleasant a day for a long time. Dr M'Murdo was really a most agreeable, well-informed man--a man whose talents ought to make him a position in the world; and as for the poor, dear vicar, he was nothing less than charming. 'So simple-minded and unworldly, my dear. He quite puts me in mind of the Vicar of Wakefield.' Then she added by way of after-thought: 'But I cannot say that I care greatly for that sister of his. There is something about her excessively flippant and satirical--and I do dislike satirical people, above all others.'

But Lady Renshaw's real enjoyment--of which she said nothing to her niece--arose from her thorough belief that both the doctor and the vicar had been irresistibly smitten by her charms. If they were not in love, or close on the verge of it, why had they followed her about all day like two spaniels, each of them jealously afraid to leave her alone with the other? It was delightful! As she sipped a cup of tea after her return, she began to ask herself whether she might not do worse than accept this clever, well-preserved Scotch doctor. She had no doubt in her own mind that he would propose in the course of a few days. With the help of her money, he might buy a first-class West-end practice; and after that, there was no knowing what he might not rise to in the course of a few years. Seven to ten thousand a year, so she had been given to understand, was by no means an uncommon income for a fashionable doctor to make nowadays. She would think the matter over in the quietude of her own room, so that she might be prepared with her answer, when the inevitable moment should arrive.

The fact was that Dr Mac had fooled her to the top of her bent, as Miss Gaisford had prophesied he would do. Her vanity, as he soon found, was insatiable; no compliment was too egregious for her to swallow. 'I've done my duty like a man,' he remarked with grim humour to Miss Pen at the close of the day; 'but I hope you will never set me such a task again: the creature's self-conceit is stupendous--stupendous!'

The picnic took place on Wednesday. Thursday was ushered in with wind and rain. The hills had wrapped thick mantles of mist about them, and had retired into private life. Visitors shook their heads as they peered out of the rain-streaked windows, and made up their minds to settle down for the day to novels, gossip, and letter-writing. Despite the wind and rain, Dr Mac set out for Kendal at an early hour with the avowed intention of hunting up some old friends. The vicar, too timid to tackle the widow by himself, kept to his own room, on the plea of having a sermon to compose. Miss Wynter might have been justified that day in her belief that her aunt's temper was not invariably the most angelic in the world.

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