This document was prepared with borrowed etext for Arthur's Classic Novels. , Nov 30, 2000 This document was prepared with borrowed etext for Arthur's Classic Novels. , Nov 30, 2000 This document was prepared with borrowed etext for Arthur's Classic Novels. This book was typed in by Ben Collver. XML markup by Arthur Wendover. Nov 30, 2000. (See source file for details.) A Social Incident by Marie Corelli It was a very odd thing. Some people declared it was the oddest thing they ever heard of. Nevertheless, odd or even, the fact remained: Jane had resolved to "go into society." Now in the ordinary course of fashionable events, ladies are supposed to "come out" when they are seventeen or eighteen. Sometimes they have been known (if we are to believe their own candid statements) to make their curtsey at Court when barely fifteen, and then to have been immediately snapped up by some ardent and impatient bidder in the matrimonial market before they have had time to become sixteen. This accounts, they will tell you with a sweet smiles, for the presence of their remarkably mature-looking songs and daughters, while they themselves are still quite young. But Jane would never be able to plead an early entrance into society in excuse for her age. Jane "came out" at fifty-seven, and everybody knew it. Jane -- otherwise known as Miss Jane Belmont -- was a sweet-looking, placid-faced lady of the purely old-fashioned type. She was altogether behind the time in her notions of live, -- she was not, and never could be, "up to date." She had never adopted a "cause" or developed a "mission." Living in the country all her life, as she had done, she was a creature of simple habits and equable disposition, with a warm, generous heart of her own and all the fine instincts and characteristics of the perfect gentlewoman. She was quite contented with the world as she found it, -- she thought it a very beautiful world, and every morning and evening she closed her gentle blue eyes in a quiet ravishment of earnest prayer, and asked the great Creator of all things to make her more and more thankful for the blessing and high privilege of life. Here it will at once be seen how ignorant and foolish Jane was. If she had known better, -- if she had read her modern magazines properly, and if she had followed the tenor of "progressive" thought, -- she would of course have realised that Science had proved to its own entire satisfaction that there was no Creator at all to be thankful to, and that life was now discovered to be such a poor thing at best as to be only fit for frittering away or grumbling at. But Jane never read any magazines. She was a curious woman in some things; and one of her fixed ideas was that no literature could be good or reliable which was too cheap. So she paid her threepence for the Times every morning religiously, and never read anything in it except the telegrams, which were quite sufficient to keep her fairly cognisant of the greater doings of the human race at large. Of the "little doings" -- the fashionable scandals, the silly rumours, the ridiculously trifling incidents of Court and Society which are so frequently served up as "news" to a jaded and contemptuous public -- she knew nothing whatever. And in consequence of her lack of better information she lived on in the peaceful belief that God was good, that the world was a very pleasant place, that life and health were excellent things, that men and women were, taken altogether, much more full of virtue than of vice. And thus a lovely benevolence ennobled her features and made them attractive, despite the wrinkling of the pale, delicate skin near the eyes and mount, -- the inward grace of charity gave lustre to her calm eyes and bestowed a magic brightness on the silver threads in her soft parted hair, -- and there was not a man, woman, or child in the village where she dwelt that would not have willingly testified to the sweetness of her smile. It was a smile that warmed the heart and lingered in the memory, -- and young girls who came with their mothers to call on "that old maid," as some of them profanely styled her before they knew her, went away charmed and enthralled by Jane and her beautiful manners, carrying bouquets of roses she had herself gathered and given them, with kind and pretty words, from her own carefully kept and deliciously scented garden, where all the "old-fashioned" flowers grew in profusion, making a paradise of enchantment for bees, butterflies, and singing-birds. Ashleigh-in-the-Dell was a charming little English village nestling among hills and sheltered by deep woodlands, and there Jane had lived ever since her earliest childhood. Her father had been the rector of the parish, and had died full of years and honours after a well-spent, useful life in which he had conscientiously striven to do his utmost best to follow the Divine teaching of the Divinest Teacher the world has ever seen or ever will see. And when the new rector was installed, Jane, finding herself possessed of a sufficient income whereon to live becomingly, if simply, purchased the cottage whee she now dwelt, which for some private reason of her own she called "Restful Harbour." There she stayed year after year, without taking any change or seeming to require one. She had no recollection of her mother, who had died early; though there was a picture of her in the charming drawroom of "Restful Harbour" which Jane was fond of looking at because it was a beautiful face, -- almost the face of what one might expect an angel to be. "That was my mother," she would say on the inquiring visitor. And on one such occasion, when a caller, wishing to be complimentary, replied, "You are very like her," Jane flushed with surprise and answered eagerly, "Oh, no! I was never in the least like her. She was a great beauty, I have heard, -- and I was always plain." Occasionally, on winter evenings, when news was scarce and there was nothing particular to talk about, some of the people at Ashleigh-in-the-Dell would rummage their memories to try to recall whether in by-gone times Jane had ever been in love. She had not always been elderly, -- she was certainly young once. What did she do when she was young? What was she like? Nobody had a very distinct impression. She had been the dispenser of her father's bounties to the poor of the neighborhood, -- but she had always maintained such an unobtrusive demeanour that as a matter of fact her quiet presence in the village had grown to be as much a portion of it as the sunshine that beamed upon it or the flowers that grew in its meadows. And after her father's death she became less noticeable than ever; she was just "Miss Jane," or "old Miss Belmont," by whichever name her neighbors affected to call her, and there her individuality appeared to end. She was one of those unimportant persons against whom there is nothing to be said, -- one who is neither rich, nor powerful, nor good-looking enough to create envy in the hearts of others or set scandalous tongues gossiping. She lived her live in undisturbed seclusion, doing a great deal of good in her own simple way, and having now particular "hobby" or "fad" except an artistic taste for old china and a great tenderness of mignonette. Mignonette bordered her garden wherever a border was possible, -- great vases of it were daily arranged in her rooms, and the sweet fragrance of it seemed to be distilled from every breath of air that blew over "Restful Harbour." But, beyond the old china and the mignonette, Jane had no desires and apparently no ambition. Taking all these premises of Jane's uneventful history into due consideration, it was not wonderful that the village of Ashleigh-in-the-Dell should experience a violent thrill, somewhat of the nature of an earthquake or a thunder-clap, when it heard the news that Jane had all at once become a great heiress in her own right, -- and that from henceforth her yearly income would average nearly twenty thousand pounds. A relative of whom she had never heard, a cousin of her beautiful dead mother, had suddenly gone to his account, leaving everything he possessed to "Jane Belmont, only daughter of the late Revered Hugh Belmont and of his wife, Janet Evelyn Pierpont, first cousin to me, the testator." She -- Jane -- was the Jane Belmont in question, -- so she was told by the two legal gentlemen who called in person one day at "Restful Harbour" to break the good news to her gently. "For," said they with much feeling, looking around the simple little country parlour she called her drawing-room, "it must be very overwhelming for you!" But Jane was not exactly overwhelmed; true, a few tears trickled down her cheeks, and her thin, well-shaped white hands trembled a little, but otherwise she showed no sign of feverish excitement. "What am I to do with all this money?" she asked, with a touch of sorrow in her voice as she put the question. "Spend it, my dear madam! Spend it!" exclaimed one of the legal gentlemen, smiling at her naivete. "That is, spend the interest and reserve the capital. Amuse yourself, -- go about the world a little, -- enjoy life!" "I have always enjoyed it," said Jane, simply. "Well, well, enjoy it a little more! Money can do anything for you; you can have a fine house, a carriage and a pair, a box at the opera, plenty of dresses and jewels, -- in fact, everything in the world is at your disposal. You have only to express a wish and you have the means to gratify it." A bewildered look shadowed Jane's peaceful countenance, and she folded her delicate hands together more closely to hide their nervous trembling. "I am too old for such pleasures, sir," she said gently. "Too old! Nonsense, my dear madam!" And the lawyer quite bounced in his chair at the very suggestion. "I never heard of such a thing! Nobody is old in our days, -- nobody ever intends to be old. I know a lady of your age who passes very well for thirty at this very moment, -- in fact, she is much more lively and smart than she was in her teens. With your fortune, I assure you, my dear Miss Belmont, that you can have a very pleasant time of it, -- ah! -- and I shouldn't wonder if you made a very excellent marriage!" Jane's pale cheeks flushed a shamed soft pink. "Please do not jest with me," she said, the quiet dignity of her voice and manner rather confusing her legal visitors, who began to feel they had been guilty of an impertinence, -- "I hope I know better than to marry at my time of life." The legal gentlemen protested that they had meant no harm, and duly apologised for their indiscretion. They left her, somewhat troubled in their own minds as to what she thought of them. Going back in the train to London from Ashleigh-in-the-Dell, one said to the other, -- "I wonder what she will do?" And the other replied, -- "Something quite unusual, you may be sure! I shouldn't wonder if she made her mark in society." Now when the news of Jane's inheritance reached to that almost inaccessible and exclusive point of social altitude represented by the Squire and his wife and daughters, who were the one "county family" in residence at Ashleigh-in-the-Dell, it was made the subject of a solemn and general palaver. The Squire himself, who had never called on "old Miss Belmont," said he must "leave a card;" the Squire's lady signified her intention of doing the same; and the Squire's daughters observed with much graceful tenderness that they would take a basket of hot-house grapes to "dear Miss Belmont." And a lady who was staying with the Squire on a visit -- the Honourable Mrs. Maddenham, a personage understood to be of immense influence at Court and much liked by all Great People (by which phrase we nowadays understand the Great of Purse and not the Great of Heart) -- said she would like nothing better than to be introduced to such an "interesting" person as Miss Belmont. Introduced she was accordingly, and at once fastened on Jane as pertinaciously as a blood-sucking gadfly. Everywhere Jane went, there would the affectionate Mrs. Maddenham also go. Jane was her "sympathy," she declared; for ages she had been looking for a woman in all points resembling Jane. Jane must love her because she loved Jane! It was an "affinity of souls." And curious to relate, after a very little while, Mrs. Maddenham completely dominated and took possession of Jane. Now up to this time "old Miss Belmont" had been credited, rightly or wrongly, with the quality of "having a will of her own," but with the advent of the Honourable Mrs. Maddenham, she appeared to resign herself tot he force of circumstances and most meekly to do whatever Mrs. Maddenham bade her. It was Mrs. Maddenham who impressed her with the fact that she must "go into society," -- and "into society" Jane plunged accordingly. Accompanied by Mrs. Maddenham, she left Ashleigh-in-the-Dell, -- handing over "Restful Harbour" with all its china and mignonette to the care of her gardener and his wife, who were charged with the business of keeping it clean and in order. Without a tear or a sigh, she turned her back on the pretty village which had been her home for years, and went by tearing, snorting, smoking, grinding express to London. Within that huge vortex Jane, like a helpless wooden dummy, disappeared under the wild and whirling wing of the Honourable Mrs. Maddenham. And for some time she seemed drowned, lost, and gone for ever: -- when suddenly she emerged from the seething whirl of Fashion with three white feathers on her dear old head and a long silver-grey train, trimmed with wonderful old lace, pendent from her shoulders, which, by the bye, were still shapely and would bear showing in daylight, -- for Jane was a well-made woman with a white skin. In this guise, and with some qualms of uneasy shame concerning these same shoulders, Jane made her curtsey to one of the convenient representatives of absent Majesty on Drawing-Room Day, and her appearance was duly chronicled in the fashionable news among the presentations thus: "Miss Jane Belmont, by the Honourable Mrs. Maddenham." Then it was that people began to talk and say, "What an odd thing!" The natives of Ashleigh-in-the-Dell improved this statement by adding "that it was the oddest thing hey ever heard of!" Jane had "gone into society," -- she had "come out!" -- and not only had she "come out," but Pilotelle had sketched her in the Lady's Pictorial in her Court gown, -- with a waist of sixteen inches, the contour of a broomstick, and the head of a noodle. But that was the fault of the Court modiste who made her gown. The Court modiste had put the gown on one of her "collapsible" wire frames, and had turned the "collapsible" round and round like a tee-to-tum for the delectation of Pilotelle, -- and Pilotelle had sketched it, as he sketches every sort of costume, with nothing of figure, but all of millinery. And seeing poor Jane thus stuck up for show in the Lady's Pictorial, Ashleigh-in-the-Dell was, as it were, convulsed, -- and worthy persons, who had known Jane for years, shook their heads and said, "Can it be possible?" "Law!" murmured the gardener's wife, as she dusted the deserted little rooms in "Restful Harbour," -- "who'd a' thought it at her time o' life!" "Which we never knows what we shall be!" returned the gardener himself, gloomily, as he trained the Gloire-de-Dijon roses to grow more symmetrically round the windows of the house. "She was such a real lady, I'd never a' believed she'd a' gone advertising of herself in one of they public prints!" But reckless Jane, in happy ignorance of the comments passed upon her actions by her country acquaintances, did not stop her mad career with her presentation at Court and her broomstick portrait by the renowned Pilotelle. As a matter of fact, she had only just begun to move her arms in what is called the "swim." Supported by Mrs. Maddenham, who never left her except to take the sleep which is necessary, even to society vampires, Jane spent a good deal of money. She bought a magnificent house in Grosvenor place, fully furnished, from an impecunious nobleman, who told her languidly that he was "stony-broke on the turf," an expression which she did not quite understand; but vaguely grasping the fact that he had once been a gentlemen and was now compelled to be a slang-talking beggar, she delicately referred him to her lawyers in oder that the purchase of his property might be arranged to his entire satisfaction, without inflicting upon him any unnecessary degradation or pain. The matter was finally settled, and Jane found herself mistress of what the auctioneers call "a palatial residence," which "palatial residence" necessitated her hiring an equally "palatial" staff of servants to keep it in proper order. One would have thought that the trouble and inconvenience generally attendant on a luxurious establishment would have been too much for Jane, and would have put her out of humour, she having been so long accustomed to the simplest habits of life; but, on the contrary, she seemed more placid and passive than ever. One old friend, who journeyed up from Ashleigh-in-the-Dell to see her in her new surroundings, went back again sorely troubled, and opined solemnly that Jane was going mad. "Poor old Miss Belmont," she said, sadly; "there's a queer look in here eyes which I don't like. All this fuss of going to Court and being in Society is turning her head. She seems quite weak and silly, -- and as for that Mrs. Maddenham, why Mrs. Maddenham simply lives on her!" In this respect the country friend was right. Mrs. Maddenham did live on Jane, and very good living she found it. She often congratulated herself on the way in which she had got Jane "under her thumb," and she would often boast of her cleverness among her "swagger" friends, saying -- "Oh, yes! Poor old Jane! She's a dear, -- she'll do anything for me! Do you want a ball got up? Jane's the very person! You can have her rooms for nothing, -- they're splendid! -- and she will be only too delighted to hire the band and pay for the supper. I have only to ask her. You see, she came into her fortune rather late, poor deer, and she doesn't know much about good society, but she's very anxious to learn. Oh, she's not common or vulgar by any means, -- she's very well born, and very well connected. I chose her house for her, you know,a nd I got her all her servants. She can't do a thing without me, and of course she's very much indebted to me for introducing her to me `set.'" Thus would Honorable Mrs. Maddenham talk by the hour, and the "swagger set" gradually came to realise the convenience of having a Jane among them, -- a Jane who kept open house and gave everybody as much food and drink as they could gorge and swill without bursting, -- a Jane who did not mind paying for theatre parties and late suppers at the Savoy, -- and, moreover, a Jane who never interfered or looked obtrusive, but who wore quiet colors, good old lace, and very few jewels, and who was content to sit among them in more or less silence, with folded hands and a kind of silly smile on her countenance which meant, or appeared to mean, absolutely nothing. It was this silly smile which made some of her former acquaintances think she had a "screw loose," or was "dotty." "I don't think you know at what a rate you are living," said a would-be adviser to her one day. The "silly smile" appeared in its full breadth on Jane's amiable visage, but she said nothing. "That Mrs. Maddenham, for instance," went on her visitor, "doesn't she cost you a good deal?" "I hope so," replied Jane, still smiling; "I want her to cost me a good deal. She is a very useful person to me." "Dotty -- oh, dotty!" groaned the would-be adviser to himself in bitterness of spirit. "The money has turned her poor old brain!" But this was a mistake. Jane's brain was not by any means "turned," -- it was, on the contrary, particularly well balanced. Had some of her fashionable acquaintances been able to actually guess the logical precision of that brain-balance, they would have been considerable startled, and probably the Honourable Mrs. Maddenham would have been more startled than anybody. But surface observers were content to draw their conclusions fro Jane's "silly smile," and also from a certain vague look of timidity and bewilderment which was occasionally reflected in her mild blue eyes; and they found it refreshing, as well as courteous and honourable, to go to Jane's parties, eat of her food, drink of her wine, criticise her domestic arrangements, and stare at the rich, stiff, sober-tinted silks she wore, and then remark to one another in somewhat audible undertones, "Poor old thing! Very passee, isn't she? I wonder if any one will propose to her for her money? She wouldn't be half bad for a wife. -- too old for larks, and plenty of manner about her." Yes; this was a point which was never questioned, -- Jane's "manner." It was a particular manner, which is fast becoming obsolete, -- a manner which expressed dignity, grace, and a refinement as delicate as it was rare. When "swagger" people condescendingly dined with her through the invitations of Mrs. Maddenham, Jane received them with that special "manner" of hers which none of them could imitate or compete with, -- that exquisite bearing which silently implies everything courteous without being the least affected or hypocritical. It was an old-fashioned manner, -- but it was not without charm. And when at table the "up-to-date" man or woman talked slang, and said certain things were "ripping" and other things "tommy-rot," Jane sat silent and absorbed, looking at her plate as earnestly as though she saw a pretty little picture of "Restful Harbour" right in the middle of its polished centre. When titled ladies of know birth and breeding lolled in her drawing-room, with their feet slightly elevated to show their shoes and a portion of their ankles, and smoked cigarettes till the air reeked with tobacco, Jane made no sort of observation on this "new" custom brought into vogue by the votaries of rank and fashion. She merely say, like a thoughtful queen, in her chair, and watched the proceedings. She was careful when her gorgeous flunkeys (whom she kept through the advice of Mrs. Maddenham) should not fail to see every lady provided with the necessary smoking materials, and she endured the fumes heroically, without a cough of protest. But she did not smoke herself. And the consequence of this was that, thought she knew it not, she looked like a forlorn, castaway lady of noble birth fallen accidentally among a set of female rowdies. One day the Honourable Mrs. Maddenham said to Jane, -- "Why don't you bike?" "Why don't I... what?" murmured Jane in a gentle flutter of amazement. "Bike!" repeated Mrs. Maddenham, forcibly. "Get a pair of knickers and a short skirt and learn to ride on a bicycle. It's awfully good exercise for you." Jane's mouth opened a little way, as though she expected a sugar-plum to drop into it, and the dawn of the "silly smile" began to spread out among the fine and pretty little wrinkles of her meditative face. "Get a pair of knickers and a short skirt!" she echoed musingly. "Have you got them?" "Of course I have!" returned Mrs. Maddenham jubilantly. "I'll put them on and spin round here to-morrow. You must see me on my wheel, -- I look first-rate!" And, sure enough, with the morrow Jane did see her. And Jane nearly dies of it. The Honourable Mrs. Maddenham, in a short tweed skirt with knickers appearing beneath, sitting astride on a bicycle, her think ankles and flat feet well exposed, and working at the machine she thus immodestly bestrode with the measured regularity of a convict working the treadmill, was certainly a sight calculated to bring such a woman as Jane was almost to the bring of the grave. Not with a shock of surprise, but -- with laughter! Ah! -- nobody knew how Jane could laugh if she liked! Such a merry, wholesome, unspoilt, altogether frank and delightful laugh it was, -- a laugh that matched her manner, -- an old-fashioned, obsolete laugh. She did not laugh in the presence of Mrs. Maddenham, -- she was far too courteous for that; but when Mrs. Maddenham's hard-working, thick legs had borne her, red and perspiring, afar from Jane's wondering view, and she was no more seen, then it was that Jane laughed until she cried. "Dear, dear me!" said Jane, wiping her eyes with her dainty handkerchief. "What an extraordinary place this London is to be sure! It is like a big lunatic asylum! What with the people climbing every day into a monster wheel at Earl's Court for the sake of looking out the windows of small cars, then flying up in a balloon, rushing up and down on a "switch-back," and climbing the `belvedere' towers, it seems to me they all want to turn themselves into squirrels and monkeys instead of men and women. But Mrs. Maddenham on a bicycle is the most comical sight of all. Poor thing! -- poor thing! How ashamed those grown-up sons and daughters of hers must be when they see her exposed to the gaze of the public like that! She's really very useful to me, though -- I never thought I should get so much fun out of her!" Whereby it will doubtless be realised that Jane was not so silly a she sometimes seemed. Any way, she flatly refused to "bike," which was one most excellent proof of her sanity and self-respect, though Mrs. Maddenham said it was "narrow." "All the best set `bike,'" Mrs. Maddenham declared. "Women's legs have never had fair play until now. What are out legs for, I should like to know? We've had to hide them under long skirts for ages, except on the stage -- it is time they should see daylight." Jane shivered as though a douche of cold water had been poured down her back, then blushed as deeply as though scalding wine had been poured down her throat. That women's legs "should see daylight" seemed to her a remarkable proposition, not without a touch of the weird and fantastic. And she remained firmer than ever in her determination to be ignorant of the "bike" and its various attractions. Jane now began to be very well known in society. She was frequently referred to in the "fashionable jottings," and whenever it was announced that Miss Belmont was "at home" the fact created quite a stir. By degrees it was whispered in several "exclusive" sets that to have Jane installed in Grosvenor Place was a great convenience. Gentlemen desirous of making love to other gentlemen's wives arranged (through Mrs. Maddenham) to meet their fair libertines at Jane's afternoon teas and evening crushes (both which kind of festivities were always arranged by Mrs. Maddenham), -- and ladies equally wishful of making love to other ladies' husbands followed the same course of procedure. "Old Miss Belmont" saw nothing and knew nothing, they averred; she was a dear old dummy, most useful in the place where Mrs. Maddenham had put her. What a delightful party she gave, for instance, at Henley on her superb house-boar, when Mrs. Maddenham invited all the guests, and when it was hardly possible for Jane herself to find a seat at her own luncheon table! That was a grand time! When the lovely Lady Repousse slipped a teaspoonful of ice cream behind the shirt-collar and down the back of the Most Dignified and Serene His Highness of Lumpfernel, and His Highness of Lumpfernel, yelling with laughter, flung pellets of bread at Lady Repousse and informed the assembled company that he knew she had thick ankles! It was so witty of His Highness! And altogether the manners of the "set" surrounding him were so entirely charming! The hilarious customs of a beanfeast were tame in comparison to the "ripping fun" Mrs. Maddenham got up on Jane's house-boat at Henley. Nobody paid much attention to Jane on that occasion, except one man of about six-and-twenty, the Honourable Arthur Morvyn, the impecunious second son of the late Earl of Drumleigh. Arthur Morvyn, when the evening came on and the air of the river grew chilly, found a shawl somewhere and put it round Jane's shoulders, whereat she looked up at him with sudden tenderness in her eyes and thanked him more effusively than such a simple action would seem to warrant. And while he hesitated, standing by her chair and thinking within himself that she was a "ladylike old girl," she told him very gently that she had once known his father very intimately. "Indeed!" said Arthur Morvyn, feeling his mustache dubiously. "Yes," answered Jane, "he used often to visit my father at Ashleigh-in-the-Dell before he became Earl of Drumleigh. He had friends in the neighbourhood, with whom he used to stay. I saw a good deal of him when I was young." "Really!" and Arthur Morvyn, remembering that she had twenty thousand a year, sought about in his brain for a suitable compliment, -- "I shouldn't have thought you were old enough to remember my father ----" "He was just seven years my senior," returned Jane calmly. "Regularly gives herself away!" thought Arthur Morvyn in amazement. "If she were only up-to-date she'd wear a carroty wig, put on `young' frocks, and pass for thirty. Rum old truth-teller, 'pon my life!" Yes he was so much impressed by the "rum old truth-teller" that he could not help thinking a great deal about her, not only during that Henley week but for some time afterwards. One day the Honourable Mrs. Maddenham came to Jane in a flutter of excitement and said, -- "My dear, I have got a splendid chance for you! A magnificent opportunity to make your mark once and for all in society and be acknowledged as one of the very tip-top leaders of fashion! You will be charmed!" "Shall I?" asked Jane with her "silly smile." "Shall you?" echoed Mrs. Maddenham, -- "I should think so, indeed! What woman would not be proud and grateful to entertain Royalty!" "What sort of `Royalty'?" inquired Jane doubtfully. For she remembered His Serene Highness of Lumpfernel with no particular ardour or enthusiasm. Mrs. Maddenham laughed rather boisterously. "What a dear thing you are!" she exclaimed, -- "what a quaint, dear thing! You are positively humorous sometimes! I know quite what you mean when you ask `What sort of Royalty?' -- though you know they are of the same kind, little and big, -- all connected with first-class German houses," -- this as if she were speaking of business firms with whom she was connected in some kind of trade. "But this time it's tip-top Royalty, my dear!" and looking cautiously round she drew nearer to Jane and whispered something in her ear. Then she pulled herself back with a jerk and a triumphant smile. "There! What do you think of that? It will simply make you!" Jane did not know what to think of it. The two names whispered in her ear had certainly startled her, and a gentle old-fashioned loyalty of soul made her at once desirous of doing her best to entertain the great personages whom Mrs. Maddenham mentioned, not out of any personal vanity, but simply because she felt that if such exalted individuals chose to honour her house by a visit, nothing could possibly be too good for them. But all the same she was puzzled and bewildered. "You must forgive me if I am rather dense," she said at last, after a pause, "but I do not quite understand. How is it that these gentlemen know of me? And why should they propose to visit me at all? I have not invited them, -- and would not have presumed so far." "Ah! that's my management!" exclaimed Mrs. Maddenham triumphantly, -- "I have been working you up step by step, and now I have got you to the very top of the tree. Leave everything in my hands! All I want to know is whether you will give me carte blanche? I will manage the whole affair splendidly for you!" "But," persisted Jane mildly, "why do they want to come to me? What makes them think of coming?" Mrs. Maddenham was a little bit confused. It would never do to tell the whole truth to Jane, -- she would never understand. She would never see the necessity, -- the convenience, the -- in short, the everything of the matter. So she said evasively, -- "They wish to do you honour, my dear! That's all. And if you are not pleased and proud, you are very ungrateful. Shall I say you will be happy to receive them, and get the day fixed? It will have to be a late supper-party, I think?" Jane considered a little, -- then, with a slight sigh, folded her hands meekly and, with an air of resignation, -- "Do as you think best," she said. "But please say everything that is respectful and right on my part to their Royal Highnesses." Mrs. Maddenham grinned to herself at the words "respectful and right." "Poor old Jane! She's too funny for anything!" she soliloquised. "As if anyone cared a hang for her `respectful and right' greetings! She ought to have lived in the Middle Ages." She began her preparations in earnest, and very soon London knew that "old Miss Belmont's" house was to be a scene of "Royal" revelry. Mrs. Maddenham sent out all the invitations, for it was to be a "select" party, -- a "submitted" list, including some of the most noted of the fashionable beauties and otherwise "ripping" women. Rumours of the "Royal" condescension about to be extended to Jane reached Ashleigh-in-the-Dell, and excited spleen and envy in the gentle breasts of the Squire's lady and the Squire's fair daughters. "What a ridiculous thing!" they exclaimed. "The idea of old Miss Belmont receiving Royalty!" And they quivered and snorted and tittered with rage. They would never have the chance Jane had; for though they assumed to be somebodies at Ashleigh-in-the-Dell, they were nobodies in London, and they knew it. It is a knowledge that is frequently pressed home with convincing force to the souls of country squires and their families. The expected evening came at last, and Jane, in a gentle flutter of loyal excitement and anxiety, went to take a last look round her rooms now that all was in readiness for the reception of her "Royal" guests. Everything was arranged with taste and luxury; no expense had been spared; and the supper-room, with its palms and flowers and separate little tables, lit by the electric light, was a scene of fairy-like splendour. The members of a renowned French orchestra were stationed in the conservatory, ready to begin at the signal of Mrs. Maddenham, and Mrs. Maddenham herself, gorgeously attired and ornamented after the style of a jeweller's window with diamonds, was giving her final instructions to the powdered flunkeys and their attendants. Seeing Jane suddenly appear beside her, she frowned. "Oh, do go away, my dear," she said querulously. "There is no reason for you to be down here. I can tell the servants all they have to do. Your place is in the drawing-room. You must receive the people as they arrive, you know." Jane hesitated, her fine, worn face growing somewhat pale, and Mrs. Maddenham, looking at her, felt a sudden twinge of shame and remorse for pricking her soul, for Jane's "grand manner" had never been so much in evidence as it was that night. The dress she wore enhanced it, being of rich lilac satin showered with old lace, -- and the way in which she had arranged her hair, lifting its soft grey waves slightly off her forehead, gave her an expression of dignity and grace which caused Mrs. Maddenham to seem beside her, notwithstanding her diamonds, a mere artificial female humbug. "What are you waiting for?" said Mrs. Maddenham, almost sharply. "Why don't you go into the drawing-room?" "I wished to see if everything was all right," responded Jane mildly. "After all, I am responsible for the affair; I am the mistress of my own house. I hope you will come with me into the drawing-room to help me receive, because you know the people you have asked, and I do not." "You know some of them," said Mrs. Maddenham. "It is only the Royal `set' you are not in with -- but I will try and get you in if I can; only you know it is rather difficult----" "Difficult!" echoed Jane, with a great surprise reflected in her placid face. "But they are coming here to see me, are they not?" Mrs. Maddenham grew suddenly red in the face, and was troubled with a tickling in her throat which caused her to cough considerable. What a fool Jane was, to be sure, she mentally considered! The idea of her expecting that the Royal "set" were actually coming to see her! It was enough to make "swagger" persons laugh themselves into convulsion-fits! But it was no use saying anything to Jane; Jane would never comprehend that she ought to be greatly honoured to have her house turned into a kind of restaurant for the entertainment of "great" people, and that she ought to be proud and glad if the "great" people ate and drank of what she provided without either a "How d'y do" or "Thank you" to their hostess. She would never understand; "swagger" society and its ways were altogether beyond Jane. Between ten and eleven o'clock the company began to arrive, and Jane, standing with Mrs. Maddenham at the head of her stately staircase, which was decorated for the occasion with the rarest palms and exotics, awaited with a somewhat beating heart the approach of "the" guests of the evening. They were late in coming; but to make amends for their delay the "select" company invited to meet them flocked into the rooms in a crowd, laughing and talking together and spreading themselves in loose and familiar fashion all over the place, as if it belonged to them, and paying very little heed to either Jane or Mrs. Maddenham. Lovely countesses, duchesses, and "great" ladies of title and no title came attended by their various adorers and admirers, and flung themselves about on sofas and in arm-chairs, making cosy corners for conversation and planning of fresh intrigues, -- and though the first arrivals (who happened, by the excellent management of Mrs. Maddenham, to be certain respectable old fogies who had met Jane before) greeted their hostess with the usual conventional manner and courtesy, yet when the crush drew denser and people became wedged en masse on the stairs, unable to move backward or forward, it was hardly possible to distinguish Jane in the general press, much less greet her as the mistress of the house and giver of the evening's hospitality. "They will never get into the supper-room," said Jane anxiously, as she gazed at the increasing stream. "My dear Mrs. Maddenham, I am sure you have asked too many people!" "Not a bit of it," retorted Mrs. Maddenham. "The more we can keep them squeezed up here, the less chance they will have of disturbing their Highnesses in the supper-room. Supper is only for the `Royal' set." This was a staggerer for Jane, and she was about to enter a protest against such an unequal arrangement, when there was a sudden stir, -- a swaying movement in the crowd on the stairs, -- and two broadly-smiling gentlemen entered, followed by two other somewhat serious gentlemen, all whom blandly shook hands with Mrs. Maddenham, who, in her turn, bobbed demurely up and down to the two smiling gentlemen and nodded familiarly to the two serious gentlemen, and then piloted them over to a certain portion of the room where a bevy of the "ripping" ladies elsewhere alluded to awaiting their coming. Jane looked about her bewilderedly. It was beginning to be like the luncheon party at Henley; there seemed to be no room for her at all. Had "Royalty" arrived? Were those two broadly-smiling gentlemen "the" great ones? and the two serious gentlemen the enquerries in attendance? They had all passed her, -- they had not noticed her; Mrs. Maddenham had borne them away -- afar, but whither? Putting on her gold-rimmed glasses, Jane peered into every corner and found no sign of either the broadly-smiling or serious gentlemen at all; as a matter of fact, they had passed out through the opposite door with the ladies they had selected as their companions, and were gone down to supper. The band played gay music, -- the noise of tongues and the swish of silk dresses became confusing, -- the scent of flowers, mingling with the sicklier odour of artificial perfumes, assailed Jane's nose and irritated it, -- and a sudden wrath began to kindle in her usually peacable mind. Was it possible, -- could it be likely that Mrs. Maddenham had gone down to supper without presenting her, the actual hostess of the occasion, to Royalty at all? It seemed like it, -- it really seemed very like it! Jane waited a few moments on her own staircase like a belated stranger, in doubt and perplexity, -- then, suddenly perceiving two of her flunkey engaged in handing wine, coffee, ices, and other refreshments among the people who were crowded in the drawing-room, she beckoned one of them to come up to her. The man did so. "Have the `Royal' People come?" she asked him. "Oh, yes'm! They are in the supper-room." "Is Mrs. Maddenham there?" "Yes'm. Mrs. Maddenham is at the Royal table." "Supper has commenced, then?" "Oh, yes'm! Supper's well on now." Jane asked no more questions. Pale and calm and full of her "grand manner," which gave her an almost regal air, she made her way slowly and with elaborate care and courtesy down the broad staircase, apologising sweetly if she chanced to brush against a dress or disturb a side-flirtation, -- and both men and women paused in their gabble to stare at her and say sotto voice, "Why I believe that's old Miss Belmont! 'Pon my life, it's the woman whose house we are in!" If "old Miss Belmont" heard any of these comments she gave no sign, but pursued the even tenor of her way till, arriving at the bottom of the grand staircase, she paused, hesitating and looking about her. The doors of the dining-room, where the "Royal" supper-party was going on, were closed; but on the left-hand side of the hall the smoking-room was open to view, and she saw that it was crowded with men. Led by some unaccountable impulse, she moved thither, with a kind idea that if she should happen to see any friend of her own among the party she would ask him to go in to Mrs. Maddenham and tell her gently that she had in the excitement of the occasion forgotten the existence of her hostess. As she approached the threshold, however, she caught some words rather loudly spoken which brought her to a sudden standstill and made the generous blood in her veins rush back to her heart in a quick, angry tide that blanched her cheeks and made her tremble. "Who's the woman that's giving this affair tonight?" asked one man. "Do I know her?" "Of course you do!" said another, "Everybody knows the ubiquitous licker of `Royal' boots, Mrs. Maddenham." "Oh, I don't mean her!" said the first man, -- "I mean the creature behind her, -- the woman who's paying to get in with the `set.'" "Oh, that's Miss Belmont; the old maid who came suddenly into a fortune the other day," put in a third man. -- "Vapid, rapid Jane as some people call her. She's a pretty tough hen, you know, -- over fifty by her own account. But she's coming out with a vengeance! Shouldn't wonder if she married a duke in the end. She's got the dibs to do it." "What does she look like?" inquired another man. "Oh, not half bad. I wouldn't mind marrying her myself, provided she let me have my own way afterwards." A laugh went round the room, followed by a moment's silence. "Are these Jane's cigars?" said another languid, drawling voice presently. "If so, she knows how to choose a good brand! I wonder if she smokes?" They laughed again. "I suppose she's in with the `Royalties' at supper?" was the next remark. "Not a bit of it!" eagerly exclaimed the first man who had spoken. "Little Maddenham knows better than that. They `Royalties' don't know her any more than Adam, -- why should they? What on earth should `Royalty' want with Jane?" The laughter this time was prolonged and boisterous. "Rum old girl she must be," said another of the speakers at last, -- "but she's got a first-class establishment. Rather tempting to me, don'cher-know; I could do with it very comfortably. 'Pon my word, I think I'll have a try for Jane. I should like to see her first, though." At that very moment Jane, pale, composed, and queenly in her demeanour, appeared in the doorway. "You see her now, sir," she said quietly. "I a Miss Belmont." There was a sudden pause, -- a horrified pause, in which each man in the smoking-room looked painfully conscious of feeling more or less of a fool. "I am Miss Belmont," pursued Jane, speaking firmly and with most unruffled composure. "This house, and the arrangements of which you are good enough to approve, is mine. And being mine, I have t request you all to leave it." The silence grew more deadly. The men hastily put down their half-smoked cigars and stared helplessly at one another. The "rum old girl" was "rum" indeed! "My dear Miss Belmont," began one man feebly, "surely you are too sensible to take offence at a few words spoken hastily and without thought----" "I have not taken offence, sir," said Jane calmly. "I have simply been under a misapprehension. I imagined I was entertaining gentlemen whose code of honour was such that nothing could have persuaded them to make vulgar jesting out of the name and fame of any woman in whose house they were being hospitably received. I have now perceived my error. I must therefore again request all of you to leave the premises." "By Jove!" gasped one young man, turning quite pale n the extremity of his amazement, -- "she means it!" "But my dear Miss Belmont," urged another man, in deepening consternation, "Mrs. Maddenham----" "Mrs. Maddenham is not mistress here," said Jane. "I am. Have the goodness, if you please, to understand that I am earnest., Go quietly, -- and at once." And turning to a staring flunkey, who stood listening agape in wonderment, and questioning within himself whether the heavens were not going to fall upon him and crush his pink-stockinged calves out of shape and existence, she said, -- "Go into the supper-room and tell Mrs. Maddenham I must see her directly. If she will not come to me, say that I shall come to her and explain everything I have to say before their Royal Highnesses." The flunkey departed in haste and agitation, and Jane stood calmly watching the proceedings, while some of her other menservants assisted the discomfited "swells" in the smoking-room to find their hats and coats and get rapidly ready for departure. In two or three minutes the Honourable Mrs. Maddenham, flushed with champagne-supper, appeared, exclaiming, -- "What's the matter? What on earth is the matter? Why is anybody going away?" For all answer Jane took a firm hold of her arm, and with a dextrous movement gently hustled her into a small boudoir leading out of the hall and closed the door on them both. "Now," said Jane, her eyes sparkling with unwonted excitement, -- "I don't want to make a scene or a scandal if I can help it, -- but this supper-party must be cut short. You have invited snobs and ruffians here under the pretence of meeting Royalty, -- and as I do not like snobs and ruffians, they must go. This house must be cleared of your social riff-raff; do you understand? I give you half an hour to do it." Mrs. Maddenham's jaw almost dropped in the excess of her rage and amazement. "Have you gone mad, Jane?" she exclaimed. "What are you talking about? What do you mean?' "I mean what I say," returned Jane imperturbably, -- "I am resolved to have no more of this. I thought you were inviting a `select' party of the noblest and best-bred men and women in England to meet the Royal guests, -- you have got together the choicest collection of vulgarians ever found out of Thackeray's `Book of Snobs.' I do not choose to entertain such persons a moment longer, -- nor will I be treated as a stranger in my own household. I have let you have your full way because it amused me to do so; I wanted to see what sort of a woman you were, -- what sort of a woman, in fact, is tolerated nowadays among the `upper ten,' and I wanted to find out for myself what `swagger' society is like. I have learnt the lesson by heart, -- and a very ugly lesson it is. As I have already said, this house must be cleared and you must clear it. You brought Royalty here; you must take it away!" "Take it away!" almost shrieked Mrs. Maddenham. -- "Take the Royalty away, -- take it----" Here her voice broke off in inarticulate gurglings. "Yes," said Jane, "take it away! Represent to their Royal Highnesses that the mistress of this house is a very simple, old-fashioned woman who does not understand `good' society, -- who thought that they, in their exalted positions, would have invited, nay, commanded the presence of their hostess at supper, and that they would never have allowed themselves to be led into mistaking Mrs. Maddenham for Miss Belmont. Say to them that Miss Belmont had no desire to receive them for the purpose of kneeling down and wiping the dust off their illustrious boots, nor for any other cause partaking of servility, toadyism, or self-interest, -- but merely to do them honour with the poor best her house afforded. But that finding Royalty does not even inquire as to whether she exists or no, and also that many of the persons invited to meet Royalty are of a kind she does not herself care to be acquainted with, she humbly requests that her house may be relieved from the honour which has fallen upon it, and that she herself left to her ordinary peace and privacy. Tell them that," concluded Jane triumphantly, with heaving breast and flashing eyes; "or if you won't tell them, I will go and tell them myself!" She drew herself up with a proud gesture, and looked taller, younger, and handsomer than ever she had seemed before; and inspiration was upon her which seemed to dialate her form and to add dignity to her manner. "Good gracious!" and Mrs. Maddenham began fairly to whimper. "Whatever shall I do? Jane, Jane, you must be going perfectly crazy; you will be the laughing-stock of the whole `set.'" "That will not hurt me," said Jane. "And some of the laughter will certainly be on my side!" "But after supper I was going to present you!" wailed Mrs. Maddenham, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes, -- "I was really going to present you----" "Were you?" and Jane looked her straight in the face. "Well, you know best whether you were going to do so or not! At any rate, I have now no wish to be presented. I want the house cleared, -- of Royalty and everything and everybody belonging to it, -- and I leave you to do it. It must be done, and I advise you to do it quickly if you don't want me to take matters into my own hands. I will, if you like." "No, no, no!" cried Mrs. Maddenham desperately. "Oh, dear, dear me! Who would have thought of such a contretemps as this! who could have imagined you would turn so unreasonable, so cranky, so mad, so lost to every sense of decency! Whatever shall I do? Good gracious! This is the way one is always served -- the more you work for a person's good the more ungrateful that person is! I shall be disgraced! I shall never be able to lift up my head again! The Royal people will never speak to me or look at me! Oh, dear, dear, what a terrible business! I wish I had never brought them here----" "I wish so too," said Jane. "And if I had imagined it was a case of your bringing them, and not their own kindly desire to honour me that persuaded them to come, they would never have entered the house. Don't lose any more time, please! It is getting late, and I want my rooms to myself." In a state bordering on frenzy, Mrs. Maddenham re-entered the supper-room and began the difficult, complicated, and diplomatic task of getting the Royal party to adjourn. It was very troublesome, for they were all exceedingly comfortable and perfectly satisfied with their surroundings. But gradually -- whether through the indiscretion of a flunkey or the nervous excitement of Mrs. Maddenham herself -- it got whispered about that there had been a rumpus, -- that some gentlemen had actually turned out, and that "old Miss Belmont" was giving the congre to a number of her guests; in fact she as bent, for some reason or other, on having the house "cleared." "Royalty" caught the rumour over its last glass of champagne, smiled incredulously, shrugged its distinguished shoulders, and finally guffawed with laughter at the idea of Miss Belmont wanting to turn everybody out because she had not been at once invited to sit down at her own supper-table. It was such an extraordinary thing, -- such a mistaken idea! "What a ridiculous old woman she must be!" murmured a distinguished lord, lazily drinking an extra draught of the "ridiculous old woman's" best wine. "She can't know anything about manners." "I expect she's old-fashioned," said a cynic of some fifty years of age. "There were days, you know, when hospitality was a stately, courteous kind of virtue, and when the hostess was everything to the guests who accepted her welcome. Private houses did not turn themselves into restaurants then, and there were not any scrimmages for food. I daresay old Miss Belmont dates from that period." Royalty, however, heeded not the words of the cynic, for it was getting under way for departure, and the snobs and snobesses who are accustomed to wait on it as pertinaciously as mosquitos wait on fresh blood, were also getting ready to follow their leaders. Giggle and jest, loud guffaw and subdued hypocritical titter echoed yet for a while through the great hall of Jane's stately residence, mingled with the clatter of carriages driving up and driving away, and the shouting of footmen and policemen, -- and then the hall door finally closed, and all was silence. The Honourable Mrs. Maddenham had departed in a rage with the rest of the guests, bowing herself and one other confidant (a man) that she would "never forgive Jane." And Jane herself came down to the deserted supper-room and mildly partook of some of the "broken meats" left from the luxurious menu which, printed on satin, adorned the various little empty tables, -- moreover, she allowed herself the further liberty of drinking a glass of the very excellent champagne her money had paid for. This done, she bade the deeply attentive and respectful flunkey in waiting to close up all the rooms for the night. Peacefully Jane went to bed and slept the sleep of the just, -- and excitedly the flunkey gossiped with his fellow-flunkeys in the servants' hall, and stated that he "thought Miss Belmont knew a thing or two" -- that "she was on her high horse this time and no mistake," and that "he shouldn't wonder if that blessed old Maddenham woman got the sack." In the latter part of his surmise he proved correct, -- for when the Honourable Mrs. Maddenham struggled down to her breakfast the nest morning about midday, after passing a horrible night, in which she dreamed that the old barbaric and ignorant periods had come back, and that she and Jane were being solemnly executed on Tower Hill for some affront to "Royalty," she received a polite little note from Jane running thus: "My dear Mrs. Maddenham, -- "Allow me to thank you for the services you have rendered me in introducing me to `society,' and to say that as I propose selling my London residence and returning to Ashleigh-in-the-Dell as soon as conveniently possible, I am no longer in need of your kind superintendence of my conduct and deportment. You have taught me many good lessons, for which I am sincerely grateful, and which I should never have known without you, and I hope that the enclosed may help to console you for any trouble or difficulty you may have had with me. I was not aware till last night that `swagger' society was so essentially and hopelessly vulgar; but as you assure me that only the `best' were invited, I have to regret that I ever was made aware that such a `best'set existed. And with all my heart I compassionate the Royalties who are unfortunately obliged to be surrounded by such ill-bred vulgarians. After this free expression of my sentiments, I trust you will see the advisability of our ceasing to be acquainted with each other for the future, and wishing you every happiness in your social career, "I am -- "Your faithful and obliged -- "Jane Belmont." A cheque for one thousand pounds dropped out of this letter, and as Mrs. Maddenham, stricken to the soul, realised in one burst Jane's extraordinary munificence, Jane's remarkable usefulness, Jane's apparent adaptability, and Jane's "deceiving" firmness of character, despite the "silly smile," she gave way to action tears of rage and spite as she thought that never, never more would the great house in Grosvenor Place be open to her, -- never, never more would she be able to invite her friends to luncheon or to dinner at Jane's expense, -- never, never more would she have the joy of advertising herself through Jane and using Jane as a sort of complacent and uncomplaining "sandwich-man." It was all over! And for such a trifling cause, too! -- just the mere oversight of not having introduced Jane at first to the Royal personages who came to eat of Jane's food! It was ridiculous, -- aggravating beyond measure! Nevertheless, the fiat had gone forth, -- Jane had suddenly developed a mulish obstinacy of disposition, and Mrs. Maddenham's doom was sealed. She would have to find another Jane to live upon; so far as this present Jane was concerned, her career was ended! Meanwhile, rumour's many tongues got hold of the story of what it was pleased to call Jane's "scandalous conduct." It was repeated from mouth to mouth, with all sorts of exaggerations and additions, till Jane became that "vulgar old Miss Belmont" in one quarter, and that "mad old Miss Belmont" in another. The brilliancy of her parties was forgotten, -- the kindness and liberality with which she had trated all who had freely "sponged" upon her were not even thought of, -- and those who had been most frequently the partakers of her hospitality were the first to vilify her name and make her the butt of ridicule. But Jane did not care. She had found a purchaser for her house, and was leaving London. Sweet thoughts of "restful Harbour," with its old china and scent of mignonette, were flitting across her mind, and the goose-like hiss and cackle of society gossip, though some of it reached her ears, did not affect her peace of mind. One of its unexpected results, however, was that young Arthur Morvyn, second son of the late Earl of Drumleigh, seeing old Miss Belmont's name and fame pulled to pieces in every direction, took means to ascertain exactly the truth of the "scandal" affecting her, and when he found that it was nothing more or less than an independent display of spirit which had moved her to resent the distinguished presence of Royalty in her house because of the crowd of snobs attendant on it, his admiration for her knew no bounds. Taking into due consideration her twenty-thousand a year, her "grand manner," and this marked proof she had given of a straightforward and singularly firm character, Arthur Morvyn wrote her a remarkable letter. It spoke of his deep respect for her, -- the desire he had to devote himself to making her happy, -- in short, it was a clear, concise, business-like, and perfectly honourable proposal of marriage. Dear me! How Jane cried over it, to be sure. She positively sobbed, did Jane, till her nerves were all in a quiver, and her gentle blue eyes were red and swollen. For hours she sat by herself reading Arthur Morbyn's letter over and over again, and weeping, till at last, when her tears had had full vent and the shedding of them had eased her woman's heart, she gradually regained self-control, and sitting down quietly at her desk, she wrote her rejection of the only distinct offer of marriage she had ever had in all her life. And this was how she did it: "To the Honourable Arthur Morvyn." "My dear young man, -- "Your letter has very heartily grieved me, as well as caused me shame, for surely it is in every sense shameful that you, who are a mere boy, should venture to address a woman of my years on such a subject as marriage. I should indeed be seriously offended with you if you were not the son of your father; but for his memory's sake I will put aside my own hurt feelings and speak to you with the sincerity and feeling as well as the frankness of a true friend. You must know, therefore, that your father, before he became Earl of Drumleigh, was my sweetheart; we were girl and boy together, and loved each other very dearly in the old days when he used to visit us at Ashleigh-in-the-Dell. Circumstances connected with his position presented any possibility of marriage between us, -- his parents were against it, and my good father would not allow me to think of wedding any man whose family might have looked upon me as an unwelcome intruder. So we parted; and never met again. He married, -- I stayed single. For you must surely know that there are some hearts in the world which can never forget a great love, -- this has been my case, and this will account to you for the great interest I felt in you when I first had the pleasure of meeting you. Now, my dear boy, I know quite well what has made you commit the folly of asking an old woman like me to marry you, -- it is the temptation my wealth has for you, and nothing more. Let me entreat of you to put such wrong and foolish notions out of your head for ever. They are the result of a bad system of education and the pernicious laxity of moral force and fine feeling which is so sad to see nowadays in latter-day society. Never marry a woman for her money, whether such a woman be young or old; marry for love. It is the old-fashioned way, but it is the best way, and the only one that God approves with His blessing. Find some sweet girl whose heart is yours and yours only, and if you are not rich enough to keep her in all the wanton and foolish luxury which disfigures the manners of age, at any rate be strong enough to work for her and surround her with whatever comforts you manfully can. Depend on it, she will find them sufficient if love is made the great and only mainspring of life, which it sure is and must ever be. I have seen how very strangely and foolishly some people lead their lives in these days, and I am afraid great many mistakes are being made which will lead to sad results hereafter, -- but in spite of it all, I am convinced that a true and great love is the best blessing earth can give, -- the strongest safeguard against evil, and the noblest incentive to work. Win that, my dear friend, whenever you can, and, having won it, keep it. Look upon the world's wealth as a secondary consideration, for wealth does not bring happiness. And if, as I am afraid, you are in money difficulties just now, confide in me, -- let me be your banker and help you out of any trouble I can; it will be a pleasure and a pride to me to be of use to you, if only for your father's sake. I am returning to my old home in the country, where I hope to pass the rest of my days in quietness, -- you will always be welcome there, and your joys and sorrows will never be indifferent to me. I return you your letter that you may yourself destroy it, for it is a very foolish and ill-advised one, and I shall forget that it ever was written." "Your sincere old friend," "Jane Belmont." It would be difficult to describe the feelings with which young Arthur Morvyn received this gently worded epistle. It is no discredit to his manhood to say that tears sprang to his eyes, and that he was so unwontedly stirred up in that set of emotions which used to be called honour and chivalry before apathy and lassiez faire took their place, and he went straight off to Jane and apologised for his indiscretion. And the result of his frankness was a strong friendship for life, which was beneficial to his young lordship in many more ways than one. And Jane herself returned to Ashleigh-in-the-Dell a wiser woman, if not a better one, for her London experiences. The mignonette had never smelt so sweet, -- the old china had never looked so brightly polished and homelike, as on the day when she re-entered "Restful Harbour," never to leave it again. Satisfied with simple things for herself, but doing great deeds of generosity for others, Jane has now become the blessing and honour of all the country-side, -- the helper of the afflicted, the rescuer of the distressed, the gentle, noble, never-failing friend of all in need. Her portrait appears no more in the Lady's Pictorial, and she has never again visited Court, -- but her kind, bright face is the sunlight of many an otherwise dark home, and it may be that in the High Court of Heaven her name is not unknown. She lives her life as the famous Disraeli would have us all live it, "in peace with honour," and the little "social incident" connected with her London career has been gradually forgotten by all except a few people with long memories and keen wits, who secretly regret the departure of Jane from town, and wish there were a few more like her. For in the appalling vulgarity, selfishness, and apathy of society nowadays, the lack of straightforward principle is everywhere painfully manifest, and a lesson or two in honesty and courage might not be without wholesome effect. Half a dozen "Janes" dotted about in various quarters during a London "season" might work wonders, and bring society round to the remembrance and re-cultivation of its lost graces, -- such as courtesy, simplicity, truth, and dignity, which in themselves constitute the whole art of perfect breeding. But of our Jane, "the" Jane who "received" Royalty and dismissed it again without being presented to it, there is no more to be said beyond that the whole village of Ashleigh-in-the-Dell seems to be permeated in summer with the scent of the mignonette that grows in the garden of "Restful Harbour," and that the contented mistress of the little place indulges in her passion for old china to such a lavish extent that her collecting is beginning to be known and envied by the best connoisseurs. It may likewise be added that Arthur Morvyn and his wife are near neighbours of hers, and that their small family of golden-haired, laughing children are perpetually to be seen romping about "Restful Harbour," standing up to their little bare knees in the mignonette and shouting for a certain "Auntie Jane." So we may presume that Jane, after all, is something of a social "leader" in her own way, though she has no longer any connection with the Swagger Set. -- End -- End of Jane by Marie Corelli for Arthur's Classic Novels