"No, no, young lady," he said to himself, as he made a careful toilet before setting forth to see her, "I have not sacrificed my liberty and all my comfortable habits, at your instigation and for your sake, to take my _conge_ at the eleventh hour in this way."

And then he cast about in his mind anxiously for ways and means whereby he might meet and overcome this strange reluctance, which not only seemed to him a cruel injury and injustice after all he had done for her, but really distressed him acutely, and made him extremely unhappy.

Was there anything amongst Kilpatrick's glittering treasures that would tempt her to smile and kiss him, and be sorry that she had given him this heartless blow?

He felt to-day that he would spend a thousand pounds cheerfully for anything that would please her.

But at the same time he was uneasily conscious that even the largest and purest diamonds would not appreciably affect the situation.

She was no longer open to these fascinations, as she used to be; several little circ.u.mstances had convinced him of that.

It was a bad sign, he feared; but he hoped it indicated nothing more serious than that the novelty of wealth and luxury had worn off.

He recognised its existence so far that he went on his delicate mission to Toorak, trusting to his own merits and eloquence, with no bribes of any sort in his pocket.

After all, he did not see Rachel that day. She was weeping hysterically in her bedroom at the top of the house, and therefore was not presentable.

Mrs. Hardy, much excited and discomposed by the shock she had just received (on being told by Rachel that she had not only written a letter to her _fiance_, to break off her engagement, but had _sent_ it), received him in the drawing-room, and did the best that wisdom, at such short notice, suggested to repair the catastrophe which she had been powerless to prevent.

She tried to smile and joke, in a considerate and well-bred manner; she rallied him upon his misconduct in the matter of Miss Hale, which had evidently been at the bottom of all the mischief, gently pointing out to him that a sensitive nature like Rachel's, and a tender heart that loved and trusted him, could not be played with, even in the conventional fashion, with impunity.

And then she hastened to explain the suddenness and unexpectedness of this "freak;" how sure she was that it had been perpetrated under the influence of a fit of temper or dejection, or some other unhealthy condition of mind; how equally sure she was that it was already repented of--though, of course, it was not for her to give an opinion or to interfere. All of which would have been very proper and sensible, but that the effect was marred by a bubbling under-current of angry excitement that her utmost efforts could not hide.

Mr. Kingston watched and listened, with smiling self-possession. Finding that he was not to see Rachel, nor to get any fresh information, he did not prolong the interview. He had no confidence in Mrs. Hardy--few men had, in matters of this kind. He received her communications in a friendly manner, as one receives an emba.s.sy under a flag of truce; he never thought of allowing himself to be influenced by them one way or the other, or of asking her a.s.sistance and advice.

As soon as courtesy permitted, he bowed himself out of her presence, with magnanimous expressions of good-will and a request that nothing might be be said or done to distress or embarra.s.s Rachel. And then he got into his cab thoughtfully, and went to South Yarra to call on Mrs.

Reade.

It was not one of this young lady's reception days, as no one knew better than himself; nor had she left her house in pursuit of tea and gossip at other people's "afternoons," as he half expected would be the case.

The sprightly maid-servant (all Mrs. Reade's servants were maids, and all of them sprightly), who opened the door to his thundering knock, recognising a privileged friend of the family, admitted him with alacrity; and he walked into the drawing-room and found his hostess sitting there alone, nestling in one of her seductive low chairs with an open letter on her knee.

She, too, had just received the news of Rachel's escapade; the letter, full of dashing and incoherent sentences, was in Mrs. Hardy's handwriting, and had arrived half an hour ago from Toorak. But there were no signs of excitement and discomposure about this little person, who rose to meet him, looking cool and bright, with even the suspicion of a twinkle in her eyes.

"Have you come for a gossip?" she asked, looking up at him with friendly frankness. "Because if you have you had better send your cab away. I am going out at five o'clock, and I'll drive you into town."

The cab was sent away; and Mr. Kingston, with a feeling of comfort and safety about him, sat down in a bow-windowed recess, in his favourite of all the cunningly-devised chairs, and with his elbows on his knees, began to fiddle with the top of a silk sock, at the toe of which his companion was now knitting industriously.

"Is this for Ned?" he inquired, after a pause.

"Now, isn't that a superfluous question?" she replied, holding it up.

"Look at the size of it. Could any foot but his fill out that enormous bag? Of course it is for Ned. Don't you know it is the new fashion for wives to knit their husband's socks? One must be in the fashion, even if one's husband is a giant."

"Very nice for one's husband. It seems beautifully soft; pretty colour, too." Then, after a pause, "Does Rachel know how to knit?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Reade, calmly; "we both learned together while she was staying with me, and she does it much quicker than I do. I suppose you are thinking you would like to partic.i.p.ate in the benefits of the fashion too?" she added, lifting her face suddenly, with a quick look in her bright eyes that was like the opening of a masked battery.

"If I thought that Rachel would ever knit socks for me, for the pleasure of it----" He paused with a change and break in his voice, regarding her wistfully.

Mrs. Reade immediately made a sheaf of her needles, wound them up in the sock, and impaled her ball of silk upon them. "Tell me," she said, folding her hands on her knees in a business-like manner, "tell me, what has Rachel been doing?"

"Don't you know? She has written to me to break off our engagement."

"What for?"

"I can't imagine--she doesn't say. I thought _you_ might be able to help me to find that out."

Mrs. Reade looked at him in silence for a few seconds, kindly and gravely. Even she felt herself a little at a loss as to what course to pursue.

"What have you done?" she asked abruptly.

"Nothing. I went up to see her just now, but I was disappointed. She could not, or would not, come in. I rather fancy your mother had been scolding her."

"I have no doubt she had. She doesn't approve of independence on the part of young people."

"I won't have her scolded," Mr. Kingston broke out, with sudden vehemence. "If I like to blame her, that is another matter. I won't have her set against me by other people. Nothing would make her hate me more than that kind of thing."

Mrs. Reade felt the justice of this protest, but she did not see fit to discuss her mother's little mistakes. "What are you going to do?" she inquired.

"Do you mean am I going to take my dismissal in this off-hand way? No, certainly not. After all the time we have been engaged--after all that has come and gone between us--after all the preparations that have been made--it would be _too_ preposterous! I should be the laughing-stock of the colony."

"That would be very sad," said Mrs. Reade, with her head on one side.

"Now be a good little woman, and don't jeer at me--I didn't come to you for that. You know--or you ought to know--that I am horribly upset and miserable about all this business, and that I want you to help me."

"I don't see how I can help you," she said.

"Tell me about Rachel. What is the matter with her? What does she mean?"

"Well, evidently she means that she doesn't want to marry you," sighed Mrs. Reade. "Tiresome child, why didn't she think of it before?"

"Why should she think of it now? Oh, yes, I know she has not been keen about it for some time, as she should have been. But she has not seemed to _dislike_ it; she has looked forward to it as much a matter of course as--as it has been to all the rest of us. And I felt so sure it would be all right--that I could make her as happy as possible--when we were once married and she had settled down!"

It was not often that Mrs. Reade was perplexed, but now--between her duty to her family, her strong affection for Rachel, and her desire to a.s.sist her friend--she really did not know what to do. While she was silent, struggling with the dilemma in her active mind, Mr. Kingston went on.

"It is since she went to Adelonga that she has changed so much. Haven't you noticed?"

"You did not behave very well to her at Adelonga, you know."

"Who told you that? Did she?"

"Never mind who told me. There is never any secrecy about your proceedings--I will give you that credit. You treated her very badly at Lucilla's ball."

"Not worse than she treated me," he began, impetuously; and then he paused and looked at his hostess. He was gentleman enough to shrink from discussing Rachel's misdeeds in connection with "that Dalrymple fellow,"

but he longed to find out how much her wise cousin and late companion knew. Mrs. Reade fingered her knitting with a placid and impenetrable face.

"Tell me--you know Rachel so intimately--do you think----"

"Do I think what?"