"It seems to me, Mr. Barton," she said, thoughtfully, "that your one chance to retrieve the past is to find out your own people. I suppose"--hesitating a little--"that they are in a position to help you?"

"Most certainly they are; we lived mostly abroad, but always in good style; the house we had at Medhurst was only taken on lease for a short time; it was my father's fancy never to stay long in one place; he was fond of travelling; when I am strong enough to brave the weather, I will go down to Medhurst and hunt up an acquaintance or two; there must be someone who knew him; but the doctor will not give me leave yet."

"Did my husband say anything to you about the future?" asked Olivia, tentatively; then Robert Barton's face, that had grown suddenly old and haggard, brightened up.

"He told me some old gentleman, a friend of yours, had been awfully kind, and that he would be able to take a room for me for a month, and get me some canvas and colours. If I only had my tools, I could take a sketch of your little girl at once, just as she is now with the kitten.

I could call it 'Play-fellows,' just a small thing, you know, but it would be sure to take. I do not paint badly, although I have not made my mark yet, but I have sold two or three small pictures besides pot-boilers. I could begin to-morrow if only I had my easel and palette," and his tone was so eager, that Olivia promised to consult her husband, and, if he approved, to go herself for the necessary things.

When Marcus came in he told them at once that he had been round to the Models. "The room will be vacant next Tuesday, Barton," he said, briskly, "and I have settled with Mrs. Randall that you will take it for a month. It is a poor place, of course, but in my opinion it is not so bare as your present diggings, and it is very clean and comfortable, so you may be sure of board and lodging for a month. You will have to be careful, you know," he went on, "as long as this weather lasts. You must not think of moving about the country just yet or you will be laid up again," and then Olivia chimed in, and after a little consultation it was arranged that Olivia should go to the picture-shop at the corner of Harbut Street the next morning.

Robert Barton made a list of things required. He was in such good spirits all tea-time, and told such amusing stories of his life in Paris, that even Marcus, tired as he was, was much entertained.

"He is really a well-informed fellow," he observed, when Barton had retired. "I am not so sure that we shall find him in the way, after all. He told us that story about the artist's model in quite a racy fashion. He seems to be up to date in his notions. I am a bit curious to find out if he can paint or if it is only tall talk, but he certainly seems bent on it. Now I must turn in, for I am dead beat.

Oh, by-the-bye, Livy, I told Miss Williams that you would go round and see her to-morrow afternoon. It would really be a charity," as Olivia seemed very much astonished at this. "The poor girl is so lonely, she has no brothers and sisters, and as far as I can find out no friends either."

"No friends, Marcus--and they live in one of those nice houses in Brunswick Place, and keep a man-servant!"

"Oh, I daresay they have a few acquaintances," returned Dr. Luttrell, with a yawn. "Most likely it has been impossible for her to have friends. When I proposed sending you to cheer her up, she looked quite grateful. Poor soul, you will like her, Olive. She is just your sort; no nonsense about her, plenty of feeling, but nothing hysterical."

"Marcus," observed Olivia, slipping her hand through his arm, and speaking very deliberately, "do you not think we had better have those cards printed? our visiting acquaintance is so much increased," and then Marcus laughed and turned down the lamp.

CHAPTER XII.

GRETA.

"For I am the only one of my friends that I can rely on."--_Appolodamus_.

Olivia set out in good spirits to pay her call the next afternoon. It was a clear, frosty day, sunless and excessively cold, but Olivia felt a certain exhilaration in the ring of the horses' hoofs on the hard road, and the brisk exercise brought such a glow to her face, that more than one pa.s.ser-by looked at her approvingly.

There are no cosmetiques so beneficial as good health, happiness, and an easy conscience. Olivia, who had never been handsome, looked so fresh and comely, that many a languid beauty might have envied her.

Brunswick Place was considered rather a desirable spot; it was quiet and retired, and the houses were well-built and substantial looking.

They were chiefly inhabited by solicitors in good practice, and retired army men who had private means of their own. The very air was redolent of respectability and prosperity. No one with a small income would have thought of settling down in Brunswick Place.

The man-servant who admitted Olivia ushered her into a large, handsomely furnished drawing-room with a conservatory opening out of it, and the next moment Miss Williams joined her.

To her great surprise Olivia recognised her at once. She was the tall girl in brown that she had so often noticed in church, who was always alone, and who looked so sad. Yes, it was the same tired-looking young face, she was certain of it.

"I am sure I have often seen you," she said, as they shook hands, and Miss Williams smiled.

"I was just thinking the same of you. You attend St. Matthew's, do you not? I have seen you with Dr. Luttrell. Please sit down--no, not that chair. Come a little closer to the fire, it is so bitterly cold," and here she shivered a little.

"I do not mind the cold as much as some people," replied Olivia, st.u.r.dily. "I am very strong and take plenty of exercise. Perhaps you have not been out; it is so difficult to keep warm indoors."

"No, I have not been out," returned Miss Williams, and then she looked at Olivia. "It is very kind of you to come and see me--Mrs. Luttrell."

She spoke slowly, almost deliberately, but her voice was pleasant. In her light tweed, she looked even taller than Olivia had thought her, and very thin.

In spite of her pale complexion and want of animation, Miss Williams had some claims to good looks. She had soft grey eyes, with remarkably long lashes, and the coils of fair hair set off a finely shaped head.

"My husband thought that you seemed rather lonely," returned Olivia, in her usual straightforward fashion. Then a faint colour rose to Miss Williams's face.

"Yes, it was so kind of him to propose it, and I was very grateful. I suppose he told you that I had no friends--no one, I mean, that I could ask to come in and sit with me a little. I know the next-door people slightly. We call at intervals, and they have invited me to a party, but I have never got beyond that. It has been difficult for me to make friends. I am rather shy--and----" here she broke off rather awkwardly.

"I think I know what you mean," replied Olivia. "When one is in trouble, one wants real friends, not chance acquaintances, and if one has not made them----"

"Just so--that is precisely my case. Circ.u.mstances have been to blame, for I think I am sociable by nature. Dr. Luttrell was very quick; he understood at once, and he said it was not good for me to be so much alone. Oh, he was such a comfort to me. Even the first moment he did not seem like a stranger. I felt before half-an-hour was over that I could trust him implicitly. And when he suggested yesterday that you should come and cheer me up, I said yes at once."

"I was very glad to come," replied Olivia, quickly. "Like yourself, I have no friends here, with the exception of another patient of my husband's, an old gentleman who lives opposite to us. So I hope you will let me be of some use to you. You know," after a moment's hesitation, "Dr. Luttrell is not one to talk about his patients, but he told me a little about your trouble."

"So I imagined, and of course it makes it easier for me." And here Miss Williams's lips trembled slightly. "You could not help me or be any comfort without knowing a little. Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, is it not dreadful? My poor father, and such a good father, too. He is just killing himself, I know that."

"And you are all alone?"

"Yes, since my mother died. Things were bad enough then, but they have been worse since. She used to be able to influence him and keep him straight, but he will not listen to me."

"Have you had this to bear long?" and Olivia looked at her pityingly.

What a life for a young, sensitive girl!

"For some years. Ever since Dacre, my brother, died. It was a boating accident, and they brought him home quite dead. We thought it was the shock, but Dr. Bevan, who attended him, then told us that it was due also to hereditary disease. We dared not send for Dr. Bevan the other night, though he understood him so thoroughly, and was so kind. My father had quarrelled with him, but Dr. Luttrell saw him yesterday and they had a long talk."

"My husband always speaks so highly of Dr. Bevan."

"Yes, and I liked him so much. He was such a comfort to me when poor mother died, and I shall always be grateful to him, but I dared not run the risk of exciting my father. He is a little better today; Dr.

Luttrell says so; but of course he is coming again to-night. We have a good nurse, so things are more hopeful, but I shall have to get rid of our man. He is no use. Dr. Luttrell says I must have someone older and more reliable, who can help in an emergency. Roberts is far too young to be any real good."

Olivia listened and a.s.sented. She was quick-witted enough to see that it would be better to let Miss Williams talk and unburden herself a little. The girl, in spite of a naturally shy temperament, seemed ready to open her heart to her. Perhaps Olivia's winning personality had already won her. Human nature is so strangely const.i.tuted--the laws of attraction and repulsion are so unaccountable.

Some natures seem magnetic; they attract and draw us almost without our own volition. With others we make no way, months and years of intercourse will not bind us more closely. We are not on the same plane.

Olivia's sympathetic manner, the pitying kindness in her eyes, appealed strongly to Greta Williams, the lonely girl--isolated by the worst curse that can affect humanity--grievous hereditary vice--the innocent scape-goat of another's sin. Alas, how many homes even in our favoured land are desolated as well as desecrated from this one cause. What piteous waste of sweet young life, crushed under unnatural burdens.

The sin of England, we say--the shameful curse of diseased self-indulgence.

Greta Williams seemed patient by nature; though it was a relief to talk openly to another woman, she did not complain. In spite of her father's faults, he was evidently very dear to her.

"It is a disease--a madness," she said once, "but it would never do to have young people here; one could not be sure, and for his sake it is better not," and in these few words there lay a world of tragedy.

To love, and yet not to be sure that the object of our love will not disgrace us. What misery to a refined and sensitive nature, to have to blush and grow pale from very shame and terror; to stretch out a helping hand to some dear one who has sunk too low to reach it. Ah, only One, the All-merciful, can rightly gauge the anguish of such a sorrow. No wonder Greta Williams looked so worn and pale, and that her eyes had grown sad.

"He is worse than he has ever been," she whispered, presently. "Dr.

Luttrell does not tell me, but I know he was alarmed for him that night. He has been so much better lately," she went on, with a little sob in her throat. "I had felt almost comfortable; not quite comfortable, you know, because it never really lasted, but he liked me to read to him, and we played chess; but now"--her voice dropped into weariness--"I shall never feel quite easy again."

Olivia had long ago outstayed an ordinary conventional visit; but Marcus had sent her for a purpose: she was to try and cheer, and, if possible, comfort, this poor girl, so, when Greta rang for tea, she simply stayed on, and towards the end of her visit she thought her young hostess looked a shade brighter.

"You will come and see me," she said when she rose to take leave; but Miss Williams hesitated.