"You have no such right," she said, indignantly.

"Then I take your refusal to mean that he had. Are you aware that he is engaged to be married? Do you know that he is a beggar, and his father also? Do you know--?"

"I hope I may be allowed to be free from insult in my own house," she said, as she rose and-with a wonderful dignity, and pride, and grace that abashed and awed him-walked out of the room.

A dim sort of compunction seized him, and he would willingly have followed her, and begged her to pardon what he had said. Then he, too, felt a little hurt, remembering that he was a Count, and she an actress.

Finally, he quietly withdrew, found a servant at the door waiting to let him out, and departed from the house with a heavy heart.

"A woman's 'no' generally means 'yes,'" he said to himself, disconsolately trying to extract comfort from the old proverb.

He would not despair. Perhaps the time had been inopportune. Perhaps he should have postponed the crisis when he learned of Mrs. Christmas's death. Then he reflected, that he had been so intent on his own purpose as to forget to offer the most ordinary condolences.

"That is it," he said. "She is offended by my having spoken at such a time."

The Count was a shifty man, and invariably found hope in the mere fact of having something to do. There was yet opportunity to retrieve his blunder. So he drove to the office of Cayley & Hubbard, and found his meek brother sitting in his room.

"I never come to see you except when I am in trouble," said the Count, with a grim smile.

"I am always glad to see you, Frederick. What is your trouble now?"

"Oh, the old affair. She has left the theatre, as you know; she has lost that old woman; she is quite alone and penniless; and, this morning, when I offered to make her my wife, she said no."

"What were her reasons?"

"A woman never has any. But I think I vexed her in making the proposal when the corpse was lying in the next room. It was rather rum, wasn't it? And then she had been crying, and very likely did not wish to be disturbed. However, I don't despair. No. Look at her position. She _can't live_ unless she accepts a.s.sistance from me."

"Unless--"

Mr. John Hubbard did not complete the sentence, but his face twitched more nervously than ever.

"Who _could_ tell her?" asked the Count, angrily.

"She may get a.s.sistance from those other people--"

"The Anerleys?" replied the Count, with a splendid laugh. "Why, man, every penny of old Anerley's money is with Miall & Welling. Safe keeping there, eh? Bless you, she has no alternative-except this, that she's sure to run off and disappear suddenly in some wild attempt at becoming a governess. I know she means something that way."

"And then you'll lose sight of her," said the thin-faced brother, peering into the slip of grey sky visible through the small and dusty window.

What _his_ thoughts were at this moment he revealed to his wife at night.

"My dear," he said, in dulcet tones, "I am afraid my brother is a very selfish man, and wants to get this poor girl's money. If she were to become friends with us, we might guard her against him. Indeed, it might only be fair to tell her what money awaits her, whenever she chooses to take it; and perhaps, you know, Jane, she might give a little present to the children, out of grat.i.tude, you know."

"A few thousand pounds would be nothing to her, John," said the wife, thinking of her darling boys.

"And Fred's money he's sure to keep to himself. He seems to have no idea that his family have claims upon him."

However, to return to the Count, he then proceeded to unfold to his brother the plan he had conceived for the entrapping of this golden-crested wren which was so likely to fly away:

"All the little money she may have saved will be swallowed up in the funeral expenses. After that-what? Music-lessons, or French, or something. Very good. I know she has been already watching the advertis.e.m.e.nts in the _Times_. Now what I want you to do is this-publish an advertis.e.m.e.nt which will attract her attention, and secure her as a governess."

The two men had thought of the same thing, at the same moment, each for his own purpose. But John Hubbard suddenly began to fear that he would be made a cat's-paw of by his more favoured brother.

"The name, Frederick, might suggest to her--"

"I don't think she knows my personal name," said the Count, coldly.

"Besides, you would not advertise as Cayley & Hubbard, which might remind her of _one_ resource open to her, and you would not advertise as my brother, which would frighten her away. Let Jane advertise-she will do it better than either of us; and if it is necessary to get rid of your present governess, you can give her some small _solatium_, which I will repay you."

This was the advertis.e.m.e.nt which was finally concocted between them-

"_Wanted, a Governess. Must be thoroughly proficient in music and French. One who could a.s.sist in arranging private theatricals preferred. Apply,_" _&c., &c._

It was submitted by Mr. John Hubbard to the inspection of his wife; and the mild, fat, pretty little woman approved of it:

"That is how I fancy we might get acquainted with her, my dear; and you know Frederick dare not come near the house at first, or she would be frightened away at once. Then, you know, we could be very kind to her, and make her grateful. She ought to be grateful, considering her position."

Jane acquiesced, but was not hopeful. She had heard her husband frequently speak of the strange things he encountered in his professional career; but she had never herself seen any of them. She did not believe, therefore, that any portion of a romance could be enacted in her prosaic house.

"It would be very nice," she said to her husband, "if it all came right; and we were to be friends with such a rich lady, and if she would only give the children something to make them independent of their uncle Frederick. I'm not fond of money for its own sake; but for the children, my dear--"

"Yes, the children are to be considered," said John, wondering whether his pretty, placid, good-natured little wife believed that he believed that she believed what she said.

"I am sure a lady so well-born will be a charming companion," said Mrs.

John, "whether she has been an actress or not."

"And we must change the sherry," said her husband.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

CONFESSION.

By the time that Mrs. Anerley arrived, Dove was sufficiently well to suffer removal from the hotel; and as there was now no help for it, the whole family removed to those rooms which Will had engaged for them from his landlord. The position of affairs had now to be disclosed; and with all the cheerfulness and mutual consolation they could muster, the prospect seemed doleful enough. Every one seemed to be chiefly concerned for Dove, and Dove was the least concerned of all. She put her arm round Mr. Anerley's neck, as he bent over the couch on which she lay, and whispered to him-

"You have lost all your shooting, poor papa."

"Yes."

"But then you have me. I'm as good as the biggest partridge you ever saw, am I not?"

"I think you are, darling."

"And you have lost all your fishing, poor papa."

"Yes, that too."