'She's with us,' said Miss f.a.n.n.y, who had been staring at this grave, handsomely-dressed lady who had alighted from such a swell carriage; 'we are the Wopples Family.'

'Ah!' said Mrs Villiers, thinking, 'I remember, you were up at Ballarat last year. Well, Kitty, will you and your friend drive down to St Kilda with me, and I'll show you my new house?'

Kitty would have refused, for she was afraid Madame Midas would perhaps send her back to her father, but the appealing looks of f.a.n.n.y Wopples, who had never ridden in a carriage in her life, and was dying to do so, decided her to accept. So they stepped into the carriage, and Mrs Villiers told the coachman to drive home.

As they drove along, Mrs Villiers delicately refrained from asking Kitty any questions about her flight, seeing that a stranger was present, but determined to find out all about it when she got her alone down at St Kilda.

Kitty, on her part, was thinking how to baffle Madame's inquiries. She knew she would be questioned closely by her, and resolved not to tell more than she could help, as she, curiously enough--considering how he had treated her--wished to shield Vandeloup. But she still cherished a tender feeling for the man she loved, and had Vandeloup asked her to go back and live with him, would, no doubt, have consented. The fact was, the girl's nature was becoming slightly demoralised, and the Kitty who sat looking at Madame Midas now--though her face was as pretty, and her eyes as pure as ever--was not the same innocent Kitty that had visited the Pactolus, for she had eaten of the Tree of Knowledge, and was already cultured in worldly wisdom. Madame, of course, believed that Kitty had gone from Ballarat straight on to the stage, and never thought for a moment that for a whole year she had been Vandeloup's mistress, so when Kitty found this out--as she very soon did--she took the cue at once, and a.s.serted positively to Madame that she had been on the stage for eighteen months.

'But how is it,' asked Madame, who believed her fully, 'that I could not find you?'

'Because I was up the country all the time,' replied Kitty, quickly, 'and of course did not act under my real name.'

'You would not like to go back to your father, I suppose,' suggested Madame.

Kitty made a gesture of dissent.

'No,' she answered, determinedly; 'I was tired of my father and his religion; I'm on the stage now, and I mean to stick to it.'

'Kitty! Kitty!' said Madame, sadly, 'you little know the temptations--'

'Oh! yes, I do,' interrupted Kitty, impatiently; 'I've been nearly two years on the stage, and I have not seen any great wickedness--besides, I'm always with Mrs Wopples.'

'Then you still mean to be an actress?' asked Madame.

'Yes,' replied Kitty, in a firm voice; 'if I went back to my father, I'd go mad leading that dull life.'

'But why not stay with me, my dear?' said Mrs Villiers, looking at her; 'I am a lonely woman, as you know, and if you come to me, I will treat you as a daughter.'

'Ah! how good you are,' cried the girl in a revulsion of feeling, falling on her friend's neck; 'but indeed I cannot leave the stage--I'm too fond of it.'

Madame sighed, and gave up the argument for a time, then showed the two girls all over the house, and after they had dinner with her, she sent them back to town in her carriage, with strict injunctions to Kitty to come down next day and bring Mr Wopples with her. When the two girls reached the hotel where the family was staying, f.a.n.n.y gave her father a glowing account of the opulence of Madame Midas, and Mr Wopples was greatly interested in the whole affair. He was grave, however, when Kitty spoke to him privately of what Madame had said to her, and asked her if she would not like to accept Mrs Villiers' offer. Kitty, however, said she would remain on the stage, and as Wopples was to see Madame Midas next day, made him promise he would say nothing about having found her on the streets, or of her living with a lover. Wopples, who thoroughly understood the girl's desire to hide her shame from her friends, agreed to this, so Kitty went to bed confident that she had saved Vandeloup's name from being dragged into the affair.

Wopples saw Madame next day, and a long talk ensued, which ended in Kitty agreeing to stay six months with Mrs Villiers, and then, if she still wished to continue on the stage, she was to go to Mr Wopples.

On the other hand, in consideration of Wopples losing the services of Kitty, Madame promised that next year she would give him sufficient money to start a theatre in Melbourne. So both parted mutually satisfied. Kitty made presents to all the family, who were very sorry to part with her, and then took up her abode with Mrs Villiers, as a kind of adopted daughter, and was quite prepared to play her part in the comedy of fashion.

So Madame Midas had been near the truth, yet never discovered it, and sent a letter to Vandeloup asking him to come to dinner and meet an old friend, little thinking how old and intimate a friend Kitty was to the young man.

It was, as Mr Wopples would have said, a highly dramatic situation, but, alas, that the confiding nature of Madame Midas should thus have been betrayed, not only by Vandeloup, but by Kitty herself--the very girl whom, out of womanly compa.s.sion, she took to her breast.

And yet the world talks about the inherent goodness of human nature.

CHAPTER VIII

M. VANDELOUP IS SURPRISED

Owing to the quiet life Kitty had led since she came to Melbourne, and the fact that her appearance on the stage had taken place in the country, she felt quite safe when making her appearance in Melbourne society that no one would recognise her or know anything of her past life. It was unlikely she would meet with any of the Pulchop family again, and she knew Mr Wopples would hold his tongue regarding his first meeting with her, so the only one who could reveal anything about her would be Vandeloup, and he would certainly be silent for his own sake, as she knew he valued the friendship of Madame Midas too much to lose it. Nevertheless she awaited his coming in considerable trepidation, as she was still in love with him, and was nervous as to what reception she would meet with. Perhaps now that she occupied a position as Mrs Villiers' adopted daughter he would marry her, but, at all events, when she met him she would know exactly how he felt towards her by his demeanour.

Vandeloup, on the other hand, was quite unaware of the surprise in store for him, and thought that the old friend he was to meet would be some Ballarat acquaintance of his own and Madame's. In his wildest flight of fancy he never thought it would be Kitty, else his cool nonchalance would for once have been upset at the thought of the two women he was interested in being under the same roof. However, where ignorance is bliss--well M. Vandeloup, after dressing himself carefully in evening dress, put on his hat and coat, and, the evening being a pleasant one, thought he would stroll through the Fitzroy Gardens down to the station.

It was pleasant in the gardens under the golden light of the sunset, and the green arcades of trees looked delightfully cool after the glare of the dusty streets. Vandeloup, strolling along idly, felt a touch on his shoulder and wheeled round suddenly, for with his past life ever before him he always had a haunting dread of being recaptured.

The man, however, who had thus drawn his attention was none other than Pierre Lemaire, who stood in the centre of the broad asphalt path, dirty, ragged and disreputable-looking. He had not altered much since he left Ballarat, save that he looked more dilapidated-looking, but stood there in his usual sullen manner, with his hat drawn down over his eyes.

Some stray wisps of gra.s.s showed that he had been camping out all the hot day on the green turf under the shadow of the trees, and it was easy to see from his appearance what a vagrant he was. Vandeloup was annoyed at the meeting and cast a rapid look around to see if he was observed.

The few people, however, pa.s.sing were too intent on their own business to give more than a pa.s.sing glance at the dusty tramp and the young man in evening dress talking to him, so Vandeloup was rea.s.sured.

'Well, my friend,' he said, sharply, to the dumb man, 'what do you want?'

Pierre put his hand in his pocket.

'Oh, of course,' replied M. Vandeloup, mockingly, 'money, money, always money; do you think I'm a bank, always to be drawn on like this?'

The dumb man made no sign that he had heard, but stood sullenly rocking himself to and fro an'd chewing a wisp of the gra.s.s he had picked off his coat.

'Here,' said the young man, taking out a sovereign and giving it to Pierre; 'take this just now and don't bother me, or upon my word,' with a disdainful look, 'I shall positively have to hand you over to the law.'

Pierre glanced up suddenly, and Vandeloup caught the gleam of his eyes under the shadow of the hat.

'Oh! you think it will be dangerous for me,' he said, in a gay tone; 'not at all, I a.s.sure you. I am a gentleman, and rich; you are a pauper, and disreputable. Who will believe your word against mine? My faith!

your a.s.surance is quite refreshing. Now, go away, and don't trouble me again, or,' with a sudden keen glance, 'I will do as I say.'

He nodded coolly to the dumb man, and strode gaily along under the shade of the heavily foliaged oaks, while Pierre looked at the sovereign, slipped it into his pocket, and slouched off in the opposite direction without even a glance at his patron.

At the top of the street Vandeloup stepped into a cab, and telling the man to drive to the St Kilda Station, in Elizabeth Street, went off into a brown study. Pierre annoyed him seriously, as he never seemed to get rid of him, and the dumb man kept turning up every now and then like the mummy at the Egyptian feast to remind him of unpleasant things.

'Confound him!' muttered Vandeloup, angrily, as he alighted at the station and paid the cabman, 'he's more trouble than Bebe was; she did take the hint and go, but this man, my faith!' shrugging his shoulders, 'he's the devil himself for sticking.'

All the way down to St Kilda his reflections were of the same unpleasant nature, and he cast about in his own mind how he could get rid of this pertinacious friend. He could not turn him off openly, as Pierre might take offence, and as he knew more of M. Vandeloup's private life than that young gentleman cared about, it would not do to run the risk of an exposure.

'There's only one thing to be done,' said Gaston, quietly, as he walked down to Mrs Villiers' house; 'I will try my luck at marrying Madame Midas; if she consents, we can go away to Europe as man and wife; if she does not I will go to America, and, in either case, Pierre will lose trace of me.'

With this comfortable reflection he went into the house and was shown into the drawing room by the servant. There were no lights in the room, as it was not sufficiently dark for them, and Vandeloup smiled as he saw a fire in the grate.

'My faith!' he said to himself, 'Madame is as chilly as ever.'

The servant had retired, and he was all by himself in this large room, with the subdued twilight all through it, and the flicker of the flames on the ceiling. He went to the fire more from habit than anything else, and suddenly came on a big armchair, drawn up close to the side, in which a woman was sitting.

'Ah! the sleeping beauty,' said Vandeloup, carelessly; 'in these cases the proper thing to do in order to wake the lady is to kiss her.'

He was, without doubt, an extremely audacious young man, and though he did not know who the young lady was, would certainly have put his design into execution, had not the white figure suddenly rose and confronted him. The light from the fire was fair on her face, and with a sudden start Vandeloup saw before him the girl he had ruined and deserted.

'Bebe?' he gasped, recoiling a step.

'Yes!' said Kitty, in an agitated tone, 'your mistress and your victim.'