"We will dispense with the word if it displeases you, Mrs. Arnold. I will do anything that you wish, even if it be impossible for you to be in a dearer relation than at present."

"Hubert Tracy, if you succeed not, remember it is through no fault of mine. Just listen to me."

The young man listened, and in a few short words Mrs. Arnold made known her plans.

"We will succeed or I am not what I think myself," said Mrs. Arnold, readjusting the spray of heliotrope that was displaced in her corsage.

"Adieu for the present, dear Hubert," said the latter, on seeing Lord Melrose advancing to claim her for the next waltz.

"Ah, my fear truant, you have given me a world of anxiety. Why do you persist in such delightful methods of torture."

"_Torture!_ Lord Melrose!" exclaimed the lady with an air of arch coquetry.

Meanwhile Marguerite Verne sat in the quiet of her own apartment.

She had retired from the heated ball-room at an earlier hour than many of the guests. A wearied look rested upon the girl's face. She was heartily worn out with the excessive fatigue attending fashionable life.

"Well, it seems that I am fated for a martyr, and I must calmly submit," said she, loosening the luxuriant ma.s.s of silken hair that had been arranged to suit the most fastidious taste of Mrs. Arnold.

Donning a loose wrapper, and exchanging the pretty white satin slippers for a pair of soft morocco ones. Marguerite threw herself into a large and inviting arm-chair.

"I will not allow myself to think. My thoughts are rebellious," and immediately a pretty little pocket Testament found its way into the girl's hand.

A few words escaped Marguerite's lips as if an invocation was asked; then she read aloud the thirteenth chapter of Corinthians: "Though I speak with the tongue of men and angels," etc.

The sweet voice of the reader was not heard in vain. Marguerite closed the book and remained motionless for some moments, when she fancied that there was a noise as if some one were listening at the door.

"I am so foolish. My nerves are unstrung from keeping late hours,"

murmured she. Then hastily glancing towards the spot whence the sound proceeded Marguerite knelt down and prayed that an All-Merciful Providence would keep her from the temptations of fashionable society.

"G.o.d help me, I'm lost. I dare not approach that angel in disguise, else I would ask her what is meant by that Charity."

These words were muttered by Montague Arnold, who having been unable to attend his wife to the ball, had now returned in a state of intoxication.

Had Marguerite listened she might have heard the words repeated; but she had dropped off into a quiet slumber and lay unconscious of the semi-brutal state of her dissipated brother-in-law.

The next morning brought invitations for private theatricals at the house of a distinguished foreign emba.s.sy.

The s.p.a.cious mansion in St. James' Court received the grandees of every land. It was a high honor to enter "Rosemere Place."

Mrs. Verne was almost beside herself (to use a vulgarism). She walked on air, as it were, and could talk of nothing else but the elegance and grandeur in prospect.

"I have accepted Mr. Tracy as escort, mamma," said Mrs. Arnold, entering her drawing room with an elegant dress that had just arrived from the _modiste_.

"Now, Evelyn, have you not been a little premature? Would it not have been better to wait, for I think that Sir Arthur would in all probability have called to offer his service to Madge."

"Sir Arthur is a horrid bore, mamma--he is intolerable. I cannot see why you encourage him. I'm sure his estates are heavily mortgaged. I don't believe he can afford to pay for the kid gloves that he nourishes on his big brawny hands!"

"Some malicious person has been endeavoring to misrepresent Sir Arthur. I wish you would not listen to such stuff. I am certain that he is immensely wealthy, and then think of his family!"

Mrs. Verne did not wish to quarrel with her daughter; yet it seemed that a quarrel was brewing.

"You think it so important to secure a t.i.tle for Madge that you would have her struggle amid shabby genteel surroundings in order to introduce her as Lady Forrester!"

"Shame, Evelyn! you forget that I am your mother," said Mrs. Verne, raising her hand with haughty gesture and looking the embodiment of injured innocence.

"Forgive me, mamma, I did not mean to anger you," said Mrs. Arnold with an air of deep contrition.

This act was the latter's only safeguard. She knew well the key to her mother's character, and was determined to take advantage of every point.

"You know, mamma that we must look to dear papa's interest as well.

His business is in a precarious state. I heard Montague say that it is tottering, and Hubert's great riches will be at Madge's disposal."

Mrs. Verne could not but admire the thoughtful argument of her daughter.

"True enough, child; but if Mr. Tracy hears of the circ.u.mstance he will soon throw us over, my dear," said Mrs. Verne with something like agitation in her voice.

"Nothing of the kind, dear mamma," said Mrs. Arnold, placing her hand caressingly upon her mother's shoulder "it is thus that I have proved the true worth of Mr. Tracy's character--he not only spoke of the matter but intimated in a delicate manner that now he could sue more boldly for Madge's hand--be in a position to place dear papa on a surer footing than, he ever was."

"It is indeed a great blessing to know that we have such true friends," said Mrs. Verne in a tone that showed her heart was not with the subject.

Poor Mrs. Verne!

She had, since her arrival in England, changed her views as regards a son-in-law.

Her heart was set on the baronet and she wished that the merciless Evelyn would have expatiated on his riches instead of those of former friends.

"I can never have what I want," sighed the anxious mother as she sought her boudoir to write a letter in answer to the one which lay upon the Indian cabinet opposite.

"What on earth brings about these insolvencies is more than I can account for. One thing certain I can wash _my_ hands of it. It is not _our_ extravagance that will cause it."

Mrs. Verne glanced at the surroundings hoping to see much simplicity, but the elegance of the magnificent suite of apartments were sadly at variance with her speech.

"And to think of Evelyn's opposition. She is settled and should mind her own affairs, and judging from what I can see, she will have enough to do to keep her head up. Montague Arnold is no better than he ought to be. Well, well! I suppose his money will hold out and that is all that is required--oh dear, if Sir Arthur had Hubert Tracy's money."

The letter being finished a servant was despatched with the budget of mail, and Mrs. Verne took up a pretty design, of Kensington work that she was fashioning for a table scarf.

"I don't feel like anything to-day," murmured the woman, throwing the work aside and yawning several times.

"Madge, I'm glad you have come. Where is that novel I saw you reading yesterday?"

"Rossmoyne, do you mean, mamma?"

"Yes, I glanced over it and think it is fascinating, and I stand sorely in need of just such a work to-day."

Marguerite knew from her mother's fretted looks that she had been somewhat annoyed, and judging that Evelyn had something to do in the matter, said nothing, but quietly withdrew to her own apartments.

Although Mrs. Verne and her daughter spent much of their time in Mrs. Arnold's elegant suite of rooms, they occupied an exclusive suite of apartments in an aristocratic square not far distant.