"Is he going at once to the Hot Springs?"

"As rapidly as possible. Colonel Rawdon is now there, and very ill.

Tyrrel will put his father first of all. The trouble at the mine can be investigated afterwards."

"You will miss him very much. You have been so happy together."

"Of course I shall miss him. But it will be a good thing for us to be apart awhile. Love must have some time in which to grow. I am a little tired of being very happy, and I think Tyrrel also will find absence a relief. In 'Lalla Rookh' there is a line about love 'falling asleep in a sameness of splendor.' It might. How melancholy is a long spell of hot, sunshiny weather, and how gratefully we welcome the first shower of rain."

"Love has made you a philosopher, Ethel."

"Well, it is rather an advantage than otherwise. I am going to take a walk, Ruth, into the very heart of Broadway. I have had enough of the peace of the country. I want the crack, and crash, and rattle, and grind of wheels, the confused cries, the s.n.a.t.c.hes of talk and laughter, the tread of crowds, the sound of bells, and clocks, and chimes. I long for all the chaotic, unintelligible noise of the streets. How suggestive it is! Yet it never explains itself. It only gives one a full sense of life. Love may need just the same stimulus. I wish grandmother would come home. I should not require Broadway as a stimulus. I am afraid she will be very angry with me, and there will be a battle royal in Gramercy Park."

It was nearly a week before Ethel had this crisis to meet. She went down to it with a radiant face and charming manner, and her reception was very cordial. Madam would not throw down the glove until the proper moment; besides, there were many very interesting subjects to talk over, and she wanted "to find things out" that would never be told unless tempers were propitious. Added to these reasons was the solid one that she really adored her granddaughter, and was immensely cheered by the very sight of the rosy, smiling countenance lifted to her sitting-room window in pa.s.sing. She, indeed, pretended to be there in order to get a good light for her new sh.e.l.l pattern, but she was watching for Ethel, and Ethel understood the sh.e.l.l-pattern fiction very well. She had heard something similar often.

"My darling grandmother," she cried, "I thought you would never come home."

"It wasn't my fault, dear. Miss Hillis and an imbecile young doctor made me believe I had a cold. I had no cold. I had nothing at all but what I ought to have. I've been made to take all sorts of things, and do all sorts of things that I hate to take and hate to do. For ten days I've been kicking my old heels against bedclothes. Yesterday I took things in my own hands."

"Never mind, Granny dear, it was all a good discipline."

"Discipline! You impertinent young lady! Discipline for your grandmother! Discipline, indeed! That one word may cost you a thousand dollars, miss."

"I don't care if it does, only you must give the thousand dollars to poor Miss Hillis."

"Poor Miss Hillis has had a most comfortable time with me all summer."

"I know she has, consequently she will feel her comfortless room and poverty all the more after it. Give her the thousand, Granny. I'm willing."

"What kind of company have you been keeping, Ethel Rawdon? Who has taught you to squander dollars by the thousand? Discipline! I think you are giving me a little now--a thousand dollars a lesson, it seems--no wonder, after the carryings-on at Rawdon Court."

"Dear grandmother, we had the loveliest time you can imagine. And there is not, in all the world, such a n.o.ble old gentleman as Squire Percival Rawdon."

"I know all about Percival Rawdon--a proud, careless, extravagant, loose-at-ends man, dancing and singing and loving as it suited time and season, taking no thought for the future, and spending with both hands; hard on women, too, as could be."

"Grandmother, I never saw a more courteous gentleman. He worships women.

He was never tired of talking about you."

"What had he to say about me?"

"That you were the loveliest girl in the county, and that he never could forget the first time he saw you. He said you were like the vision of an angel."

"Nonsense! I was just a pretty girl in a book muslin frock and a white sash, with a rose at my breast. I believe they use book muslin for linings now, but it did make the sheerest, lightest frocks any girl could want. Yes, I remember that time. I was going to a little party and crossing a meadow to shorten the walk, and Squire Percival had been out with his gun, and he laid it down and ran to help me over the stile. A handsome young fellow he was then as ever stepped in shoe leather."

"And he must have loved you dearly. He would sit hour after hour telling Ruth and me how bright you were, and how all the young beaux around Monk-Rawdon adored you."

"Nonsense! Nonsense! I had beaux to be sure. What pretty girl hasn't?"

"And he said his brother Edward won you because he was most worthy of your love."

"Well, now, I chose Edward Rawdon because he was willing to come to America. I longed to get away from Monk-Rawdon. I was faint and weary with the whole stupid place. And the idea of living a free and equal life, and not caring what lords and squires and their proud ladies said or did, pleased me wonderfully. We read about Niagara and the great prairies and the new bright cities, and Edward and I resolved to make our home there. Your grandfather wasn't a man to like being 'the Squire's brother.' He could stand alone."

"Are you glad you came to America?"

"Never sorry a minute for it. Ten years in New York is worth fifty years in Monk-Rawdon, or Rawdon Court either."

"Squire Percival was very fond of me. He thought I resembled you, grandmother, but he never admitted I was as handsome as you were."

"Well, Ethel dear, you are handsome enough for the kind of men you'll pick up in this generation--most of them bald at thirty, wearing spectacles at twenty or earlier, and in spite of the fuss they make about athletics breaking all to nervous bits about fifty."

"Grandmother, that is pure slander. I know some very fine young men, handsome and athletic both."

"Beauty is a matter of taste, and as to their athletics, they can run a mile with a blacksmith, but when the thermometer rises to eighty-five degrees it knocks them all to pieces. They sit fanning themselves like schoolgirls, and call for juleps and ice-water. I've got eyes yet, my dear. Squire Percival was a different kind of man; he could follow the hounds all day and dance all night. The hunt had not a rider like him; he balked at neither hedge, gate, nor water; a right gallant, courageous, honorable, affectionate gentleman as ever Yorkshire bred, and she's bred lots of superfine ones. What ever made him get into such a mess with his estate? Your grandfather thought him as straight as a string in money matters."

"You said just now he was careless and extravagant."

"Well, I did him wrong, and I'm sorry for it. How did he manage to need eighty thousand pounds?"

"It is rather a pitiful story, grandmother, but he never once blamed those who were in the wrong. His son for many years had been the real manager of the estate. He was a speculator; his grandsons were wild and extravagant. They began to borrow money ten years ago and had to go on."

"Whom did they borrow from?"

"Fred Mostyn's father."

"The devil! Excuse me, Ethel--but the name suits and may stand."

"The dear old Squire would have taken the fault on himself if he could have done so. They that wronged him were his own, and they were dead. He never spoke of them but with affection."

"Poor Percival! Your father told me he was now out of Mostyn's power; he said you had saved the estate, but he gave me no particulars. How did you save it?"

"Bought it!"

"Nonsense!"

"House and lands and outlying farms and timber--everything."

Then a rosy color overspread Madam's face, her eyes sparkled, she rose to her feet, made Ethel a sweeping courtesy, and said:

"My respect and congratulations to Ethel, Lady of Rawdon Manor."

"Dear grandmother, what else could I do?"

"You did right."

"The Squire is Lord of the Manor as long as he lives. My father says I have done well to buy it. In the future, if I do not wish to keep it, Nicholas Rawdon will relieve me at a great financial advantage."

"Why didn't you let Nicholas Rawdon buy it now?"

"He would have wanted prompt possession. The Squire would have had to leave his home. It would have broken his heart."