I was not sorry to be once again fairly settled in Lowndes Street. Even in the winter London has its charms. People don't watch everything you do or carp at everything you say. If there is more apparent constraint, there is more real liberty than in the country. Besides, you have so much society, and everybody is so much pleasanter in the metropolis during December than July. The frost had set in again harder than ever. Brilliant and White Stockings, like "Speir-Adam's steeds," were compelled to "bide in stall." John was lingering at the Lloyds or elsewhere in the Principality, though expected back every day. Aunt Deborah was still weak, and had only just sufficient energy to forbid Captain Lovell the house, and insist on my never speaking to him. I can't think what she had found out or what Aunt Horsingham had told her; but this I know, that if ever I have a daughter, and I don't want her to like Mr. Dash, or to be continually thinking about him, I shall not forbid her to speak to him; nor shall I take every opportunity of impressing on her that he is wild, unprincipled, reckless, and dissipated, and that the only redeeming points about him are his agreeable conversation and his good looks. Altogether, I should have been somewhat dull had it not been for Mrs. Lumley; but of that vivacious lady I saw a good deal, and I confess took a far greater pleasure in her society than on our first acquaintance I should have esteemed possible. When I am ill at ease with myself, not thoroughly satisfied with my own conduct, I always like the society of fast people; their liberality of sentiment and general carelessness of demeanour convey no tacit reproach on my own want of restraint, and I feel more at home with them than with such severe moralists as Aunt Horsingham or hypocritical Cousin Amelia. So I drove and shopped and visited with Mrs. Lumley—nay, I was even permitted as a great favour to dine with her on one or two occasions, Aunt Deborah only stipulating that there should be no male addition to the party except Mr. Lumley himself, or, as the lady of the house termed him, "her old man."

I confess I liked the "old man," and so I think in her own way did his wife. Why she married him I cannot think, more particularly as he had not then succeeded to the comfortable fortune they now enjoy: he was little, old, ugly, decrepit, and an invalid, but he was good nature and contentment personified. I believe he had great talents—for all his want of physical beauty he had a fine head—but these talents were wholly and unsparingly devoted to one pursuit: he was an entomologist. With a black beetle and a microscope he was happy for the day. Piles upon piles of manuscripts had he written upon the forms and classification of the bluebottle fly. He could tell you how many legs are flourished by the house-spider, and was thoroughly versed in the anatomy of the common gnat. This pursuit, or science as he called it, engrossed his whole attention. It was fortunate he had such an absorbing occupation, inasmuch as his general debility prevented his entering into any amusement out of doors. His wife and he seemed to understand each other perfectly.

"My dear," he would say when listening to some escapade that it would have been scarcely prudent to trust to most husbands' ears, "I never interfere with your butterflies, and you never trouble yourself about mine. I must, however, do myself the justice to observe that you get tired of your insects infinitely the soonest of the two."

He never inquired where she went or what she did, but late or early always received her with the same quiet welcome, the same sly, good-humoured smile. I firmly believe that with all her levity, whatever scandal might say, she was a good wife to him. He trusted her implicitly; and I think she felt his confidence deserved to be respected. Such was not the opinion of the world, I am well aware; but we all know the charitable construction it is so eager to put on a fair face with a loud laugh and a good set of teeth. Dear me! if he looked for a lady that had never been talked about, CÆsar might have searched London for a wife in vain. Good Mr. Lumley professed a great affection for me, and would occasionally favour me with long and technical dissertations on the interior economy of the flea, for example; and once in the fullness of his heart confided to his wife that "Miss Coventry was really a dear girl; it's my belief, Madge, that if she'd been a man she'd have been a naturalist." These little dinners were indeed vastly agreeable. Nobody had such a comfortable house or such a good cook or so many pretty things as Mrs. Lumley. Her "old man" seemed to enjoy the relaxation of ladies' society after his morning labours and researches. With me he was good-humoured and full of fun; at his wife's jokes and stories, most of them somewhat scandalous, he would laugh till he cried.

"I'm responsible for you, Miss Coventry," he would say with a sly laugh. "You're not fit to be trusted with Madge; upon my life, I believe she is the wildest of the two. If you won't have the carriage, I must walk back with you myself.—How far is it, Madge? Do you think I can stay the distance, as you sporting people term it in your inexplicable jargon?"

"Why, you know you can't get a hundred yards, you foolish old man," laughed his wife. "A nice chaperon you'd make for Kate. Why, she'd have to carry you, and you know you'd tumble off even then. No, no; you and I will stay comfortably here by the fire, and I'll give you your tea and put you tidily to bed. I shan't be home any other night this week. Kate has a convoy coming for her;—haven't you, Kate?—Le beau cousin will take the best possible care of us; and even prim Aunt Deborah won't object to our walking back with him. I believe he came up from Wales on purpose. What would somebody else give to take the charge off his hands?—You needn't blush, Kate; I can see through a millstone as far as my neighbours. I'm not quite such a fool as I look;—am I, 'old man'?—There's the doorbell.—John, ask Mr. Jones if he won't step up and have some tea." We were sitting by a blazing fire in the boudoir, a snug and beautiful little room, to which no one was admitted but the lady's especial favourites; even the "old man" never entered it during the day.

"Mr. Jones's compliments, and he hopes you'll excuse him, ma'am," was the footman's answer on his return; "but it's very late, and he promised to bring Miss Coventry back by eleven."

"Well, I'm sure," said Mrs. Lumley, "if I was you, Kate, I shouldn't stand his anticipating his authority in this way. Never mind; be a good girl, and do as you're bid—pop your bonnet on. Shall I lend you an extra shawl? There, you may give my 'old man' a kiss, if you like. Bless him! he's gone fast asleep. Good-night, Kate; mind you come to luncheon to-morrow, there's a dear." So saying, Mrs. Lumley bid me a most affectionate farewell; and I found myself leaning on John's arm, to walk home through the clear frosty night.

I do like perambulating London streets by gaslight—of course with a gentleman to take care of one. It is so much pleasanter than being stewed up in a brougham. How I wish it was the fashion for people to take their bonnets out to dinner with them, and walk back in the cool fresh air! If it is delightful even in winter, how much more so in the hot summer nights of the season! Your spirits rise and your nerves brace themselves as you inhale the midnight air, with all its smoky particles, pure by comparison with that which has just been poisoning you in a crowded drawing-room. Your cavalier asks leave to indulge in his "weed," and you enjoy its fragrance at second-hand as he puffs contentedly away and chats on in that prosy, confidential sort of manner which no man ever succeeds in assuming, save with a cigar in his mouth. John lit his, of course, but was less communicative, to my fancy, than usual. After asking me if I had "enjoyed a pleasant evening," and whether "I preferred walking," he relapsed into a somewhat constrained silence. I too walked on without speaking. Much as I love the night, it always makes me rather melancholy; and I dare say we should have got to Lowndes Street without exchanging a syllable, had not some imp of mischief prompted me to cross-examine my cousin a little upon his sÉjour in Wales, and to quiz him half spitefully on his supposed penchant for pretty Fanny Lloyd. John rose freely in a moment.

"I know where you pick up all this nonsense, Kate," he burst out quite savagely; "I know where half the scandal and half the mischief in London originates! With that odious woman whose house we have just quitted, whose tongue cannot be still for a single moment; who never by any chance speaks a word of truth, and who is seldom so happy as when she is making mischief. I pity that poor decrepit husband of hers, though he ought to keep her in better order; yet it is a hard case upon any man to be tied to such a Jezebel as that."

"The Jezebel, as you call her, John," I interposed quietly, "is my most intimate friend."

"That's exactly what I complain of," urged my cousin; "that's my great objection to her, Kate; that's one of the things that I do believe are driving me out of my senses day by day. You know I don't wish you to associate with her; you know that I object extremely to your being seen everywhere in her company. But you don't care: the more I expostulate the more obstinate and wilful you seem to become."

It is my turn to be angry now.

"Obstinate and wilful indeed!" I repeated, drawing myself up. "I should like to know what right you have to apply such terms to me! Who gave you authority to choose my society for me, or to determine where I shall go or what I shall do? You presume on your relationship, John; you take an ungenerous advantage of the regard and affection which I have always entertained for you."

John was mollified in an instant.

"Do you entertain regard and affection for me, Kate?" said he; "do you value my good opinion and consider me as your dearest and best friend?"

"Of course I do, John," was my reply. "Haven't we known each other from childhood, and are you not like a brother to me?"

John's face fell a little and his voice shook as he spoke. "Am I never to be more than a brother to you—never to obtain a greater interest in you, a larger share of your regard than I have now? Listen to me, Kate; I have something to tell you, and I can put it off no longer. This delay, this uncertainty day by day, I do believe will drive me mad. Kate, I promised Aunt Deborah faithfully that I would never enter on this subject till you came of age, and you know by your father's will you don't come of age till you're five-and-twenty. 'By that time, John,' said my aunt, 'Kate will have seen plenty of others, and be old enough to know her own mind. If she takes you then, she takes you with her eyes open, and she won't get tired of you and find out she likes some one else better. Promise me, John, that you'll wait till then.' And I did promise, Kate; but I can't keep my word—I can't wait in this state of anxiety and uncertainty, and perhaps lose you after all. It's too great a stake to play for if one is to be kept so long in suspense, and I have resolved to be put out of my pain one way or the other."

John paused. I had never seen him so excited before. He was quite hot, though the night was keen and frosty; his arm trembled as mine leant upon it; and though his cigar was gone out, he kept puffing away, utterly unconscious of the fact. He seemed to expect an answer. I hesitated; I did not know what to reply. I had got so accustomed to Cousin John that I never looked upon him in any other light than that of a favourite brother, a constant companion and friend. Moreover, I was not prepared to take any such decisive step as that to which he now seemed to be urging me. There is a great difference between liking people and giving them power of life and death over one for the rest of one's days. I will not say that the image of another did not rise before me in all its winning beauty as I had seen it last, scarcely one short week ago. Altogether I did not know what to say; so I wisely said nothing, but walked on, looking straight before me, with an uncomfortable feeling that I was driven into a corner, and should ere long be compelled to do that which is always distasteful to our liberty-loving sex—namely, to "make up my mind."

John too walked on for a few paces in silence. We were at the corner of Lowndes Street. There was not a soul to be seen but our two selves. All at once he stopped short under the light of a lamp and looked me full in the face.

"Kate," said he, in a grave, deliberate voice, "you know what I mean—Yes or No?"

I shook like a leaf. What would I have given to have been able to take counsel of one of my own sex—Mrs. Lumley, Aunt Deborah, or even cold, pitiless Lady Horsingham! But I had to choose for myself. I felt that the turning-point of my destiny had arrived—that the game was in my own hand, and that now I ought to decide one way or the other. I shrank from the responsibility. Like a very woman, I adopted a middle course.

"Give me time, John," I pleaded—"give me time to weigh matters over in my own mind. This is an affair that equally concerns the happiness of each of us. Do not let us decide in a hurry. Aunt Deborah was quite right: her wishes ought to be my law. When I am five-and-twenty it will be soon enough to enter on this subject again. In the interval, believe me, John, I have the greatest regard and esteem for you."

"Nothing more, Kate," said John, looking as if he didn't know whether he was pleased or annoyed—"nothing but esteem?"

"Well, I mustn't say any more," was my reply; "but you know you have that."

John's face brightened considerably. "And in the meantime, Kate," he urged, "you won't allow yourself to be entangled with any one else?"

"Of course not," was my vigorous disclaimer; and by this time we had arrived at my aunt's door, and it was time to say good-night.

"What's the matter, Kate?" exclaimed Mrs. Lumley, when I called to lunch with her the following day, according to promise. "You look pale and worried. For goodness' sake tell me what has happened. Have you found out the rover transferring his adoration to Miss Molasses? or did mon cousin take advantage of the hour and the opportunity to lecture us last night on our love of admiration and general levity of conduct? Tell me all about it, dear. We shan't be disturbed. I'm not 'at home' to a soul; and my old man is busy dissecting an earwig, so he's quite safe till dinner-time. Sit you down on the sofa, out with your pocket-handkerchief, and make a clean breast of it!"

I told her the whole of my conversation with my cousin the previous night, only suppressing the unflattering opinions he had thought fit to express of my present confidante. "And oh, Mrs. Lumley," I exclaimed as I concluded, "how could I sleep a wink last night, with all this to harass and reproach me? No wonder I'm pale and worried and perfectly miserable. I feel I'm behaving shamefully to John, and not at all rightly towards Captain Lovell. I know I ought to come to an understanding with my cousin, and that Frank ought to be more explicit with me. I couldn't have given a decided answer last night if my life had depended on it. I can't give up the one without knowing exactly whether he means honestly (if I thought he did, Mrs. Lumley, nothing should induce me to throw him over); and I don't like to make the other miserable, which I am sure I should do if I refused him point-blank; nor do I think I could do at all well without him, accustomed as I have been to depend upon him for everything from childhood. So I have wavered and prevaricated, and behaved disingenuously, almost falsely; and what must he think of me now?"

"Think of you, my dear?" replied my worldly friend; "why, of course, he thinks of you more than ever. There is nothing like uncertainty, Kate, to keep them well up to the collar. You should always treat men like the beasts of the field. If you want to retain the upper hand of him, ride an adorer as you do Brilliant, my dear—a light hand, with just enough liberty to make him fancy he is going quite at his ease; and then, when he is getting a little careless and least expects it, give him such a jerk as makes his fine mouth smart again. He'll wince with the pain, and very likely rear straight on end; but he'll be all on his haunches well under control, and go on much the pleasanter during the rest of the day. Never mind how much they suffer; it's very good for them, and they will like you all the better for it."

"That may answer very well with some," I replied, "but I should be afraid to try the experiment too often. I am sure Brilliant would break away altogether if I used him so. And I think the very man that minds it most would be the least likely to stand a repetition of such treatment. No, Mrs. Lumley; I fear I must now choose between Frank and my cousin. The latter has behaved honourably, considerately, and kindly, and like a thorough gentleman. The former seems to think I am to be at his beck and call, indeed, whenever he chooses. He has never been to see me during the whole of this past week. At Dangerfield he was as little careful of my reputation as he was of his own limbs. Did I tell you how nearly drowned he was, crossing the moat? How you would have laughed, you wicked, unfeeling woman, if you had heard the splash that cold, snowy night! And then to disguise himself like a tramp, and stop those runaway ponies at the risk of his life, that he might speak three words to me before I went away. I will say for him that he is afraid of nothing; but I cannot conceal from myself which has behaved best towards me. And yet, Mrs. Lumley," I concluded, rising and walking off to the window, "I would rather have Frank for a lover than Cousin John for a husband."

"Many people would suggest there was no impossibility in your having both; but I don't give such bad advice as that," replied Mrs. Lumley. "However, Kate, do nothing in a hurry—that's my counsel. I grant you, I think Master Frank a very slippery gentleman. I do know some curious stories about him; but I never tell tales out of school. In the meantime you are, after all, only suffering from an embarras de richesses; it's far better to have too many suitors than none at all. Come, I'll take you out shopping with me till five; then we'll have some tea, and you can go home quietly to dinner and ask Aunt Deborah's leave to join me at the French play. I've got a capital box, and I'll send the carriage for you. Wait half a second, whilst I put on my bonnet."

So we went off shopping, and we had our tea, and I found no objections from Aunt Deborah to my going out again in the evening; and I was so restless I did not the least grudge the trouble of dressing, or anything to take me away from my own thoughts. But all the afternoon and all the evening I made up my mind that I would give up Frank Lovell. A little resolution was all that was needed. It was plain he did not really care for me. Why, he wasn't even in London, though he knew quite well I had been there more than a week. Very likely I shouldn't see him all the winter, and my heart sank as I thought how much easier this would make my sacrifice. At all events, I determined, when I did see him, to be cold, and demure, and unmoved—to show him unmistakably that I belonged to another; in which Spartan frame of mind I betook myself to the French play.

Alas, alas! Well may the bard complain,—

"Woman's vows are writ in water;
Woman's faith is traced in sand."

Who should be in the back of the box but Frank Lovell himself! Mischievous Mrs. Lumley, was this your doing? Before I went away I had promised to meet him next morning in the park, and he was to explain all.