Poor Jack! How came he to be in Lady Bell’s ball-room?

The morning after she had nearly driven over him he woke to find Leonard Dagle, his friend and fellow lodger, standing beside his bed and looking down at him with a grave smile on his intellectual face.

“Hallo!” said Jack, “the house on fire?”

“Not at present,” said Leonard, “though it would soon be if you lived in it alone. Why don’t you blow your candle out, and not chuck your slippers at it? How are you this morning?”

“How am I?” said Jack, staring. “How should I be? Quite well of course,” which was quite true, for Jack and the headache had not been introduced to each other.

“That’s all right,” said Leonard, with a smile. “Perhaps you remember last night’s tragic occurrence, then?”

Jack thought for a moment, then shook his head gravely.

“Len, I’m an idiot. I always was. It’s a good job idiocy isn’t catching or you’d have caught it of me long ago. I made a confounded idiot of myself last night. It was all Dalrymple and Hetley’s fault, and I wish they’d knock champagne off the club wine list. Did I take too much, Len?”

“What do you think?” said Leonard, grimly.

“I’m afraid I did. For the first time in my life, or nearly—but I didn’t touch a card, Len.”

“I knew you wouldn’t do that.”

“No, a promise is a promise with me,” said Jack. “And I didn’t drink much, Len, ’pon my honor; but I was upset, and when a man is upset he——”

“He generally tries to get run over,” said Leonard, with a smile.

Jack stared, then he laughed.

“By George! yes. I remember!”

“But always does not get the luck to be rescued by a beautiful young lady—who is an heiress—and who, instead of giving him in charge for blocking the queen’s highway, brings him home in her brougham.”

“It was a kind thing to do, certainly,” said Jack, with a yawn.

“Kind is a mild way of putting it,” remarked Leonard.

“It was more than I deserved,” said Jack; “much more, and she’s a brick.”

“The man who calls Lady Isabel Earlsley a brick should be a bold man.”

At last Jack looked up, and pressing his chair back, said:

“And now, old man, let’s hold a council of war. Subject to be considered: the future of a young man who has been cut off with a shilling—by George! the poor old fellow didn’t even leave me that—who knows no trade, who cannot dig, and to beg is ashamed, and who is penniless.”

“Quite penniless, Jack?” asked Leonard.

Jack rose, and sauntering to a drawer, pulled forth an old tobacco pouch, and pouring the contents on to the table proceeded to count the small—very small—heap of coin.

“Twenty-one pounds six-and-fourpence farthing—no; it’s a brass button—and a brass button.”

“Can’t carry on this way long with that small amount of ammunition, Jack.”

“Just so, old Solomon. Well, what’s to be done?”

“You might enlist.”

“Get shot, and break your heart. No, I’m too fond of you, Len. Go on; anything else?”

“Upon my word, you can’t do anything.”

“Nary thing,” admitted Jack, with frank candor.

“What do men—well-born and high-bred men like you——”

“What will you take to drink?” said Jack, bowing low.

“Who have no money, and no brains——”

Jack bowed again, and pitched the sugar tongs at him.

“What do they do? They generally marry an heiress, Jack.”

“I shall never marry.”

“I’ve heard that remark before. The last it was from a man who married a fortnight afterward.”

“I’m not going to marry in a fortnight. Go ahead.”

“I’ve done,” said Leonard with a shrug.

“Solomon is dried up,” said Jack. “You don’t keep a large stock of wisdom on hand, old man.”

“I’ve given you the best I’ve got, and good advice too, with a foundation to go upon. Your heiress is ready to your hand.”

“What do you mean?” said Jack.

Leonard was about to reply, when the housekeeper entered and brought him a card. He looked at it; it bore Lady Isabel Earlsley’s name, and on the back was written:

“To inquire whether Mr. Newcombe was hurt last night?”

Leonard pitched it across the table, as an answer to Jack’s question.

Jack read the card and flushed hotly, then threw it down again.

Leonard took up a piece of paper, and rapidly wrote:

“Mr. Newcombe’s compliments, and he was not in any way injured by last night’s accident, which he deeply regrets as having caused Lady Earlsley so much trouble,” and gave it to the housekeeper.

“What have you written?” asked Jack sulkily.

“What you are too much of a bear to write,” said Leonard, with a smile—“an answer and an apology. Jack, you are a favorite of fortune. Half the men in London would give the forefinger of their right hand to get such a message from Lady Bell. I know her——”

“So do I,” broke in Jack, roughly; “I heard all about her at the club last night. Hetley and Dalrymple bored me to death about her. She’s a great heiress and a beauty, and all the rest of it. I know, and I don’t want to hear any more.”

Jack went up to Len and laid his hand on his shoulder.

“Forgive me, old fellow; but I—my heart is full. Only one woman in the world has any interest for me, and she has gone—up to the sky again, I suppose. What do I care for Lady Bell, or Lady anyone else? I tell you I laid awake half the night thinking of that beautiful face, and dreamed of her eyes the rest of the night; and I’d give all the world if I had it, to find her. And much good it would do me if I succeeded? I couldn’t ask her to share twenty-one pounds six and a brass button!”

“Forgive me, Jack,” said Leonard, quietly. “I know what you mean. I’m in love myself. But—but at any rate you can’t treat Lady Bell rudely. You must call and thank her.”

“Confound her!” said Jack, and hurried out of the room.

Leonard looked after him, and then went on with his work. He saw no more of him until late in the evening, when Jack came in and threw himself into a chair, looking weary if not exhausted.

“What have you been doing, Jack?” asked Leonard.

“Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay,” replied Jack, grimly.

Leonard nodded.

“I’ve been walking about ever since I left you, with scarcely a rest. I’ve walked through every thoroughfare in London. I’ve looked into windows and into shops. I’ve been warned off and told to move on by the police, who thought I was a burglar on the search for a job; and here I am and there is she as far off as ever. And yet I feel—Heavens knows why—that she is here in London. Len, if you smile I shall knock you down.”

“I was never farther from smiling than I am at this moment,” said Leonard quietly.

“Do you know what I would do if—if the squire had left me any money?” went on Jack, fiercely; “I would spend every penny of it in searching for her. I’d have a hundred—a thousand detectives at work. I’d never give them rest night or day till they found her.”

“And then?” said Leonard.

Jack groaned and lit his pipe. Leonard looked at him.

“I thought you had gone to call on Lady Earlsley,” he said.

Jack looked very much as if he really meant to knock him down, and marched off to bed.

When he came in to breakfast the next morning Leonard noticed that he was dressed in proper walking attire, instead of the loose, free and easy, well-worn suit of cheviot, but he said nothing. Jack looked up.

“You are staring at my get-up, Len. Well, I’ll do it; but mind it is only to please you. What should I care what she thinks? though I ought to do it, I know. I’ll call and thank her, and then let there be an end of it. I can’t bear any chaff of that sort even from you, old fellow.”

Leonard nodded without a word, for he saw that the once frank face had lost its careless sang froid expression, and looked harassed and even haggard.

Jack smoked a pipe in silence, watching Leonard’s rapidly moving pen; then, without a word, went out.

Two hours later he came in, and with an air of relief and even a smile, said:

“Well, I’ve done it, and it’s over.”

“Well?” said Leonard, curiously.

“Well, nothing; she wasn’t at home,” said Jack, triumphantly.

“Not at home. What sort of a place was it?”

“The best place in Park Lane,” said Jack. “No end of flunkeys about, and the rest of it. Looks as if she rolled in gold, as she must do to have the place at all.”

“And you didn’t see her?” asked Leonard.

Jack colored and frowned.

“What a curious beggar you are! Yes, I did see her; her carriage drove up just as I was going away.”

“And you spoke to her?”

“No, I just raised my hat and walked away,” said Jack, gravely.

Leonard shrugged his shoulders.

“She will think you a boor.”

“So I am,” said Jack. “What does it matter? Tell me something about yourself. I am sick of myself. What have you been doing?”

Leonard’s pale face flushed.

“I’ve been to Cheltenham Terrace,” he said.

“Well, did you see her?”

“No,” said Leonard, sadly. “I saw that the blinds in the upper windows were down, and I went to the next door, and asked if anyone was ill.”

“Well?”

“Yes, her grandfather, old Mr. Treherne, was ill, they said, and I came away.”

“Well,” said Jack, “at any rate you know where to find her—while I——”

“I saw her shadow on the blind,” said Leonard, simply. “I could swear to it among a hundred. I watched her beautiful profile for an hour in that railway carriage.”

“Treherne, Laura Treherne,” said Jack. “It is a pretty name. What took her to Hurst Leigh that night, I wonder? The night the squire died. Len, it is a romance, but I envy you. If I knew where Una lived I’d hang about the house night and day until I saw her. Len, do you know what it is to be hungry, to be parched and dried up with thirst so that you would give all you possessed—ten years of your life for a draught of water? That is just how I feel when I think of that beautiful face, with its soft brown eyes and innocent smile! And when do I not think of her?”

“And you didn’t speak to Lady Bell?” said Leonard.

Jack made a hasty explanation and made for the door, nearly running against the housekeeper.

“A letter for you, sir,” she said.

Jack tore it open, read it and threw it to Leonard.

The envelope was a dainty gray color, and stamped with an elaborate coat of arms, with the initials I. E. in cipher underneath, and inside was a card of invitation to a ball, filled in by a lady’s delicate hand, with a line in addition.

“With Lady Earlsley’s compliments and regret that she was from home when Mr. Newcombe called.”

“Jack, what condescension. You must go!”

Jack stammered, and argued, and protested. He was too honest to plead that he was in mourning; but he simply swore that he would not go.

The day came round and the evening fell, and Jack came into the sitting-room in evening dress, his tall form seeming to fill the room.

Leonard used to say that it was a treat to see Jack in evening dress; that he was one of the few men who looked to advantage in it, and he turned from his eternal pen and ink to look at him with an approving smile.

“Yes,” said Jack, fiercely, “I am going; I am a fool, but how can a man stand against such a perpetual old nuisance as you are? But mind, I am just going in and out again, and after this there is an end of it. I shall enlist!” and out he went.