THE HUSBAND AT KENSINGTON GORE.

To a woman who rules by right of beauty it is a terrible thing to see her empire slipping from her grasp by reason of gray hairs and wrinkles. What desperate efforts does she make to protract her sway, how she dyes and paints and powders and tight laces—all to no end, for Time is stronger than Art, and finally he writes his sign-manual too deep to be effaced by cosmetics. Mrs. Hilliston was not yet beaten in the fight with the old enemy, but she foresaw the future when she would be shamed and neglected close at hand.

Perhaps it was this premonition of defeat that made her so unamiable, sharp, and bitter on the night when Claude came to dine. She liked Claude and had stood in the place of a mother to him; but he was a man, and handsome, so when she saw his surprised look at her changed appearance all the evil that was in her came to the surface.

Yet she need not have felt so bitter a pang, had she taken the trouble to glance at her image in the near mirror. It reflected a tall, stylish figure, which, in the dim light of the drawing room, looked majestic and beautiful. It was all very well to think that she appeared barely thirty in the twilight, but she knew well that the daylight showed up her forty-seven years in the most merciless manner. Velvet robes, diamond necklaces, and such like aids to beauty would not make up for lack of youth, and Claude's ill-advised start brought this home to her.

Ten years before she had married Hilliston in utter ignorance of the house at Hampstead. Though she did not know it she was not unlike her rival. There was the same majesty, the same imperious beauty, the same passionate nature, but Mrs. Bezel was worn and wasted by illness, whereas Mrs. Hilliston, aided by art, looked a rarely beautiful woman.

People said she had not done well to marry Hilliston. She was then a rich widow from America, and wanted to take a position in society. With her looks and her money, she might have married a title, but handsome Hilliston crossed her path, and, though he was then fifty years of age, she fell in love with him on the spot. Wearied of Mrs. Bezel, anxious to mend his failing fortunes, Hilliston accepted the homage thus offered. He did not love her, but kept that knowledge to himself, so Mrs. Derrick, the wealthy widow, secured the man she idolized. She gave all, wealth, beauty, love, and received nothing in return.

During all their married life her love had undergone no abatement. She loved her husband passionately, and her one object in life was to please him. At the time of the marriage she had rather resented the presence of Claude in Hilliston's house, but soon accepted him as an established fact, the more so as he took up his profession shortly afterward, and left her to reign alone over the heart of her husband. When the young man called she was always kind to him, she constantly looked after his welfare, and playfully styled herself his mother. Claude was greatly attached to her, and spoke of her in the highest terms, but for the life of him he could not suppress that start, though he knew it wounded her to the heart. During his five years of absence she had aged greatly, and art seemed rather to accentuate than conceal the truth.

"You find me altered, I am afraid," said she bitterly; "age is robbing me of my looks."

"By no means," answered Claude, with a desire to please her; "at the worst, you are only growing old gracefully."

"Small comfort in that," sighed Mrs. Hilliston. "I do not want to grow old at all. However, it is no use fighting the inevitable, but I hope I'll die before I become a hag."

"You will never become one."

"I'm not so sure of that. I'm one of those large women who turn to bones and wrinkles in old age."

"In my eyes you will always be beautiful, Louise," said Hilliston, who entered at this moment. "You are an angel ever bright and fair."

"You have not lost the art of saying pretty things, Francis," replied his wife, greatly gratified; "but there is the gong. Claude, take your mother in to dinner."

The young man winced as she said this, thinking of his real mother who lay sick and feeble at Hampstead. Hilliston saw his change of countenance, and bit his lip to prevent himself remarking thereon. He guessed what Claude was thinking about, and thus his thoughts were turned in the same direction. At the present moment the memories thus evoked were most unpleasant.

During dinner Mrs. Hilliston recovered her spirits and talked freely enough. No one was present save Claude and her husband, so they were a very pleasant party of three. While in the full flow of conversation, Claude could not help thinking that Tait was unjust to suspect the master of the house of underhand dealings; for Hilliston was full of smiles and geniality, and did his best to entertain his guest. Could Claude have looked below the surface he would have been considerably astonished at the inward aspect of the man. Yet a hint was given him of such want of concord, for Hilliston showed the cloven hoof before the meal ended.

"So you are going to Eastbourne," said Claude, addressing himself to Mrs. Hilliston. "I hope you will come over to Thorston during your stay."

"It is not unlikely," replied the lady. "Francis intends to make excursions all round the country."

"Only for your amusement, my dear," said Hilliston hastily. "You know how dreary it is to pace daily up and down that Parade."

"I think Eastbourne is dreary, in any case. It is solely on your account that I am going."

Hilliston did not answer, but stole a glance at Claude to see what he thought. The face of the young man was inscrutable, though Claude was mentally considering that Tait was right, and Hilliston's journey to Eastbourne was undertaken to interview Jenny Paynton.

"I don't like your English watering-places," continued Mrs. Hilliston idly. "They are so exasperatingly dull. In America we can have a good time at Newport, but all your south coast is devoid of amusement. Trouville or Dieppe are more enjoyable than Eastbourne or Folkestone."

"The fault of the national character, my dear Louise. We English take our pleasures sadly, you know."

For the sole purpose of seeing what effect it would produce on the lawyer Claude purposely introduced the name of the town where his father had met his death.

"I wonder you don't try an inland watering-place, Mrs. Hilliston," he said calmly; "Bath or Tunbridge Wells or—Horriston."

Hilliston looked up quickly, and then busied himself with his food. Discomposed as he was, his iron will enabled him to retain a quiet demeanor; but the effect of the name on the wife was more pronounced than it was on the husband. Her color went, and she laid down her knife and fork.

"Ah, I don't know Horriston," she said faintly. "Some inland——Ah, how hot this room is. Open the window," she added to the footman, "we want fresh air."

Rather astonished at the effect thus produced, Claude would have spoken but that Hilliston forestalled him.

"The room is hot," he said lightly, "but the fresh air will soon revive you, Louise. I am glad we are going to Eastbourne, for you sadly need a change."

"The season has been rather trying," replied his wife, resuming her dinner. "What were you saying about Horriston, Claude?"

"Nothing. I only know it is a provincial town set in beautiful scenery. I thought you might wish to try a change from the fashionable seaside place."

"I might go there if it is pretty," answered Mrs. Hilliston, who was now perfectly composed. "Where is Horriston?"

"In Kent," interposed Hilliston quickly, "not very far from Canterbury. I have been there myself, but as it is a rather dull neighborhood, I would not advise you to try it."

Despite her denial Claude felt certain that Mrs. Hilliston was acquainted with Horriston, for on the plea of indisposition she left the table before the dinner was ended. As she passed through the door she playfully tipped Claude on the shoulder with her fan.

"Don't forget to come and see us at Eastbourne," she said vivaciously, "and bring Mr. Tait with you. He is a great favorite of mine."

This Claude promised to do, and, when she left the room, returned to his seat with a rather puzzled expression on his face. Hilliston saw the look, and endeavored to banish it by a hasty explanation.

"You rather startled my wife by mentioning Horriston," he said, in an annoyed tone. "I wish you had not done so. As it is connected with the case she naturally feels an antipathy toward it."

"What! Does Mrs. Hilliston know about my father's death?" asked Claude, in some surprise.

"Yes. When we married, she wanted to know why you lived in the house with me, so I was forced to explain all the circumstances."

"Do you think that was necessary?"

"I do. You know how suspicious women are," replied Hilliston lightly; "they will know the truth. But you can trust to her discretion, Claude. No one will hear of it from her."

At this moment a footman entered the room with a message from Mrs. Hilliston.

"My mistress wants to know if you have the third volume of 'A Whim of Fate,' sir?" said the servant.

"No," replied Hilliston sharply. "Tell your mistress that I took it to my office by mistake. She will have it to-morrow."

Claude thought this strange, and when the footman retired Hilliston made another explanation equally as unsatisfactory as the first.

"I am so interested in that book that I could not leave it at home," he said quickly; "and now that I have met the author I am doubly interested in it."

Another proof of Tait's acumen. Hilliston was the first to introduce the subject of John Parver.