“Savage at heart, and false of tongue,

Subtle with age, and smooth to the young,

Like a snake in his coiling and curling.”

T. Hood.

So you have been to the Abbey?” he said, smiling benevolently upon her.

“Yes,” she replied, her blue eyes looking straight into his. “And we have seen Ralph. He was there, too, just behind us. He walked back with us.”

Sir Matthew frowned slightly. Then, recollecting the presence of the servants, he beckoned Evereld to his study.

“Come in here, my dear,” he said, in his soft voice. “You are quite right to tell me all so frankly, and it is natural enough that you should be pleased to meet your old playfellow. But you must remember that things are not now as they once were.”

“Ralph and I shall always be friends,” said Evereld, gently, but with a firmness which startled her guardian. “Things are not altered between us because we don’t live under the same roof now. How could that alter us?”

“My dear, it is for Lady Mactavish and myself to decide who shall or who shall not be your friends,” he said, with quiet decision.

“That may be,” said Evereld, “as far as new friends are concerned, but I cannot unmake a friend to order—no, not even if the Queen commanded it.”

They both smiled a little. Sir Matthew paced the room in silence.

“I must not forbid her to hold any communication with him,” he reflected, “or let her feel that I am a tyrant and they a couple of martyrs. After all, she is so young and simple and innocent; no mischief will come of it.”

“Has Ralph found work?” he inquired, not unkindly.

“Yes,” she said, “at Washington’s theatre; and perhaps he is going on a Scotch tour.”

“Good!” said Sir Matthew, approvingly. “After all, he has talent, and will make himself a name in time. His best chance would be to marry some experienced actress older than himself. That has answered very well in one or two cases. His birth and education would go for something, and if he plays his cards well the stage may make his fortune. By-the-by, Bruce Wylie is to dine with us to-night. You like him, do you not?”

“Oh, yes,” said Evereld, “I like him very much.”

And Sir Matthew, satisfied with the warmth of her tone, dismissed her with a paternal kiss, and an injunction to put on her prettiest gown in honour of the festival.

Bruce Wylie was certainly the most attractive and amusing of the men who visited the Mactavishes. He had the easy, comfortable air of an old friend, and he came and went at all hours, yet never seemed to be present when he was not wanted. His fair hair and short, fair beard contrasted rather curiously with his dark, keen eyes. He had a brisk, kindly, pleasant manner, and a particularly winning voice. There was about him, too, a saving sense of humour, and the rather heavy atmosphere of Sir Matthew’s household always seemed less oppressive when he was present. He was a first-rate raconteur, and Evereld was never tired of listening to his stories.

It was all in vain that she tried to see him with Ralph’s eyes. She decided in her own mind that his hard experience of the world had made Ralph somewhat cynical and distrustful. He had convinced her with regard to Sir Matthew, but to belief in Bruce Wylie she still clung with all the loyalty of her fresh, innocent youth.

And yet the ladies had only left the dining-room a few moments when Bruce Wylie revealed a very different side of himself.

“Ewart’s little girl is looking prettier than usual tonight,” he remarked, as he picked out the preserved apricots from a small dish in front of him, leaving only bitter oranges and citrons for those who might come after.

“Yes,” said Sir Matthew, “Southbourne has done wonders for her. She had better have another six months there.”

“Was she not eighteen in the autumn? She will want to come out next season.”

“I don’t think it,” said Sir Matthew. “She is happy enough there, and we shall do well to keep her from the heiress-hunters till she is safely betrothed to you.”

“Poor little soul!” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively. “There would be no danger in letting her see a little of the world first.”

“We won’t risk that,” said his companion. “What’s to prevent her falling in love with some young fellow and refusing to look at you. If she ever lost her heart, she would be the veriest little shrew to manage—there would be no taming her. We might prevent her marrying till she was of age, but you know what revelations would come about when her affairs were looked into. No, no; she must be safely married to her worthy solicitor, Bruce Wylie, as soon as possible after she leaves school.”

Bruce Wylie seemed lost in thought. Sir Matthew watched him, half-suspiciously. They were friends and confederates, but the company promoter trusted no one in the world implicitly.

“You are thinking that it is a risky venture,” he said, quietly, “but under the circumstances it’s far the best thing that can be done. If the South African affair goes on as well as it promises, her money will be safe enough in the long run; and if a smash comes, why her money will be gone, but our names and reputations will be safe, and no great harm will come of it.”

“I was not thinking of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “There’s another side to the business, and one can’t altogether overlook it. I am fond of the little thing, and I honestly believe she likes me, but if anything of this should ever leak out, if, after we were married, her suspicions were roused, why then, as you say, I can imagine that the taming process might be difficult. Spite of her china-blue eyes, there’s a pretty spice of determination in Ewart’s little girl.”

“My dear fellow, you astonish me,” said Sir Matthew, impatiently. “With enough on your mind to burden most men heavily, you can yet find time to worry over the matrimonial squabbles that may ruffle your future peace. When once she’s your wife you’ll be able to do what you please with her.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “It’s just those little, gentle women with hardly a word to say for themselves who are always astonishing people by hidden stores of force and courage and daring at some critical moment.”

“The only possible difficulty with Evereld would be her friendship for Ralph Donmead,” said Sir Matthew, “and, as ill luck will have it, the fellow turned up again to-day.”

“D——— him!” exclaimed Bruce Wylie. “How was that?”

“Saw her at the Abbey, and had the audacity to walk home with her. She told me all about it with the utmost frankness, and without so much as a change of colour. I don’t think there is any mischief done yet, but the less she sees of him the better. It seems that he is doing pretty well on the stage; at least, I gathered so.”

“Well,” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively, “it is always easy to set a scandal afloat about an actor, and if she seems losing her heart to him that is the line we must take.”

And therewith the two friends fell to talking of other business arrangements.

When Ralph turned away from the house in Queen Anne’s Gate, the happy excitement of the past hour suddenly gave place to a sobering realisation of things as they were. He, Ralph Denmead, a super at a pound a week, had had the audacity to fall in love with a girl of whose fortune he had, indeed, very vague ideas, but who had always been considered an heiress. That was a situation he liked very little, but it was characteristic of him that he did not sink into any very great depths of depression. He was not easily depressed, having been born with one of those equable tempers which are as delightful as they are rare. Then, too, his very indifference to money for its own sake, the habit he had inherited from his unworldly father of a positive dislike of all display and a contempt for all but the simplest tastes, came now to his aid. Extremes meet. And the marriage, which would have seemed a perfectly simple and desirable arrangement to a selfish fortune-hunter, seemed also perfectly possible to Ralph with his unconventional way of looking at things. He disliked her fortune, would gladly have foregone it altogether, but saw no reason in the world why it should stand as a barrier between them. If she loved him all would be well. He hoped she did love him, but was not certain. Only in that last quiet good-bye of hers something in its very self-control had given him hope; for the first time she seemed to shrink a little from showing how much she felt the parting. She was wholly unlike the little girl he had left sobbing in the schoolroom at Sir Matthew’s country cottage a few months before.

As he thought of this, a sort of wild desire to succeed in his profession, and to succeed quickly, took possession of him. His present position at the foot of the ladder seemed no longer tolerable. Patient plodding had been well enough earlier in the day, but now the fiery impatience of youth began to get the better of him. He turned eagerly to Ivy. They had by this time reached Westminster Bridge, and the cold, fresh wind from the river and the wider view seemed in harmony with his eager longing for a fuller, freer life, for an escape from the dull routine of his present work.

“Tell me more about this Scotch tour” he said, eagerly. “Do you think there is really a chance of our getting into the company? Does your grandfather think Skoot a decent sort of fellow?”

“Oh yes,” said Ivy, her face lighting up radiantly. “Come and talk to him about it. He has seen both the manager and his wife: he used to know them long ago. Oh, do think it over again. Just fancy how beautiful it would be to see Scotland! We would go to Ellen’s Isle together and see the Trossachs!”

Ralph laughed. “I fear there are no theatres on the shores of Loch Katrine,” he said.

“Well,” said Ivy, looking disappointed, “we should at any rate see mountains, and the travelling would be such fun. I have never been on tour in my life, hardly ever out of London even. Come in and see grandfather and talk about it.”

Ralph was persuaded to follow her into the dreary, little house, and much to Ivy’s satisfaction her grandfather was awake and seemed in excellent spirits. He was inclined to see everything in the world through rose-coloured spectacles, and was about as fit to advise any one as a baby of three years old. But his venerable aspect and his smiling benevolent face were, nevertheless, impressive and Ralph listened eagerly to all that he said. It was quite true that he had known this manager and his wife many years ago: they were most estimable people. Skoot himself had real talent, his wife not much more than a pretty face, but they were thoroughly worthy people; she was a woman with whom he could trust Ivy, he had never heard a word against her. He should miss Ivy, but the landlady would take care of him and the experience and even the change of air would be very good for the child. He strongly advised Ralph to try and get into the Company, it was a chance which did not occur every day. He would give him a letter of introduction and he could see the manager to-morrow.

At any other time Ralph would have perceived that the old man’s advice while he was under the influence of the opium was worth nothing at all. But now the bland, comfortable voice and hopeful auguries weighed with him. He accepted the offer of the introduction, and the Professor, urged by Ivy, who brought him ink and paper and put the pen between his limp, lazy fingers, actually wrote the letter. After that Ralph bade them good-bye, went home to dress for the evening, and then set out for the Marriotts’ house where he had been kindly invited to dine; while Ivy went to the dress rehearsal of the pantomime. In the evening he talked over his prospects with Miss Marriott and her niece, giving a very roseate description of the Scotch proposal. The ladies both advised him to close with so good an offer; Mr. Marriott would not commit himself, only counselling him to be sure to have his agreement drawn up in a legal way, and suggesting that he might take the advice of Washington. But this, as Ralph knew, would not be so easy; for Washington was a busy man and though greatly beloved by all his employÉs had little to do with them personally. Moreover in his heart of hearts Ralph knew that the great actor would counsel him to plod on patiently, and every moment he felt that this had become less possible to him.

The end of it was that he seized the very first opportunity of seeing Theophilus Skoot, and finding him a very decent-looking man, exceedingly hopeful as to the business they would do in Scotland, and quite willing to come to terms, he signed the agreement for a six months’ provincial tour for which he was to receive a salary of two pounds a week, and went back to Paradise Street in excellent spirits to receive Ivy’s congratulations.