A grey, winter morning filtered through lace curtains into drawing- rooms typical of a fashionable London neighbourhood and a moderate income. There was neither excess of porcelain, nor of small tables, nor of screens. Two large vases hinted at some vulgarity of taste; a grand piano in the back room suggested a love of music, and Mrs. Lahens had but to sing a few notes to leave no doubt that she had bestowed much care on the cultivation of her voice. But method only disguised its cracks and thinness as powder and rouge did the fading and withering of her skin. She was like her voice.

Lord Chadwick stood behind her, following the music bar by bar, and with an interest and a pleasure that did not concord with his appearance. For there was nothing in his appearance to indicate that his intelligence was on a higher plane than that of the mess-room. His appearance seemed to fluctuate between the mess-room and the company promoter's office. He was a good-looking solicitor, he was a good- looking officer; the eyes were attractive; the nose was too large, but it was well-shaped; a heavy military moustache curled over his cheeks, and, as he stood nodding his head, delighted with the music, the seeming commonness of his appearance wore away.

Her song finished, Mrs. Lahens got up from the piano. She was tall and well-made; perhaps too full in the bosom, perhaps too wide in the hips, and perhaps the smallness of the waist was owing to her stays. Her figure suggested these questions. She wore a fashionable lilac blue silk, pleated over the bosom; and round her waist a chatelaine to which was attached a number of trinkets, a purse of gold net, a pencil case, some rings, a looking-glass, and small gold boxes jewelled— probably containing powder. Her hair was elaborately arranged, as if by the hairdresser, and she exhaled a faint odour of heliotrope as she crossed the room. She was still a handsome woman; she once had been beautiful, but too obviously beautiful to be really beautiful; there was nothing personal or distinguished in her face; it was made of too well-known shapes—the long, ordinary, clear-cut nose, and the eyes, forehead, cheeks, and chin proportioned according to the formula of the casts in vestibules. That she was slightly declassee was clear in the first glance. And she represented all that the word could be made to mean—liaisons, familiarity with fashionable restaurants, and the latest French literature.

Lord Chadwick saw that she was out of temper, and wondered what was the cause. He had not yet spoken to her; she was singing when he came into the room. So laying his hand on her shoulder, he said:

'What is the matter, Olive?'

But it was some time before he could get an answer. At last she said:

'I had an unpleasant scene with the Major this morning.'

'I am glad it is no more than that,' and Lord Chadwick threw himself into an arm-chair. 'What further eccentricity has he been guilty of? Does he want to sweep the crossing, or to wait at table in the crossing-sweeper's clothes?' 'He has bought an old overcoat from the butler.'

'And wants to wear it at lunch?'

'No; he's got a new suit. I insisted on that. It came home last night. He had to give way, for I told him that if he would come down to lunch he must come decently dressed, otherwise he would do Agnes a great deal of harm.'

'But you couldn't persuade him to stick to his type-writing, and keep out of the way?'

'No, and I thought it better not to try. Agnes' return home has excited him dreadfully, and he fancies that it is his duty to watch over her—to protect her from my friends.'

'Then I suppose we shall never get rid of him. He'll be here all day, night and day. Good Heavens!'

'I don't say that. I hope that this new idea of his is only a freak. He will soon tire of his task of censor of morals. Meanwhile, we are to be most guarded in our conversation. And as for you——'

'What has he got against me?' and Lord Chadwick looked at Mrs. Lahens.
'About me!' he repeated, 'Nonsense.'

'I don't mean that he's jealous, but he thinks that we should not continue to see one another.'

'Does he give any reason?'

'Agnes is coming home to-day. I shall have to take her into society. He says that society will not stand it, unless our relations are broken off.'

'Society has stood it for the last seven years; society will stand anything except the Divorce Court, and there's no danger of that.'

'The Major's very queer. I don't know what's the matter with him; I never saw him go on as he did this morning. He says that the girl shall not be sacrificed if he can help it.'

'You don't think he'll make a row, do you?'

'Are you afraid?'

'Of what? For your sake I shouldn't like a row. Afraid of a madman like that! But he can do nothing. I don't see what he can do.'

'That's what he said himself. He says he can do nothing—you should have seen him walking up and down the room, dressed in a suit of clothes out of a rag shop, yellow-grey things two sizes too big for him; he has to roll up the ends of the trousers. He had no collar on, and to keep his neck warm he had tied an old pink scarf round his throat. He couldn't walk either way above a couple of yards, for the roof slants down almost to the floor; he knocked his head against the roof, but he did not mind, he went on talking, half to me, half to himself.'

'He sent for you, then?'

'Yes; that he'd like to see me upstairs. I told my maid to say that he was to come down to my room, but she brought back word that the Major couldn't come down, would I go up to him. So I had to go up to his garret. You never saw such a place. At last I got tired of listening to him—I couldn't stand there in the cold any longer—I was catching cold.'

'But you haven't told me what he said.'

'The usual thing: that it was the loss of his money that had brought him where he was; that if he only had a little money, if he could only keep himself, he would take his daughter away to live with him. He didn't know what would become of her in this house. Oh, he did go on. At last he burst into tears, he threw himself at my feet and said he'd forgive me everything if I'd only think of my daughter.'

'What did you say?'

'I said the best way to consider his daughter's interests, was by avoiding all scandal and wearing proper clothes.'

'And he promised he would wear the new suit?'

'Yes; he promised he would. He said that he knew all I said was true. That it wasn't my fault, that a woman couldn't be expected to respect a man who couldn't keep her, that he felt the shame of his position in the house, that it had broken his heart, that if he had lost his money it was not his fault, that the world was full of rogues, you know— you've heard him go on.'

'I should think I had. I don't know how I put up with him. Very often it is as much as I can do to prevent myself from running out of the room.'

Mrs. Lahens looked at her lover angrily.

'You don't think what I have to put up with. You come here when you like, you go away when you like…. Men are always the same, they only think of themselves. You don't think of me, you do not remember what I have put up with for your sake, of the sacrifices I have made for you. I should have left him years ago when he lost his money if it hadn't been for fear of compromising you.'

'He never would have divorced you. He'd have been left without a cent if he had, and he couldn't have got anything out of me.'

'Whatever my husband's faults are, he's not mercenary. There are many who think more of money and its advantages than he.'

'Now, what are you angry about, Olive?' and Lord Chadwick laid his hand on her shoulder.

'I don't like unjust accusations, not even against my husband. The Major is a fool, but he is not dishonourable; he is the most honourable man that comes to this house. It was not on account of my money that he did not divorce me.'

'On account of you, then.'

'Partly, strange as that may seem to you, and on account of his daughter.'

Lord Chadwick did not answer. The conversation was taking a disagreeable turn, and as he looked into the fire he thought how he might change it.

'So Agnes returns home to-day?'

'Yes, her father insisted… She, poor dear, begged and prayed to be allowed to become a nun, but he would not listen to her any more than he would to me…. There was no use arguing…. You know what the Major is; you are never sure when he'll turn on you. If I opposed him he might come down some evening when there was a party, and inform my guests that I kept my daughter imprisoned in a convent, that I wouldn't let her out. No; I daren't oppose him on this point. Agnes must come home for a while. But the experiment won't succeed. I daresay you think so too. But for all that I'm right, as time will prove. A mother knows more about her own daughter than any one else, and I tell you that Agnes is no more fitted for the world than I am for a convent. I shall have to drag her about for a season or two. She won't succeed, and she'll be wretchedly unhappy. I shall be put to any amount of trouble and expense, that will be all.'

'And then?'

'I don't know. Even if I did give you up, I don't see what would be gained. All I could do would be to ask you not to come to the house any more.'

'That is nonsense.'

'Of course it is nonsense. Can I go back on my whole life? can I change all my friends? If I did I should only collect more exactly like them, and without knowing I was doing it. Lie low for a month or so, and then pursue the same old way. With the best intentions in the world we cannot change ourselves.' 'But you don't intend to give me up, Olive?'

'Do you want me to, Reggie?'

'No, dearest, we've held together a long time—seven years—we cannot give each other up.'

'We can't give each other up,' said Mrs. Lahens. 'It never shall be broken off, unless you break it off.'

Lord Chadwick asked himself if he desired to break with her? He looked at her, and thought that he had never seen her look so old; but he could not imagine his life without her. Apart from her, there was nothing for him. His name had been mixed up in questionable city transactions; his wife had divorced him, and he was over forty… Notwithstanding his title, he'd find it difficult to marry a girl with money; he couldn't marry one without. Besides, he loved Olive as well as a man could love a woman whose lover he has been for seven years. … Mrs. Lahens looked at him, and wondered what there was in him that attached her so firmly. They had once loved each other passionately. All that was over now… But still she loved him. … He was all she had in the world. To live with her husband without Reggie! no, she could not think of it. Even if she did, Agnes would profit nothing by it. Every one knew of their liaison. No one talked about it any more, it had been in a way accepted, and for them to separate would only serve to set Mayfair gossiping again.

'I know I appear selfish,' she said; 'not to want to see my daughter must seem selfish. But I am not selfish, Reggie. I've never been selfish where you have been concerned, have I?'

'I at least can't accuse you of selfishness, Olive. You've always been a good friend to me. There was my bankruptcy—-'

'Do not speak of it. I only did for you what you would have done for me. I have been very unlucky; I was cursed with a husband who was a fool, and who lost all his money—no one can say he's in his right mind. They say that I have driven him out of his mind, but that is not so, you know that it is not so; I've not driven you out of your mind. There never was such a fool as my husband. He has acted as stupidly about his daughter as he did about his money. First he takes her away from me—I'm not good enough for her, this house isn't good enough for her; he shuts her up in a convent, and never has her home for fear she should hear or see anything that was not pious and good. Then, when she wants to become a nun, and her mind is made up, and her character is formed, he insists that she shall come home, and that I shall give up my lover and bring her into society. But not into the society that comes to my house, but into some other society, some highly respectable society that neither he nor I knows anything about. And to make my task the more easy, he insists on living in a servant's room, buying the butler's overcoat, and running down the street whistling for cabs, and carrying my trunks on his shoulder. There never was such madness; God knows how it will all end.'

She turned her head slightly when her husband entered the room, and, without getting off the arm of Lord Chadwick's chair, said:

'Doesn't he look well in that suit of clothes, Reggie?'

The Major was a short man, shorter by nearly two inches than his wife or Lord Chadwick. His hair had once been red; it was now faded, and the tall forehead showed bald amid a slight gleaning. His beard and moustaches were thick, unkempt, and full of grey hair. The nose was small and aquiline, and the eyes, shallow and pale blue, wore a silly and vacant stare. The skin was coloured everywhere alike, a sort of conventional tone of flesh-colour seemed to have been poured over the face, forehead, and neck. His short thick hands were covered with reddish hair. They fidgeted at the trousers and waistcoat, too tightly strained across his little round stomach; and he did not desist till his wife said:

'I hope you will have finished dressing before our guests arrive.'

'Whom have you asked? Not the tall thin man who—-'

'Why not?'

'You surely don't think he is a fit companion for Agnes?'

'Companion for Agnes! no; but I don't intend every one that comes here to lunch as a companion for Agnes. I'm sick of hearing of that girl. I've heard of nothing else for the last week—the people she should meet—what we should say and not say before her. If we aren't good enough for her she should have remained in the convent. But what fault, may I ask, do you find with Moulton?'

'Only what you've told me…. Am I not right, Reggie?'

'Oh, Reggie will agree with you—he hates Moulton.'

'I don't like the man.'

'The truth is that he sent a note asking if he might come, and I knew if I refused he'd have nothing to eat…. You ought to be able to judge Moulton more fairly, for it is want of money that has reduced him to his present position. He was born a gentleman, and his uncle only allows him fifteen shillings a week. This pays for his lodging— one room, which costs five shillings a week—another five shillings a week goes for current expenses, a cup of tea in the morning, and a few omnibus fares; the remaining five shillings goes towards his clothes. So every day he finds himself face to face with the problem where he shall lunch, where he shall dine. He's good-looking, women like him, and any little present they make him is welcomed, I can assure you. He said the other day, "Look at my boot, there's a hole in it; I shall be laid up with a cold. You don't know what it is to be ill in a room for which you pay five shillings a week." What could I do but to tell him that he might order a pair at my shoemaker's?'

'And he ordered a pair that cost three pounds,' said Lord Chadwick.

'Yes; I did think that he might have chosen a cheaper pair. But you're rather hard on him,' said Mrs. Lahens; 'he's not the only man in London who takes money from women.'

'I wonder he doesn't go to Mashonaland or to Canada?' said the Major.

'If every one who could not make his living here went to Mashonaland or Canada, the London drawing-rooms would be pretty empty.'

'You mean that for me, Olive,' said the Major. 'I would go to-morrow to Mashonaland if I were as young as Moulton.'

At that moment a youngish-looking man, about five-and-thirty, came into the room quickly. Notwithstanding the wintry weather he was clad in a light grey summer suit; he wore a blue shirt and a blue linen tie, neatly tied and pinned. Mrs. Lahens, the Major, and Reggie glanced at the boots which had cost three pounds, and Mrs. Lahens thought how carefully that grey summer suit was folded and laid away in the tiny chest of drawers which stood next the wall by the little window. Mr. Moulton was clean shaved. His features were long and regular; a high Socratic forehead suggested an intelligence which his conversation did not confirm. His manners were stagey, and there was a hollow cordiality in the manner in which he said 'How do you do,' and shook hands. Immediately his blue, superficial, glassy eyes were turned to Mrs. Lahens; and he studied her figure in her new gown, and whispered that he had never seen her looking better.

'So there he is, and in his new clothes. Curious little fellow he is,' said Moulton, eyeing the Major. 'Did he offer much resistance? You don't seem torn at all. Not a scratch.'

'I did all I could to dissuade him, but——'

'I know, suffering from daughter on the brain…. Tell me, shall we see much of him? Will he come down every day to lunch, and what about dinner?'

'I hope not, I think not… he has his typewriting to attend to.'

'At all events the mystery is cleared up. I don't think I ever was believed when I said that I had once spoken to him on the stairs.'

'Do you hear that, Major? Mr. Moulton says that he doesn't think he ever was believed when he said that he had once spoken to you on the staircase. Major, do you hear?'

'Yes, dear, I hear. But I am talking to Reggie about Miss Lahens. By the way, Mr. Moulton, my daughter, Miss Lahens, is coming home to-day, so I hope that you'll be guarded in your conversation, and will say nothing that a young girl may not hear.'

'I shall be very pleased to see Agnes again,' said Moulton. 'If I had thought of it I would have read up the lives of the saints.'

'I beg, Mr. Moulton, that you do not speak disrespectfully of Miss Lahens. Perhaps there is nothing in your conversation that is fit for her to hear.'

Moulton looked at Mrs. Lahens, then taking in the situation, he said:

'If I have the pleasure of talking to Miss Lahens I shall confine my conversation to those subjects with which she is familiar. I shall acquit myself better than you, I think, Major; I have a sister who is a nun. I know a good deal about convents.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said the Major. 'I wanted you to know that my daughter has been very strictly brought up.'

'My dear Major,' said Mrs. Lahens, 'you had better write on a piece of paper "My daughter, Miss Lahens, comes home from school to-day, and my guests at lunch are particularly requested to be guarded in their conversation." You can put it up where every one can see it, then there can be no mistake. The only disadvantage of this will be that at the end of the week Agnes will be the talk of the town. If Lilian Dare were to hear you she would—'

'But you haven't asked her?'

'Why not? she's received everywhere.'

'Not where there are young girls. You know how she got her money.'

'Oh yes, we've all heard that story,' said Mrs. Lahens, and before the
Major could reply the servant announced—

'Miss Lahens and Father White.'

'Who is Father White?' whispered Moulton.

'I haven't the least idea,' said Mrs. Lahens.