Uncle Joseph was a good judge of many things besides bonds, debentures, shares, and scrip. When he bought "The Lilies" we may be sure he had his wits about him, and made no imprudent investment. A prettier villa never was reflected in the Thames. Huge elms, spreading cedars, delicate acacias quivering in the lightest air, the very point-lace of the forest, were grouped by Nature's master-hand round a wide-porched, creeper-clad building, with long low rooms, and windows opening on a lawn, all aglow with roses budding, blushing, blooming, to the water's edge. It was a little Paradise of leaf and flower and stream, such as is only to be found on the banks of our London river; such as calls up at sight images of peace and love and hope, and sweet untried romance for the young and trustful; such as wafts a thrill, not altogether painful, to the hearts of weary, wayworn travellers, for whom, in all that golden belief of the Past, there is nothing real now but a memory and a sigh. Such a lawn, such a scene, such flowers, were thoroughly in keeping with such a woman as Mrs. Lascelles, moving gracefully among the roses under a summer sky.

So thought poor Goldthred, emerging from the French windows of the breakfast-room for a tÊte-À-tÊte with his goddess, that might last half an hour, that might be cut short (he knew her caprices) in less than five minutes! A tÊte-À-tÊte from which he hoped to advance positively and tangibly in her favour, but which, like many others of the same kind, he feared might terminate in disappointment, discomfiture, despair.

Breakfast, with this unfortunate young man, had been a repast of paroxysms, alternating between rapture and dismay, such as completely destroyed anything like appetite or digestion. It was all very well for Uncle Joseph to go twice at the ham on the side-table, and devour such a lump of pÂtÉ de foie gras as would have choked a coal-heaver. It was all very well for Sir Henry, lounging down when everybody else had nearly done, avowedly with no appetite, after a cup of exceedingly hot coffee, to play as good a knife and fork as an Eton boy. It was all very well for the ladies, Mrs. Lascelles especially, to peck here and peck there—a slice of chicken, a strawberry, a bit of toast, an egg, a morsel of muffin, the least possible atom of pie—till each had made a pretty substantial meal. But could their heartless voracity stifle his (Goldthred's) sensibilities, or prevent his food tasting like leather, his tea like camomiles? Breakfast was over ere he recovered his proper senses, and then it was too late! The tonic so long denied this patient sufferer consisted of a few words from Mrs. Lascelles, not addressed, indeed, to himself, but accompanied by a glance he interpreted correctly, and accepted with delight.

"Uncle Joseph," said she, "your roses are shamefully neglected, and I shall inspect them thoroughly when I've drunk my tea."

Uncle Joseph, who, for sanitary reasons, never stirred till half an hour had elapsed after eating, grunted acquiescence; but Goldthred, unmindful of the convenances, rapturously followed his tyrant into the garden, the instant her muslin skirt disappeared over the window-sill.

She waited till they were out of sight from the house, then gathered a rose, fragrant, blooming, lovable as herself, and gave it him with a winning smile.

"I've got something to say to you, Mr. Goldthred—something I don't want everybody else to hear."

But for the flower pressed close against his lips, he felt that his heart must have leaped out of his mouth, and fallen at her feet. Never a word he spoke, but the light in his eyes, the glow on his face were answer enough.

"You won't be offended?" she continued, gathering rose after rose, and tying them up in a cluster, as she walked on. "You won't be cross, unreasonable, unkind? Indeed, it's for your own sake quite as much as mine. Mr. Goldthred, you can do me a great favour. Promise now; will you do it?"

He made no bargain; he showed no hesitation, but his very ears were crimson with sincerity while he answered:

"Do it, Mrs. Lascelles! What is there I wouldn't do for you? I wish you—you'd ask me to do something dangerous, or difficult, or—or impossible even! You'd see there's something in me, then, and perhaps you'd think better of me than you do now."

"Think better!" she repeated gaily. "Upon my word, I wonder what you'd have! But I don't want you to do anything impossible, no, nor even disagreeable. On the contrary, I should say it would be very pleasant. I want you to—to flirt a little with Miss Hallaton—there!"

"Mrs. Lascelles!" was all he said, but something in his tone caused her to laugh rather nervously, and quicken her pace as she continued:

"Oh! it's nothing to make a fuss about, and you needn't look so reproachful! Miss Hallaton is a very nice girl, and very pretty. I'm sure everybody thinks so, though she hasn't quite colour enough for my taste. You know you admire her, Mr. Goldthred, and why should you mind telling her so?"

"But I don't!" persisted Goldthred, in a great heat and fuss. "Can't you see, Mrs. Lascelles? Is it not plain?"

She made no scruple of interrupting him.

"Then you must!" she insisted, tying a white rose deftly in amongst its blushing sisters. "You needn't be too much in earnest, you know, but I wish you to pay a little attention to Miss Hallaton, for reasons of my own. If you're very good I'll tell you what they are."

Oh! cool and crafty spider! Oh! silly struggling fly! Blue-eyed spider in muslin and ribbons, fresh, smiling, radiant as morning. Helpless fly in tweed and broadcloth, wondering, blundering, blind as midnight. The fly buzzed a faint affirmative, and the spider went on.

"The fact is, Mr. Goldthred, you see you're a good deal with us, and I'm sure we're always delighted to have you. Both Jin and I like you very much. Jin says you are the only pleasant young man she knows. But the world will talk, and—and—people are beginning to make remarks. I'm almost old enough to be your mother. Well; you needn't contradict one so flat. You know what I mean, you men are so much younger of your age than us poor women. But that makes no difference. One can't be too careful. Now if you were seen making up a little to Helen,—and she is a very charming girl, I assure you,—it would stop all their mouths. They say very disagreeable things as it is, and one must do something. I shouldn't like to think you were never to come and see me any more."

Was not this a golden opportunity? Did she hear the grating of that accursed rake just round the laurel-bush? Could that be why her blue eyes shone so soft and kind, why the words dropped from her rosy mouth like honey from the comb? The gravel-walk (lately raked, and be hanged to it!) was rough as Brighton shingle; his trousers were of the thinnest fabric known to Messrs. Miles; yet I confidently believe Goldthred would have popped down on his knees, then and there, to run that one great chance he dwelt on night and day, but for the additional step that brought them face to face with a gardener working leisurely, in rolled-up shirt-sleeves, and surrounded by the implements of his art. Goldthred swore, I fear, though not aloud. The happy moment had slipped through his fingers like running-water, like the sands of time, like change for a sovereign, like everything else in a world that "keeps moving," whether we will or no. Of all impossibilities, there is none so impossible as to put the clock back.

Beyond this inopportune gardener, they came in sight of certain haymakers, and turning from these were close to the house once more. No further explanation was practicable, but unless some tacit agreement had been made to the lady's satisfaction, she would hardly have pushed her roses in the gentleman's face, with a sweet smile and a recommendation to inhale their fragrance while they were fresh.

"You deserve them all, indeed you do!" she said warmly. "And I'll put the best of them on your dressing-table myself. Thank you really. You won't forget your promise? I know I can depend upon you."

Then she marched into the drawing-room laden with her spoils, well pleased; while Goldthred, retiring to smoke the morning cigar, felt less satisfied, on reflection, than he had been when the white fingers and red roses were so close to his lips a while ago.

It seems that in all couples, not excepting the matrimonially tethered, a pair must necessarily pull different ways. Goldthred's innocent notion of heaven upon earth was that this despotic lady should become his wife, but she had handled him so skilfully, he dared not ask for fear of being refused. Mrs. Lascelles, who deserved some credit for crushing down the instinct of appropriation, natural to all women, however little they may prize an admirer, would have been glad, to do her justice, that Helen, for her own sake, should make an advantageous marriage. She reflected, moreover, that her furtherance of such an arrangement would bring her into closer relations with Sir Henry. Then she wondered whether she still liked him, confessing in her secret heart she was almost afraid she did.

That careless, easy-going personage had disposed himself, in the mean time, on the most sloping of garden chairs under a tree. Helen had brought him the morning and weekly papers, also one of the evening before. He was cool, comfortable, and thoroughly satisfied with Sir Henry Hallaton. His rings were more abundant, his whiskers more riotous, his handkerchief of brighter hues than ever. Had he not looked so like a gentleman his style of dress would have been gaudy and almost slang; but the combination had done him good service for many years, and he stuck to it still. Smoking a huge cigar, he watched its wreathes curling and clinging about the dark, crisp foliage of the cedar-branch over-head, while his thoughts wandered dreamily amongst the various interests of his pleasant, lazy, useless, and rather selfish life: his Alderneys at Blackgrove; his bailiff's book; the two-year old they were breaking at home; the brougham Barker was building him in London; Outrigger's chance in the Thames Handicap to-day; Uncle Joseph's dry champagne last night; the dress Mrs. Lascelles wore yesterday at the races; how Miss Ross had pulled in her waist this morning; on divine women in endless perspective, whom he had loved, or thought he loved, or made love to, without even that excuse, concluding how very few were equal to Helen. What a dear little thing it was as a child! What a graceful, engaging girl! So frank, so gentle, such a lady, and so fond of him! Suspecting that, after all, he really cared more for his own daughter than he had ever cared for the daughter, or wife, or mother of anybody else.

Arriving at this conclusion, and the end of his cigar, he was aware of a light step on the lawn, a rustle of muslin skirts trailing across the sward,—a familiar sound, to which, I fear, Sir Henry's ear turned, as turns the charger's to the trumpet call, the hunter's to the well-known challenge of a "find." Miss Ross, carrying a plateful of strawberries, bent over him, a world of mirth and mischief gleaming in her bright black eyes.

"You take life very easily, Sir Henry," said she, looking down on his recumbent figure with a sort of sarcastic admiration. "I'm a pretty cool hand myself, so people tell me, but I can't hold a candle to you, I must confess."

"Exactly," replied Sir Henry. "Prettier, but not so cool. I quite agree with you. I know what you mean."

"I don't mean it a bit!" exclaimed Miss Ross; "and of all people in the world I don't want you to tell me I'm pretty. You know that, or, at least, you ought to know it by this time!"

"Don't you think I'm a good judge?" asked this incorrigible person, with a smile of entire satisfaction.

She could not help laughing.

"Perhaps too good a judge," she answered, "but a judge that shall never find me guilty, I promise you! No; what I envy is your unrivalled sang-froid, your entire freedom from anxiety in a position that would make most people feel awkward, if not uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable!" he repeated; "why uncomfortable! Ah! perhaps you're right, and I do want another cushion. I'd go and fetch it, Miss Ross, only I'd much rather stay where I am, and talk to you."

She shot another scornful glance, not that he was the least abashed by it, and went on:—

"You've got all sorts of duties, cares, responsibilities, but they don't seem to affect you in the least—property, debts, of course" (Sir Henry nodded assent), "politics, position, that charming daughter; a bad day yesterday—you see I know all about it—and a certain loss to-day, if you don't bestir yourself, on the Thames Handicap. Yet there you sit, as unmoved and almost as highly ornamented as a Hindoo idol. I wish I had your secret!"

"Very simple," answered the other. "Irons! Nothing but irons! Plenty of them, and put them all in the fire at once. Dividing your cares is like dividing your affections—one balances another, and you carry them as easy as a milkmaid carries her pails."

"That's all very fine in theory," replied Miss Ross; "but there's such a thing as spilt milk, and a dozen cold irons won't prevent a hot one burning your fingers. There's a hot one to-day in the Thames Handicap. Never mind how I know it, Sir Henry, but I do know it. This horse they call Outrigger has no more chance of winning than your hat! Why do you tie that hideous gauze thing round it?"

Sir Henry was equal to the occasion.

"Suits my style of ugliness," he answered; adding, with well-assumed carelessness—"So Outrigger won't win, Miss Ross. Why won't he?"

"Not meant!"

"I never thought he was," said Sir Henry, who had backed the horse for more money than he liked to think of. "My impression, you see, agrees with your information. I don't doubt it, of course, particularly as you won't tell me where you got it."

"I won't, indeed," asseverated Jin, who would have been puzzled to name her authority, inasmuch as the startling intelligence originated in her own fertile brain. For particular reasons this unscrupulous young lady was anxious the whole party from The Lilies should start for the races together, while she alone remained at home. In discussing their plans the evening before, great lukewarmness had been shown on this point; Helen, perhaps for particular reasons, too, professing indifference to the coming day's sport. Even Sir Henry did not seem to have made up his mind; but Miss Ross argued, correctly enough, that if he went, Mrs. Lascelles would go, and the rest of the party would surely accompany their hostess; then, at the last moment, she could frame an excuse, and so have the day to herself. Therefore it was she made no scruple in calumniating the merits of Outrigger and the honesty of his owners.

Sir Henry was now in a desperate fidget to be off. He must get "out," he felt, at any price, and a few minutes might make all the difference. He stretched himself, yawned with an affectation of carelessness that did not in the least deceive his companion, and asked when the carriages were ordered.

"The same time as yesterday," answered Miss Ross, pleased with the result of her stratagem. "You won't say I told you," she added, looking coquettishly down at the recumbent baronet.

"Of course not," was the reply; but his thoughts were far away, probably with a stout speculator, wearing a suit of gorgeous tartan, and diamond rings on exceedingly dirty hands.

"How shall I stop your mouth?" she said, innocently enough, blushing nevertheless, though she rarely betrayed confusion, as the words escaped her.

It was impossible to be offended at the quaint, mischievous expression with which Sir Henry looked up in her face, and Jin fairly burst out laughing, while she popped a ripe red strawberry between his lips.

"This will do it for the present!" said she; "and don't forget you owe me a good turn for giving you what, I believe, you racing gentlemen call 'the straight tip!'"