At market value. A novel,
♦ V Ts** • ^ « ♦ *»4-\v4 « 1 — *% • ,♦ • * 4 4r ♦ 4 4r ♦ 1 • • 4 # *• > f 4 .% t •k 4 -4*' 4 4 <’« «t « ^ « V< (. 4-«44^« ^ 4 1 .*: 4^4 4 :< 4 ♦ -4 • — ••*4“^ - 4»7^ .# i ^ 0 -• ♦ • 1|4fF^* 4 4%’^ *4 €4 1^ ^ p -T^ • • • ^v**4 4*4 •*•» « # . 4 • • • ^ ^4' % f f -4 « |» #- • -4' 4 4^* 4-* • ‘4 ^ 4 • 4 4 ^ 4-1 • * '4 •w' 4 t * 4 ♦ • 4 i 4 4 4 • 4 4 4 < fl -4'-4 ^ -• 4 « 4 4 .«. :« 4. « » 4^^ » - 4 4 - fc i4 # 4 4 4 “*4 -.4 4 4 4 - 4 • * - ^ •• • *• •*4 ♦r4v*:4,4'4<-4-f '4( 4 4 0‘ i % f4.4! r-# >- .4 4 4-4*. /«•< 4 «« '«-4i « 4 V i 4-4 ♦ < • •-^-•'4- I ^ ^ 4 * .• •• 4 « 4«* • f • ^ •-• 4 ► 4V 4 4 • • ■H . ^ i. ^--T-, ♦ . \-.. •.•'t/i •*. 4M-4"4-4H 1-4- «» 4^.^*. i.. ♦•4«:,44 < 4 ♦.W !•% •i4^4'% <*4-V:4 4 4 4 4- 4 - •• 4,4^4 i ♦ - i 4—44 • • , • -4 / * 4*V 4 4 4 • 4-«4'^*4*4<4 4 4 * 44*4 • 4 t.*' A • %.♦ 4 *k*.» ♦ V *.i V.* 4 ^ • 4 « ‘f ^ 4,^4 ^ • * < 4 ^4 4 > .♦ -4 ♦"••4 *4 . 4 ^#- 4 ••- 4-.f -ij t • 4. • 44 4'4 % € % 4 •« • , « «**4« 4^ 4 •^.4 4 ■« 4 4 • • ♦4-^4 4 4 • «< « <.4'< 4'f 4 • 44 . 4 «*< 1*4 4 •••# #4-4«>4 d» 4 4*4'44*'*4f'‘4*'4 ^ f ^ % ,4 -9 . f , 14 .< • if ^4 . 4 « 4f 4.^,4 * 4 ^4»4-4 • 5- * 4 4^r 4^i 4» »i-r 4 i «‘4i ^ - 4 4 4* t V 4 ^ A * 4 « .« 4 4 .4 >*.44 «*«.•!. r V « 4 4 # i •' 4*# ♦ 4-.^ 4 4 «'• • - 4 - • -< • 4* *V V^**4 ^ 4 ^ -4* •• 4 V ^ 4 « # 4 4^4 « « • 4^4.. • 4~>*«4 4W-4-4«« %4i( » 4 44 4*«» ^ 4 4i 4 • 4«« '4« V * < 4 « r.«^ #_• 4 ^ ^ «"«*•' «4.«. w i \ f 4»* «-• • i 4 •— r^eV -4 * 4.4 4 .y i 4-i * ^ ^ * it ■* AV -0^ C “ “ • ♦ '^O ^ 4 • " ‘ * ♦ ^ t -4.^ . Mfm/xyr^. V* 0 ^ 4 ^ ' 'oK iP <r *i o %-^‘-\^ %-^^- ,»► -o^ .... ” ■<?„ c-V .A'i' *k(\WA" >,. c -* ei. 'v ® *^f\ * V » • .❖'"V ' ^ * ■CL’' 'VA* • •»« _ T <* /“.V * / ^ V’ . . . V ' * ■ • ’ vV^’ . . . ■'*•0 A '?..• ;.0^ V ♦'T^V .''' ^ *!» A> fc’ c5^ A^ • • • ■• ^<v O^ ^ •» • * ♦ jA • * • # 4- 'i«5^-* ’'’^^* '^oV^ ‘ * r o ‘.^Sv o % *4 - v'*"' N^’ . -. v*'’*" ^rS. "V .*4^30^'. .^V 4 Cr>^* 1 J± >/s AT MARKET VALUE MARKET VALUE B movel / T : ‘r 1 SFP 25 1894 = GR ANT^ALLEN /f AUTHOR OF THIS MORTAL COIL,’ ‘ BLOOD ROYAL,’ ‘ THE SCALIAAVAG,’ ETC. i~-' F. TENNYSON NEELY Chicago. Publisher: New York. 1894 2 ^ PZs Copyright at Washington. D. C., September, 1894, BY F. TENNYSON NEELY. CONTENTS CHAPTER I. AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING II. MRS. HESSLEGRAVE ‘ AT HOME ’ III. MILLIONAIRE AND SAILOR IV. FRATERNAL AMENITIES V. A CHANCE ENCOUNTER VI. A CASE OF CONSCIENCE VII. MAKING THEIR MINDS UP VIII. A DIGRESSION - IX. BY THE BLUE ADRIATIC X. VISITORS IN VENICE - ' XI. MRS. HESSLEGRAVE MISAPPREHENDS - XII. A mother’s DILEMMA XIII. A MISSING LOVER XIV. THE AXMINSTER PEERAGE XV. IN A CATHEDRAL CITY XVI. WITHOUT SECURITY - ~ XVII. THE HEART OF THE DECOY DUCK XVIII. PRECONTRACT OF MATRIMONY XIX. RE-ENTER MORTIMER - PAGE 1 12 24 36 49 60 73 83 93 104 115 127 140 151 161 172 184 194. 204 VI CONTENTS CHAPTER XX. A FAMILY COUNCIL - -  - - - 278 XXVII. CONSCIENTIOUS SCRUPLES  - - 320 AT MARKET VALUE CHAPTEE I. AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING. ’Twas a dejected, dispirited, sheepish-looking throng that gathered, one black Wednesday, round the big back door in Burlington Gardens. For it was Taking- away Day at the Koyal Academy. For weeks before that annual holocaust, many anxious hearts have waited and watched in eager suspense for the final verdict of the Hanging Com- mittee. To hang or not to hang — that is the ques- tion. But on Taking-away Day the terrible fiat at last arrives ; the Committee regret (on a litho- graphed form) that want of space compels them to decline Mr. So-and-so’s oil-painting, ‘ The Fall of Babylon,’ or Miss Whatshername’s water-colour, ‘ By Leafy Thames,’ and politely inform them that they may remove them at their leisure, and at their own expense, from Burlington House by the back door aforesaid. Then follows a sad ceremony : the rejected flock together to recover their slighted goods, and keep one another company in their hour of humilia- tion. It’ is a community of grief, a fellowship in 1 2 AT MARKET VALUE misery. Each is only sustained from withering under the observant eyes of his neighbour by the inward consciousness that that neighbour himself, after all, is in the self-same box, and has been the recipient that day of an identical letter. Nevertheless it was some consolation to Kathleen Hesslegrave in her disappointment to observe the varying moods and shifting humours of her fellow- sufferers among the rejected. She had a keen sense of the ridiculous, and it lightened her trouble somewhat to watch among the crowd the different funny ways in which other people bore or concealed their own dis- appointment for her edification. There were sundry young men, for example, with long hair down their backs and loose collars of truly Byronic expansiveness, whom Kathleen at once recognised as unacclaimed geniuses belonging to the very newest and extremest school of modern impressionism. They hailed from Newlyn. These lordly souls, budding Eaphaels of the future, strolled into the big room with a careless air of absolute unconcern, as who should wonder they had ever deigned to submit their immortal works to the arbitrament of a mere everyday Hanging Committee ; and they affected to feel very little surprise indeed at finding that a vulgar bourgeois world had disdained their efforts. They disdained the vulgar bourgeois world in return with contempt at compound interest visibly written on their aesthetic features. Others, older and shabbier, slunk in unobserved, and shouldered their canvases, mostly unobtrusive land- scapes, with every appearance of antique familiarity. It was not the first time they had received that insult. Yet others again — and these were chiefly young girls — advanced blushing and giggling a little from sup- AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING 3 pressed nervousness, to recover with shame their unvalued property. Here and there, too, a big burly-shouldered man elbowed his way through the crowd as though the place belonged to him, and hauled off his magnum opus (generally a huge field of historical canvas, ‘ King Edward at Calais,’ or, ‘ The Death of Attila ’) with a defiant face which seemed to bode no good to the first Academi- cian he might chance to run against on his way down Bond Street. A few, on the contrary, were anxious to explain, with unnecessary loudness of voice, that they hadn’t sent in themselves at all this year ; they had called for a picture by a friend — that was all, really. Kathleen stood aside and watched their varied moods with quiet amusement; it dis- tracted her attention for the time from her own p(;ipr picture. At last she found herself almost the only person remaining out of that jostling crowd, with a sailor- looking man, brown and bronzed, beside her. ‘ “ In a Side Canal ; Kathleen Hesslegrave.” Yes, this is yours, mum,’ the porter said gruffly. ‘But you’ll want a man to take it down to the cab for you.’ Kathleen glanced at her little arms ; they were not very strong, to be sure, though plump and shapely. Then she looked at the porter. But the porter stood unmoved. With a struggling little effort Kathleen tried to lift it. ‘ In a Side Canal ’ was a tolerably big picture, and she failed to manage it. The sailor- looking body by her side raised his hat with a smile. His face was brown and weather-beaten, but he had beautiful teeth, very white and regular, and when he smiled he showed them. He looked like a gentleman. 4 AT MARKET VALUE too, though he was so roughly dressed, with a sailor’s roughness. ‘ May I help you ?’ he asked, as he raised his hat. ‘We two seem to be the last — I suppose because we were more modestly retiring than the rest of them. This is a good big picture.’ ‘ Yes,’ Kathleen answered regretfully. ‘ And it took me a good long time to paint it.’ The sailor-looking young man glanced at the subject carelessly. ‘Oh, Venetian!’ he cried. ‘Why, how odd! We’re neighbours. Mine’s Venetian, too. The very next canal ; I painted it quite close to San Giovanni e Paolo.’ ‘ So did I,’ Kathleen exclaimed, brightenmg up, a little surprised at the coincidence. ‘ When w^ere you there ?’ ‘ Last autumn.’ ‘ Then I wonder we never met,’ the young man put in with another sunshiny smile. ‘ I was working on that canal every day of my life from November to January.’ He w^as carrying her picture as he spoke towards the door for a cab. ‘ Oh, how funny !’ Kathleen exclaimed, looking closer at his features. ‘ It’s queer we never hap- pened to knock up against one another. And w^e knew so many people in Venice, too. Used you ever to go to the Martindales’ palazzo The young man smiled once more, this time a restrained smile of deprecatory modesty. If his teeth w’ere good, he certainly lost no opportunity of show- ing them. ‘ No ; 1 didn’t know the Martindales,’ he answ^ered very hastily, as if anxious to disclaim the social AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING 5 honour thus thrust upon him, for the Martindales lead Anglo-Venetian society. ‘ Then, perhaps, the Chericis T Kathleen interposed once more, with that innate human desire we all of us feel to find some common point with every stranger we run against. ‘No,’ her new friend replied, looking graver now. ‘ Nor Countess Cherici either. In point of fact, I may say — except one or two other painter-fellows, if I can call myself a painter — I know nobody in Venice. I was not in society.’ ‘Oh!’ Kathleen answered, dropping her voice a little ; for, though she was a sensible girl, in the circle she had been brought up in, not to be in society was considered almost criminal. The young man noted the sudden drop in her voice, and a curious little line developed itself for a second near the corners of his mouth — an upward line, curving sideways obliquely. It was clear he was amused by her altered demeanour. But he made no reply. He only bore the picture gravely to the door of the Academy, and there tried to call the attention of some passing hansom. But it was clearly useless. They were all engaged already, and the crush at the door was still so great there could be no chance of hiring one for another ten minutes. So the young man laid down the big picture near the door, with its face propped up against the entrance wall, and saying quietly, ‘ I’ll help you in with it by-and-by when I see any chance,’ went back to the inner room to recover his own Venetian canvas. He was gone a minute ; and when he returned, Kathleen could see he almost ostentatiously set his own picture down at some distance from hers, as 6 AT MARKET VALUE though he was’ little anxious to continue the conversa- tion. She was sorry for that. He had seemed so eager to help her with such genuine kindliness ; and she was afraid he saw his last remark about not being in society had erected an instinctive class-barrier between them. So, after a moment’s hesitation, she left her own work to take care of itself, and took a step or two forward toward her new acquaintance’s ambitious canvas. ‘ You saw mine,’ she said apolo- getically, by way of reopening conversation : ‘ May I see yours? One likes to sit in judgment on the Hanging Committee.’ The young man seemed pleased. He had a speak- ing face, and was handsome withal, with a seafaring handsomeness. ‘ Oh yes, if you like,’ he answered ; ‘ though I’m afraid you won’t care for it.’ And he turned the painted face of the picture towards her. ‘ But why on earth didn’t they take it ?’ Kathleen cried spontaneously, almost as soon as she saw it. ‘ What lovely light on the surface of the water ! And oh ! the beautiful red sails of those Chioggia fishing- boats !’ ‘ I’m glad you like it,’ the stranger replied, with evident pleasure, blushing like a girl. ‘ I don’t care for criticism as a rule, but I love sincerity ; and the way you spoke showed me at once you were really sincere about it. That’s a very rare quality — about the hardest thing to get in this world, I fancy.’ ‘ Yes, I was quite sincere,’ Kathleen answered with truth. ‘ It’s a beautiful picture. The thing I can’t understand is why on earth they should have re- jected it.’ The young man shrugged his shoulders and made an impatient gesture. ‘ They have so many pictures AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING 7 to judge in so short a time,’ he answered with a tolerance which Avas evidently habitual to him. ‘ It doesn’t do to expect too much from human nature. All men are fallible, with perhaps the trifling exception of the Pope. We make mistakes ourselves, some- times; and in landscape especially they have such miles to choose from. Not,’ he went on after a short pause, * that I mean to say I consider my own fishing- boats good enough to demand success, or even to deserve it. I’m the merest beginner. I was thinking only of the general principle.’ ‘ I’m afraid you’re a dreadful cynic,’ Kathleen put in with a little wave of her pretty gloved hand, just to keep up the conversation. She was still engaged in looking close into the details of his rejected handi- craft. Though deficient in technique, it had marked imagination. The stranger smiled a broader and more genial smile than ever. ‘ Oh no, not a cynic, I hope,’ he answered with emphasis, in a way that left no doubt about his own sincerity. ‘ It isn’t cynical, surely, to recognise the plain facts of human nature. We’re all of us prone to judge a good deal by the most super- ficial circumstances. Suppose now, you and I were on the Hanging Committee ourselves : just at first, of course, we’d be frightfully anxious to give every work the fullest and fairest consideration. Kesponsibility would burden us. We would weigh each picture well, and reject it only after due deliberation. But human nature can’t keep up such a strain as that for long together. We’d begin very fresh, but towards the end of the day we’d be dazed and tired. We’d say : “ Whose is that ? Ah ! by So-and-so’s son; a brother Pi. A. I know his father. Well, it’s not badly painted; 8 AT MARKET VALUE we’ll let it in, I think. What do you say, Jiggamaree?” And then with the next: “Who’s this by, porter? Oh, a fellow called Smith ! Not very distinctive, is it ? H’m ; we’ve rejected every bit as good already ; space is getting full. Well, put it away for the present, Jones : we’ll mark it doubtful.” That’s human nature, after all ; and what we each of us feel we would do ourselves, we can none of us fairly blame in others.’ ‘But I call that cynicism,’ Kathleen persisted, look- ing up at him. If the stranger was a cynic, he had certainly caught the complaint in its most genial form, for he answered at once with perfect good-humour : ‘ Oh no, I don’t think so. It’s mere acceptance of the facts of life. The cynic assumes a position of censure. He implies that human nature does this, that, or the other thing, which lie^ with his higher and purer moral sense, would never so much as dream of doing. Knowledge of the world is not necessarily cynicism. The cynical touch is added to it by want of geniality and of human tolerance. It is possible for us to know what men and women are like, and yet to owe them no grudge for it — to recognise that, after all, we are all of us au fond very nearly identical.’ He spoke like a gentleman and a man of culture. Kathleen was a little surprised, now she heard him talk, to find him so much more educated than she had at first fancied. For his rough exterior had rather prejudiced her against the sailor - looking stranger. But his voice was so pleasant, and his smile so frank, that she really quite admired him, in spite of his sentiments. She was just going to answer him, in defence of human nature, against his supposed AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING 9 strictures, when a voice in the crowd close by dis- tracted her attention. ‘ Why, Miss Hesslegrave, there you are !’ it cried. ‘ I wondered if I should see you. Oh, yes, indeed, I also am among the killed and wounded. IVe got no fewer than three of them. What, all my pretty ones ! A perfect massacre of the innocents. But there, the Hanging Committee is as bad as its name. No respecter of persons. Euthless, ruthless, ruthless ! And Arnold Willoughby, too ! Well, Willoughby, how are you? I really didn’t know you two knew each other.’ ‘We don’t,’ Kathleen answered, taking the new- comer’s hand. ‘We’ve only just met here. But your friend’s been so kind. He’s carried my poor rejected picture down for me, and we’re waiting for a cab. It is such a crush — and all of us trying to pre- tend we don’t mind about it !’ ‘ Who’s cynical now ?’ the stranger ppt in, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘ I do mind very much ; it’s bread and butter to me ; and I don’t pre- tend to conceal it. But I’ll leave you now. I see you’ve found a friend, and I can be of no further service to you.’ He raised his hat with more grace than Kathleen could have expected from those rough sailor-like clothes : ‘ Good-bye,’ he said ; ‘ Mortimer, you’ll see after the picture.’ The American, for he was one, nodded a polite assent. ‘ How lucky I am. Miss Hesslegrave,’ he murmured, ‘ to have met you by accident ! And talking to Wil- loughby, too ! You can’t think what a conquest that is.’ He glanced with some amusement after the stranger’s retreating figure. ‘You know,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘Willoughby’s a professed miso- lO AT MARKET VALUE gynist, or next door to one, anyhow ; this is the very first time I’ve ever seen him speaking to a lady. As a rule, he runs away from them the moment he sees one. It was conjectured in Venice among the fellows who knew him that he had been what school-girls describe as ‘‘crossed in love,” he avoided them so carefully. I suppose the truth is one of them must have jilted him.’ ‘ He was very kind to me,' Kathleen interposed quietly. ‘ He saw me struggling with this great big canvas, and he came up to help me, and was so nice and polite about it.’ ‘ Ah yes,’ the American answered, a little lower than before, with a meaning glance. ‘ Kind to you, Miss Hesslegrave ; that doesn’t prove much ; even a confirmed misogynist could hardly be less ; we must allow for circumstances.’ Kathleen coloured a little, but didn’t altogether dis- like the compliment, for Mortimer was rich — very rich indeed — and the acknowledged catch of the artistic American colony in Paris. But she turned the subject hastily. ‘ Where did you meet him ?’ she asked, looking down at her pretty shoes. ‘He’s so rough-looking outside ; yet he seems a gentleman.’ ‘Oh, he is a gentleman, undoubtedly,’ Mortimer answered with true American candour ; ‘ a born gentleman, though not quite the conventional one. He’s as poor as a church mouse, and he’s been a sailor, I fancy.’ ‘ Who is he ?’ Kathleen asked with evident interest. ‘ Ah, who is he ? That’s the question,’ Mortimer answered mysteriously. ‘ He’s a dark horse, I ima^e. I picked him up accidentally last autumn in Venice. AN ACCIDENTAL MEETING I He used to lodge at a tiny Italian trattoria^ down a side canal — not far from my palazzo — and live off fritura — you know the sort of stuff— fish, flesh, and fowl, three meals a penny.’ ‘How brave of him !’ Kathleen said simply. ‘ He looks very nice. And all for art’s sake, I suppose, Mr. Mortimer ?’ The American laughed. ‘All for poverty’s sake, I imagine,’ he answered with candour. ‘ So he told me himself. He didn’t care so much about art, he said, as about earning a livelihood ; and I really believe he starves in his den when he sells no pictures.’ ‘ Why did he run away from us ?’ Kathleen asked, peering around into the crowd to see if she could discover him. ‘ Well, to tell you the truth,’ Mortimer replied, ‘ I think it was mainly because he saw me come up ; and also because of the faint intonation in your voice when you said, “ We don’t know one another.” Willoughby’s a misogynist, as I told you, and he’s also sensitive, absurdly sensitive — he might almost be one of my fellow-countrymen. I don’t doubt, when you said that, he took it as his dismissal. He understood you to mean, “Now I’ve done, sir, with you. Here’s somebody else I know. You may go about your busi- ness.” And being a person who always feels acutely when he’s de trop, he went about his business at once, accordingly.’ ‘ I’m sorry,’ Kathleen put in ; ‘ for I really rather liked him.’ ‘Oh, he’s a thorough good sort,’ the American answered quickly. ‘ He’s sterling, Willoughby is. Not at all the sort of man that’s given away with a 12 AT MARKET VALUE pound of tea. None of your cotton-backed gentlemen. You may test him all through, an.d you’ll find from head to foot he’s the genuine material.’ ‘ Couldn’t you bring him with you to tea, this after- noon ?’ Kathleen suggested, half hesitating. ‘ I think mamma sent you an- ‘at home’ card for Wednesdays.’ ‘Oh, I’m coming,’ the American answered with prompt acquiescence ; ‘ I have not forgotten it. Miss Hesslegrave ; is it likely I should ? Well, no, I don’t think so. But as for Willoughby — ah, there you know, that’s quite a different matter. I don’t suppose anything on earth would induce him to go to an ‘ at home ’ of anybody’s. He’d say it was hollow ; and he despises hollowness. He’ll never go in for anything but realities. To tell you the truth, I think the only reason he spoke to you at all at the Academy here this morning was because he saw a chance of being of some practical service to you ; and the moment the practical service was performed, he took the very first opportunity that offered to slip off and leave you. That’s Willoughby all over. He cares for nothing at all in life except its realities.’ CHAPTEK II. MRS. HESSLEGRAVE ‘ AT HOME.’ That same afternoon, Mrs. Hesslegrave’s little rooms in a side street in Kensington were inconveniently crowded. Mrs. Hesslegrave would have been wounded to the core had it been otherwise. For, though she was poor, she was still ‘in Society.’ Every second Wednesday through the season Mrs. Hesslegrave re- MRS, HESSLEGRAVE ^ AT HOME 13 ceived ; sooner would she have gone without breakfast and dinner than have failed to fill her rooms for after- noon tea with ‘ the Best People.’ Indeed, Mrs. Hessle- grave was the exact antipodes of Arnold Willoughby. ’Twas for the appearances of life she lived, not for its realities. ‘ It would look so well,’ ‘it would look so bad ’ — those were the two phrases that rose oftenest to her lips, the two phrases that summed up in anti- thetical simplicity her philosophy of conduct. Therefore it was a small matter to Mrs. Hesslegrave that her friends were jostling and hustling each other to their mutual inconvenience in her tiny lodgings. Their discomfort counted to her for less than nothing. It looks so well to have your ‘ at homes ’ attended. It looks so bad to see them empty, or, worse still, filled by the wrong sort of people. ‘ Oh, here’s that dear Mr. Mortimer !’ Mrs. Hessle- grave gushed forth, rising with empressement as the young American entered. ‘ How do you do, Mr. Mortimer ? How good of you to come ! Kathleen, will you take Mr. Mortimer into the other room to have a cup of tea ? I’ll introduce him to you. Lady Barnard, as soon as ever he comes back. Such a charming young man !’ Mrs. Hesslegrave had smoothed her path in life by the judicious use of that one word charming. ‘ He’s an American, you know, of course, but not the least like most of them ; so cultivated and nice, and belongs, I am told, to a first- rate old Philadelphia family. Eeally, it’s quite sur- prising what charming Americans one meets about nowadays — the best sort, I mean — the ladies and gentlemen. You wouldn’t believe it, but this young man hasn’t the slightest Yankee accent ; he speaks like an English officer.’ Mrs. Hesslegrave’s late 14 AT MARKET VALUE lamented husband had been a General of Artillery, and she looked upon an English officer accordingly as the one recognised model of deportment and char- acter in the two hemispheres. ‘ Besides, he’s very well off indeed, they tell me ; he’s iron in the States, and an artist in Paris ; but he practises art for art’s sake only, and not as a means of livelihood, like my poor dear Kathleen. Such a delightful young man ! You really must know him.’ Lady Barnard smiled, and in less than ten minutes was deep in conversation with the ‘ charming ’ Ameri- can. And charming he was, to say the truth ; for once in its life, Mrs. Hesslegrave’s overworked adjec- tive of social appreciation was judiciously applied to a proper object. The rich young American had all the piquant frankness and cordiality of his nation, with all the grace and tact of Parisian society. More- over, he was an artist ; and artists must be surely poor creatures to start with if the mere accidents of their profession don’t make them interesting. He was chatting away most brightly to Lady Barnard about the internal gossip of Parisian studios, when the door opened once more, and the neat-capped maid with the long white apron announced in her clearest official voice, ‘ Canon and Mrs. Valentine !’ Their hostess rose once more quite effusively from her place, and advanced towards the new-comers with her best smile of welcome. Mrs. Hesslegrave greeted them. It was clear, therefore, that the Valentines were people of distinction : for MRS. HESSLEGRAVE ^ AT HOME’ 15 she moved forward towards the Canon and his wife at the door with the sweetest inclination of that white- haired head. ‘Oh, how good of you to come!’ she cried, clasp- ing the lady’s hand in both her own. ‘ I know. Canon Valentine, how very much engaged you are ! It is so sweet of you I’ The Canon was a fat little bald-headed man, rather waistless about the middle, and with a self-satisfied smirk on his smooth red countenance. He had the air of a judge of port and horses. In point of fact, he was a solitary survivor into our alien epoch of the almost extinct type of frankly worldly parson. ‘ Well, we are rather driven, Mrs. Hesslegrave,’ he admitted with a sigh — heartless critics might almost have called it a puff — pulling his white tie straight with ostentatious scrupulosity. ‘ The beginning of the season, you see — torn by conflicting claims ; all one’s engagements before one ! But I’ve heard such good news, such delightful news ! I’ve come here straight, you know, from dear Lady Axminster’s.’ ‘ Ah, yes,’ Mrs. Hesslegrave echoed, glancing askance towards the American to see if he was listening. ‘ She is so charming, isn’t she — Lady. Axminster ?’ ‘ Quite so,’ the Canon answered. ‘ A very dear old cousin of mine, as you know. Lady Barnard ; and so much cut up about this dreadful business of her scapegrace grandson. Well, we’ve got a clue to him at last ; we really believe we’ve got a genuine clue to him.’ ‘ No, you don’t mean to say so I’ Mrs. Hesslegrave cried, deeply interested. You would have believed Lady Axminster was her dearest friend, instead of AT MARKET VALUE ‘i6 being merely a distant bowing acquaintance. ‘ I thought he had gone off to South Africa or somewhere.’ ‘ What ? A romance of the peerage ?’ the young American asked, pricking up his ears. ‘ A missing lord? A coronet going begging? Lost, stolen, or strayed, the heir to an earldom ! Is that about the size of it ?’ ‘Precisely,’ the Canon answered, turning towards him, half uncertain whether it was right to encourage so flippant a treatment of a serious subject. ‘ You’ve heard of it, no doubt — this unfortunate young man’s very awkward disappearance? It’s not on his own account, of course, that the family mind ; he might have gone off if he chose, and nobody would have noticed it. He was always a strange, eccentric sort of person ; and for my part, as I say often to dear Lady Axminster, the sooner they could get rid of him out of the way, the better. But it’s for Algy she minds ; poor Algy Kedburn, who, meanwhile, is being kept out of the family property.’ ‘ Well, but this is very interesting, you know,’ Kufus Mortimer interjected, as the Canon paused. ‘ I haven’t heard about this. Tell me how it all hap- pened, and why you want a clue. A missing link or a missing earl is always so romantic.’ The Canon leaned back luxuriously in his easy-chair and sipped at the cup of tea Kathleen Hesslegrave had brought him. ‘ Thank you, my dear,’ he said, rolling it critically on his palate. ‘ One more lump, if you please ; I always had a sweet tooth, though Sir Everard has just cut me off my sugar. Says I must take sac- charin ; but there isn’t any flavour in it. I’m thankful to say, however, he hasn’t cut me off my port, which MRS. HESSLEGRAVE ^ AT HOME^ 17 is always something. Said he to me : ''I’ll tell you what it is, Canons if you drink port, you’ll have the gout ; but if you don’t drink port, the gout ’ll have you'' So that’s highly satisfactory.’ And the bald- headed old gentleman took another sip at the sweet syrup in his cup, of which the tea itself only formed the medium. ' But how about Lord Axminster ?’ the American persisted, with the insistence of his countrymen. 'Oh, ah, poor Axminster!’ the Canon went on reflectively, stirring the liquid in his cup with his gilt-bowled apostle spoon. (Mrs. Hesslegrave was by no means rich, and she lived in lodgings, to her shame, during her annual visit to London, but she flattered herself she knew the proper way to pro- vide afternoon tea for the best society.) ' I was coming to that. It’s a sad, bad story. To begin with, you know, every romance of the peerage in- volves a pedigree. Well, old Lady Axminster — that’s my cousin, the dowager — she had two sons; the eldest was the late earl ; Mad Axminster they called him, who married a gipsy girl, and was the father of the present man, if he is the present man — that is to say if he’s still living.’ ' The missing lord, in fact ?’ Eufus Mortimer put in interrogatively. ' Quite so,’ the Canon assented — ' the missing lord ; who is, therefore, you will see, my cousin Maria’s grandchild. But Maria never cared for the lad. From his childhood upwards, that boy Bertie had ideas and habits sadly unbefitting that station in life, et caetera, et caetera. He had always a mania for doing some definite work in the world, as he called it — soiling his hands in the vineries, or helping the 2 i8 AT MARKET VALUE stable-boys, or mending broken chairs, or pottering about the grounds with an axe or a shovel. He had the soul of an under- gardener. His father was just as bad ; picked up wonderful notions about equality, and Christian brotherhood, and self-help, and so forth. But it came out worse in Bertie — his name was Albert ; I suppose the gipsy mother had something or other to do with it. I’m a great believer in heredity, you know. Lady Barnard, heredity’s every- thing. If once you let any inferior blood like that into a good old family, there’s no knowing what trouble you may be laying in store for your- self.’ ‘But Galton says,’ the young American was bold enough to interpose, ‘ that all the vigour and energy of the British aristocracy — when they happen to have any — comes really from their mesalliances ; from the handsome, strong, and often clever young women of the lower orders — actresses and so forth — whom they occasionally marry.’ The Canon stared hard at him. These might be scientific truths indeed, not unworthy of discussion at the British Association, but they ought not to be unexpectedly flung down like bomb-shells in an inno- cent drawing-room of aristocratic Kensington. ‘ That may be so,’ he answered chillily. ‘ I have not read Mr. Galton’s argument on the subject with the care and attention which no doubt it merits. But gipsies are gipsies, and monomania is monomania — with all due respect to scientific authority. So, at an early age, as I was about to observe, these bad ancestral traits began to come out in Bertie. He insisted upon it that he ought to do some good work in the world — which was very right and proper, of MRS, HESSLEGRAVE ^ AT HOME^ 19 course ; I hope we all of us share his opinion on that score,’ the Canon continued, checking himself, and dropping for a moment into his professional manner. ‘ But then, his unfortunate limitation of view to what I will venture to call the gipsy horizon made him fail to see that the proper world in the work of an English nobleman is — is ’ ‘ To behave as sich,’ the irreverent young American suggested parenthetically. Canon Valentine regarded him with a peering look out of his small black eyes. He had a vague suspicion that this bold young man was really trying to chaff him ; and one should abstain from chaffing a beneficed clergyman of the Church of England. But he thought it on the whole wisest and most dignified to treat the remark as a serious contribution to a serious con- versation. ‘ Quite so,’ he answered with a forced smile. ‘ You put it briefly but succinctly. To fulfil, as far as in him lies, the natural duties and functions of his — ah’m — ^exalted position. Bertie didn’t see that. He was always stupidly wishing he was a shoemaker or a carpenter. If you make a pair of shoes, he used to say, you do an undoubted and indubitable service to the community at large ; a man gb6s dryshod for a year in your handiwork : if you give a vote in Parliament or develop the resources of your own estate, the value of your work for the world, he used often to tell me, was more open to question.’ ‘ Pre-cisely,’ the American answered, with a most annoying tone of complete acquiescence. The Canon stared at him once more. He expected such singular views as his unfortunate kinsman’s to rouse at once every sensible person’s reprobation. 20 AT MARKET VALUE For he had not yet discovered that the world at large is beginning to demand of every man, be he high or low, that he should justify his presence in a civilized nation by doing some useful work, in one capacity or another, for the community that feeds and clothes and supports him. ‘ Very odd notions, indeed,’ he murmured half to himself, as a rebuke to the young American. ‘ But then, his father was mad, and his mother was a gipsy girl.’ ‘ So at last Lord Axminster disappeared ?’ the American continued, anxious to learn the end of this curious story. ‘ At last he disappeared,’ the Canon went on, some- what dryly. ‘ He disappeared into space in the most determined fashion. ’Twas like the bursting of a soap bubble. He wasn’t spirited away. He took goo(^, care nobody should ever fancy that. He left a letter behind, saying he was going forth to do some good in the world, and a power of attorney for his grandmother to manage the Axminster property. His father and mother were dead, and Maria was the nearest relative he had left him. But he dis- appeared into space, drawing no funds from the estate, and living apparently upon whatever he earned as a gardener or a shoemaker. And from that day to this nothing has since been heard of him.’ ‘ Wasn’t there a lady in the case, though ?’ Mrs. Hesslegrave suggested, just to, show her familiarity with the small-talk of society. The Canon recollected himself. ‘ Oh yes ; I forgot to say that,’ he answered. ' You’re quite right, Mrs. Hesslegrave. It was cherchez la femme, of course, as usual. Bertie had MRS. HESSLEGRAVE ^ AT HOME* 21 been engaged to a girl of whom he was passionately fond ; but she threw him overboard ; I must say myself, though I never cared for the boy, she threw him overboard most cruelly and unjustifiably. In point of fact, between ourselves, she had a better offer. An offer from a marquis, a wealthy marquis. Axminster was poor, for a man in his position, you understand ; these things are relative ; and the girl threw him overboard. I won’t mention her name, because this is all a family matter ; but she’s a marchioness now, and universally admired. Though I must admit she behaved badly to Bertie.’ ‘ Shook his faith in women, I expect ?’ the American suggested. ‘ Entirely,’ the Canon answered. * That’s just what he wrote in his last letter. It gave him a distaste for society, he said. He preferred to live henceforth in a wider world, where a man’s personal qualities counted for more than his wealth, his family, or his artificial position. I suppose he meant America.’ ‘ If he did,’ Mortimer put in with a meaning smile, * I should reckon he knew very little about our country.’ ' * And you say you’ve got a clue?’ Mrs. Hesslegrave interposed. ‘ What is it. Canon ?’ The Canon wagged his head. ‘Ah, that’s it,’ he echoed. ‘ That’s just it. What is it? Well, Maria has found out — clever woman, Maria — that he sailed from London three years ago, under the assumed name of Douglas Overton, in a ship whose exact title I don’t remember— the Saucy something-or-other — for Melbourne or Sydney. And now we’re in hopes we may really track him.’ ‘ But if you don’t care about him, and the family’s 22 AT MARKET VALUE well quit of him,’ the American interjected, ‘ why on earth do you want to ?’ Canon Valentine turned to him with an almost shocked expression of countenance. ‘ Oh, we don’t want to find him,’ he said, in a depre- catory voice. ‘We don’t want to find him. Very much the contrary. What we want to do is really to prove him dead ; and as the Saucy something-or-other, from London to Melbourne, went ashore on her way out in the Indian Ocean somewhere, we’re very much in hopes — that is to say, we fear — or, rather, we think it possible, that every soul on board her perished.’ ‘ Excellent material for a second Tichborne case,’ Mrs. Hesslegrave suggested. The Canon pursed his lips. ‘We’ll hope not,’ he answered. ‘For poor Algy’s sake, we’ll hope not, Mrs. Hesslegrave. Algy’s his cousin. Mad Axminster had one brother, the Honour- able Algernon, who was Algy’s father. You see, the trouble of it is, by going away like this and leaving no address, Bertie made it impossible for us to settle his affairs and behave rightly to the family. He’s keeping poor Algy out of his own, don’t you see ? That’s just where the trouble is.’ ‘ If he’s dead,’ Kufus Mortimer suggested with American common- sense ; ‘ but not if he’s living.’ ‘But we’ll hope ’ the Canon began; then he checked himself suddenly. ‘ We’ll hope,’ he went on with a dexterous after-thought, ‘ this clue Maria has got will settle the question at last, one way or the other.’ ‘ Oh, here’s Mrs. Burleigh !’ the hostess exclaimed, rising once more from her seat with the manner suit- able for receiving a distinguished visitor. ‘ So glad MRS. HESSLEGRAVE ^ AT HOME’ 23 to see you at last. When did you come up from that lovely Norchester ? And how’s the dear Bishop ?’ ‘ I knew Axminster at Oxford,’ a very quiet young man in the corner, who had been silent till then, observed in a low voice to Bufus Mortimer. ‘ I mean the present man — the missing earl — the gipsy’s son, as Canon Valentine calls him. I can’t say I ever thought him the least bit mad, except in the way of being conscientious, if that’s to be taken as a sign of madness. He hated wine-parties, which was not unnatural, considering his grandfather had drunk himself to death, and one of his uncles had to be con- fined as an habitual inebriate ; and he liked manual labour, which was not unnatural either ; for he was a splendidly athletic fellow, as fine-built a man as ever I saw, and able to do a good day’s work with any navvy in Britain. But he was perfectly sane, and a martyr to conscience. 