



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Blind Policy, by George Manville Fenn.

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BLIND POLICY, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

IN RAYBECK SQUARE.

"Oh, you wicked old woman!  Ah, you dare to cry, and I'll send you to
bed."

"No, no, auntie, don't, please.  What will dear Isabel think?  You're
not going to spoil a delightful evening?"

"Of course she is not.  Here, old lady; have another glass of claret--
medicinally."

Dr Chester jumped up, gave his sister and the visitor a merry look,
took the claret to the head of the table and refilled his own glass.

But the lady shook her grey sausage curls slowly, and elaborately began
to unfold a large bordered pocket-handkerchief, puckered up her plump
countenance, gazed piteously at the sweet face on her right, bent her
head over to her charming niece on the left, and then proceeded to up a
few tears.

"No, no, no, Fred; not a drop more.  It only makes me worse; I can't
help it, my love."

"Yes, you can, old lady.  Come, try and stop it.  You'll make Bel cry
too."

"I wish she would, Fred, and repent before it's too late."

"What!" cried the doctor.

"Don't shout at me, my dear.  I want to see her repent.  It's very nice
to see the carriages come trooping, and to know what a famous doctor you
are; but you don't understand my complaint, Fred."

"Oh yes, I do, old lady.  Grumps, eh, Laury?"

"No, no, my dear.  It's heart.  I've suffered too much, and the sight of
Isabel Lee, here, coming and playing recklessly on the very brink of
such a precipice, is too much for me."

The tears now began to fall fast, and the two girls rose from their
seats simultaneously to try and comfort the sufferer.

"Playing?  Precipice?" cried the young doctor.  "Step back, Bel dear;
you shouldn't.  Auntie, what do you mean?"

"Marriage, my dear, marriage," wailed the old lady.

"Fudge?" cried the doctor.  "Here, take your medicine.  No; I'll pour
you out a fresh glass.  You've poisoned that one with salt water."

"I haven't, Fred."

"You have, madam.  I saw two great drops fall in--plop.  Come, swallow
your physic.  Bel, give her one of those grapes to take after it."

"No, no, no!" cried the old lady, protesting.  "Don't, Laury;" but her
niece held the glass to her lips till she gulped the claret down, and it
made her cough, while the visitor exchange glances with the doctor.

"I--I didn't want it, Fred; and it's not fudge.  Oh, my dear Isabel, be
warned before it is too late.  Marriage is a delusion and a snare."

"Yes, and Bel's caught fast, auntie.  Just going to pop her finger into
the golden wire."

"Don't, my dear; be warned in time," cried the old lady, piteously.  "I
was once as young and beautiful as you are, and I said yes, and was
married, only to be forsaken at the end of ten years, to become a weary,
unhappy woman, with only three thousand four hundred and twenty-two
pounds left; and it's all melting slowly away, while when it's all gone
Heaven only knows what's to become of me."

"Poor old auntie!" said Laura Chester soothingly, taking the old lady's
head on her shoulder; but it would shake all the same.

"I had a house of my own, and now I have come down to keeping my
nephew's.  Don't you marry, my poor child: take warning by me.  Men are
so deceitful."

"Wrong, auntie.  Men were deceivers ever."

"I'm not wrong, Fred.  You've been a very good boy to me, but you're a
grown man now, and though I love you I couldn't trust you a bit."

"Thank you, aunt dear."

"I can't, my love, knowing what I do.  Human nature is human nature."

"Aunt dear, for shame!" cried Laura.

"No, my dear, it's no shame, but the simple truth, and I always told
your poor father it was a sin and a crime to expose a young man to such
temptation."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the doctor, boisterously.  "Here, Bel dear, don't
you trust me."

The young people's eyes met, full of confidence, and the old lady shook
her head again.

"I know what the world is and what men are," she continued, "and nothing
shall make me believe that some of these fashionable patients have
anything the matter with them."

"Oh, you wicked old woman!" cried the doctor.

"I'm not, Fred," she cried angrily.

"Oh yes, you are, old lady.  You say I don't understand your complaint;
it's conscience."

"It is not, sir.  I've nothing on my conscience at all."

"I don't believe you, auntie," he cried banteringly.  "You must have
been a wicked old flirt."

"It is false, sir; and I don't hold with doctors being young and
handsome."

"No; I twig.  Repentance.  You used to go and see one when you were
young, and give him guineas to feel your pulse."

"How can you say such wicked things, Fred?" cried the old lady, turning
scarlet.  "But I will say it now.  I'm sure it's not right for you to be
seeing all these fine fashionable ladies, scores of