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MONICA.




MONICA

A Novel.


BY

EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN.

Author of

“Torwood’s Trust,” “The Last of the Dacres,”
“Ruthven of Ruthven,” Etc.


_IN THREE VOLUMES._


VOL. II.


LONDON:
WARD AND DOWNEY,
12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1889.




PRINTED BY
KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS,
AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.
                         PAGE

Mrs. Bellamy      1


CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.

Randolph’s Story      23


CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.

Storm and Calm      40


CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.

A Summons to Trevlyn      61


CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.

Changes      77


CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.

United      101


CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.

A Shadow      125


CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.

In Scotland      143


CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.

A Visit to Arthur      160


CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.

Back at Trevlyn      180


CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.

An Enigma      199




MONICA




CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.

MRS. BELLAMY.


Randolph was gone; and Monica, left alone in her luxurious London
house, felt strangely lost and desolate. Her husband had expressed a
wish that she should go out as much as possible, and not shut herself
up in solitude during his brief absence, and to do his will was now her
great desire. She would have preferred to remain quietly at home. She
liked best to sit by her fire upstairs, and make Wilberforce tell her
of Randolph’s childhood and boyish days; his devotion to his widowed
mother, his kindness to herself, all the deeds of youthful prowess,
which an old nurse treasures up respecting her youthful charges
and delights to repeat in after years. Wilberforce would talk of
Randolph by the hour together if she were not checked, and Monica felt
singularly little disposition to check her.

However she obeyed her husband in everything, and took her morning’s
ride as usual next day, and was met by Cecilia Bellamy, who rode beside
her, with her train of cavaliers in attendance, and pitied the poor
darling child who had been deserted by her husband.

“I am just in the same sad predicament myself, Monica,” she said,
plaintively. “My husband has had to go to Paris, all of a sudden, and I
am left alone too. We must console ourselves together. You must drive
with me to-day and come to tea, and I will come to you to-morrow.”

Monica tried in vain to beg off; Cecilia only laughed at her. Monica
had not _savoir faire_ enough to parry skilful thrusts, nor insincerity
enough to plead engagements that did not exist. So she was monopolised
by Mrs. Bellamy in her morning’s ride, was driven out in her carriage
that same afternoon, and taken to several houses where her friend had
“just a few words” to say to the hostess. She was taken back to tea,
and had to meet Conrad, who received her with great warmth, and had the
bad taste to address her by her Christian name before a whole roomful
of company, and who ended by insisting on walking home with her. Yet
his manner was so quiet and courteous, and he seemed so utterly
unconscious of her disfavour, that she was half ashamed of it, despite
her very real annoyance.

And the worst of it was that there seemed no end to the attentions
pressed upon her by the indefatigable Cecilia. Monica did not know
how to escape from the manifold invitations and visits that were
showered upon her. She seemed fated to be for ever in the society of
Mrs. Bellamy and her friends. Beatrice Wentworth and her brother were
themselves out of town; Randolph was detained longer than he had at
first anticipated, and Monica found herself drawn in an imperceptible
way—against which she rebelled in vain—into quite a new set of people
and places.

Monica was a mere baby in Cecilia’s hands. She had not the faintest
idea of any malice on the part of her friend. She felt her attentions
oppressive; she disliked the constant encounters with Conrad; but she
tried in vain to free herself from the hospitable tyranny of the gay
little woman. She was caught in some inexplicable way, and without
downright rudeness she could not escape.

As a rule, Conrad was very guarded and discreet, especially when alone
with her. He often annoyed her by his assumption of familiarity in
presence of others, but he was humble enough for the most part, and
took no umbrage at her rather pointed avoidance of him. She did not
know what he was trying to do: how he was planning a subtle revenge
upon his enemy her husband—the husband she was beginning unconsciously
yet