CHAPTER IV.

BEATRICE'S PROPOSAL.

IN describing Hazlewood House and its belongings, no mention has been made of Miss Clauson, for this reasonher position in that well-regulated establishment was, as yet, scarcely defined. She was neither mistress nor guest. She was in short the only daughter-indeed the only surviving result of that brilliant marriage made by Miss Talbert when she allied herself with Sir Maingay Clauson, Bart.

There is no reason for enlarging upon the admirable way in which Lady Clauson filled the position which her own merits had gained, or to which Fate had assigned her. Socially and domestically-in the outward as well as the inward life-she was all a baronet's wife should be-all save that she presented her husband with no heir to his title and estates. This was a sad omission, but, for the sake of her many other good qualities, Sir Maingay overlooked it, and made her a very good husband, as husbands go. When Lady Clauson died, some twelve years after the birth of the daughter who lived, Sir Maingay wept copiously. He even opened his Bible—the first time for many years— and by the aid of Cruden's Concordance, looked out a text appropriate to her many virtues. Moreover, for her sake, or his own, he remained single for five long years. Then he went the way of all middle-aged, titled, wife-bereft flesh, and married again.

Beatrice Clauson, just about to leave school, a romantic young lady, whose head for the present was, however, only occupied by pretty filial dreams of looking after her father, ministering to his comforts, ruling his house, and generally

doing the best she could to fill the place of her dead mother, found herself without a word of warning presented to a new mother, one, moreover, but four years older than herself. It was a crushing blow! It was a girl's first lesson in the vanity and unstability of mundane expectations.

She ought, of course, to have anticipated it; but she was young, and, like most young people, considered her middle-aged father abnormally old and staid. Besides, she could remember her own mother well enough, and remembered also Sir Maingay's sincere grief when death claimed his wife. She remembered the way in which the weeping man threw his arms around herself and told her that she was now his ALL-his treasured memento of his wife-his one tie to life. Recalling all this, she was sanguine enough. to fancy that memory was even more vivid, that grief had graven its lines deeper with her father than with herself. So the bolt came from the bluest of the blue!

At seventeen Beatrice Clauson was still a spoiled child. All distracted widowers, until they marry again, spoil an only child; therefore, if only on salutary grounds, a second alliance is to be recommended. We will, then, take it for granted that at the time of Sir Maingay's second marriage Miss Clauson was spoiled. Moreover, we may at least suspect that she was both impetuous and stubborn, headstrong and romantic; also in her own way as proud as Lucifer. The second Lady Clauson was a beauty, and nothing Her family was what is called respectable-a term, the signification of which no man or woman has as yet been able exactly to define. Like the Bible, we interpret it as we choose.

more.

When the enforced meeting between Lady Clauson and her step-daughter took place, the young lady, by means of those signs and tokens, the masonry of which women alone fully comprehend, showed the state of her mind so clearly, that war to the knife was then and there declared.

And civil war in families-baronets or otherwise-is a deplorable thing: doubly deplorable for the neutral parties, who lack the excitement of the internecine combat. while Sir Maingay's life was anything but a happy one.

For a

It matters little who was most to blame-the girl for her unreasonableness and stubborn spirit, and want of resignation to the inevitable-Lady Clauson for retaliating with all an injured woman's pettiness and spite-Sir Maingay for the thoroughly man-like conduct in letting things drift. They did drift with a vengeance! The breach between the two ladies soon became too enormous to be bridged over by any family diplomatic engineering.

The skirmishes between the belligerents are not worth noticing. The battle-royal was fought when the time came for Miss Clauson to be presented. Lady Clauson asserted that she was the proper person to present her step-daughter. Beatrice coldly declined her aid. Her ladyship insistedher step-daughter was firm in her refusal. Sir Maingay declared himself under his wife's banner, and for once attempted to assert parental authority. Whereupon Miss Clauson cut the matter short, and declined being presented at all. It was a most dreadful state of affairs! You can,

at least, drive a horse to the water, even if you can't make him drink; but you dare not haul a refractory young woman into the presence of a gracious sovereign.

Lady Clauson, who was rigidly exact in following the prescribed usages of society, may not have been far wrong when she declared that " a baronet's daughter, who refused to be presented, was—well, a monstrosity!"

Sir Maingay began to wish his ancestors had not separated themselves from the Roman Catholic communion. He could have sent his daughter to a nunnery. But then, he sadly reflected, she wouldn't have gone at any price. If put there by force, the Protestant League would soon have her out, and perhaps take her round the country spouting. The only thing the worried baronet could think of was to send for his rebel, and ask her advice as to the best means of disposing of her troublesome self.

When alone with her father Beatrice always behaved prettily. She was very fond of him, although the remembrance of the tears, the text, the distracted vows, when contrasted with his second marriage for nothing but good looks made her look upon him with a little contempt.

She

did not know that man is so gregarious a creature that it is not meet for him to live alone. She heard his remarks in silence, then gave him her opinion on the matter.

"I don't want to be a nuisance to you, papa. I am eighteen now-too old to go back to school. It's nonsense, of course, to say I should like to earn my own living, because when I come of age I shall have some money. May I go and live at Fairholme ?”

Fairholme was Sir Maingay's seldom-used seat in one of the southern counties.

"But you can't live there alone,” he said.

"Yes, I could. Mrs. Williams could take care of me. I shall be happy enough."

"My dear girl, why not be reasonable and make friends with Lady Clauson? Then we could all go abroad together."

Lady Clauson, who was by no means a fool, had by this time found out that she needed something more than mere good looks to go down, or go up, in the society her heart longed for. She had therefore made up her mind to become a travelled woman, and had arranged that Sir Maingay should take her to a variety of foreign countries. The proposed tour was to be an affair of years, and her ladyship had a dim idea of writing or of getting some one else to write a book, describing the well-worn pathways she meant to tread. She hoped to take the world by storm as a literary woman.

"I can't go abroad with you," said Beatrice. “I shall be miserable myself and make you miserable.”

"But if you stay in England you must be presented and come out, and all that sort of thing.”

"If ever I do get married,” said Beatrice drily, "I will be presented as Lady Clauson was, on my marriage.”

Sir Maingay's cheek reddened. He was much hurt by the sarcasm. Poor old King Lear found a fitting simile for an ungrateful child, but the sharpness of a sarcastic child is more painful than a whole jawful of serpent's teeth. He did not reply; but the worthy baronet was at his wits' end. What could he do with this girl? He had very few

relations—he cared for none of them. Old Mr. Talbert, of Hazlewood House, was a confirmed invalid; Horace and Herbert were men without homes or wives. Sir Maingay was willing enough that Beatrice should remain in England. He had suffered much during the last few months from the dissensions of his wife and daughter. But where to bestow Beatrice?

At last he remembered an aunt of his own who lived in quiet retirement in one of the suburbs of London. It was of course absurd for Beatrice to think of living at Fairholme, in a half-closed house with a housekeeper and one or two servants. So it was arranged that her great-aunt should take her while Sir Maingay and Lady Clauson were on the Continent. So to Mrs. Erskine's she went, and, as that lady was very old, very deaf, and saw no company, it may be presumed that Miss Clauson had scarcely a merry time of it during her father's absence-an absence which from one reason or another lasted quite four years.

After a while Sir Maingay almost forgot he had a daughter. The Clausons settled down to continental life for an indefinite time. Lady Clauson knew she was improving herself, and, moreover, that Sir Maingay was saving enough money to refurnish the town house from top to bottom whenever they did return to England. In the course of the four years spent abroad Lady Clauson rectified her predecessor's sins of omission, and gave her devoted husband two fine boy-babies. In the revived delights of paternity-a paternity which is so especially dear to middle age-Sir Maingay thought little of the troublesome, obstinate girl he had left in England. His wife and his boys

So here was Beatrice

all but turned her out of his heart. in the extraordinary position of being a baronet's daughter with scarcely a friend in the world.

At last the Clausons returned to England. Whether her ladyship wrote her book or not is a matter of uncertainty; anyway it was never published. Beatrice made no objection

Her father and his wife

to rejoining the family circle. found her greatly changed. She was quieter, more reserved, more amenable to reason. It seemed to Sir