heroine."
"Kitty never gave herself airs of any kind," cried her friendindignantly. "No; I understand her feelings perfectly."
"Shall you give up Mr Everitt?" inquired Bell.
"Give him up--no! But I shall take care that she is smoothed down. Ihave got a little plan in my head."
What it was she would not reveal, though the girl did her best to findout. But that evening Mrs Marchmont informed her husband that shewished places to be taken at a favourite theatre.
"Five?" he repeated, lifting his eyebrows.
"Well, can't you go yourself?"
"Impossible. I must be at the House."
"Then, four. Charlie Everitt will take care of me; and I shall ask oldGeneral Sinclair besides, and a girl."
She wrote to Everitt, "Keep yourself at liberty for Thursday evening;"and Kitty, who came to see her that afternoon, heard only of the playand of General Sinclair. Not that Mrs Marchmont intended to take herby surprise in such a manner as to allow of no retreat. They would alldine together beforehand, and Kitty should come half an hour before theothers. Then would her friend gently and diplomatically unfold to herwho was to be of the party, and use all her persuasions to induce her tomeet him, and get over the first awkwardness. Should Kitty behopelessly obstinate, there would still be time for her to retire, andthere would be no difficulty in finding some one close at hand toreplace her at short notice. To tell the truth, she did not dare toentrap Kitty in any closer mesh. She trusted to her own persuasions, tothe girl's dislike to making a fuss, to the chapter of accidents, thehundred and one things which play unexpected parts. She was a littlenervous, but her spirits rose when she thought how smoothly everythingmight run. "If only," she reflected--"if only it all turns out well,and I can get them together--not just at first, perhaps, but after oneor two acts! There is nothing more effective than a play for puttingpeople on a pleasant footing." It was only of Kitty's possibleperverseness that she thought. Then on the morning of Thursday shewrote to Everitt; and, in the fulness of her expectations, perhaps letdrop more of a hint of these intentions than she imagined. To heramazement he answered her letter in person.
"Are you come to dinner?" she demanded. "You are even earlier than Iexpected; but I need not say I am very glad to see you."
"Thank you," said Everitt, gravely; "in fact, however, I am come to saythat I am not coming."
His cousin stared blankly at him.
"Not coming!" she repeated, faintly. "But, Charlie, that is absurd!You don't know."
"I fancy," he said, "that I do know. Unless I'm much mistaken, I couldread between the lines of your letter. Is Miss Lascelles to be one ofthe party?"
"Yes," she said, "she is."
"And does she expect to see me?"
"Not yet. But,"--eagerly--"I was not going to spring a mine upon her."
He listened very carefully while she explained her intentions, and whenshe had finished was silent for a few moments. There was that in hisface which caused her misgivings.
"Charlie," she said impressively, "you will not be so odious as to upsetmy little arrangements!"
"It seems to me," he said, "that I am doomed to be odious in everythingconnected with this affair. It's not a pleasant _role_."
"Well," she said in a vexed tone, "I was prepared to have a littledifficulty with Kitty, but you, I certainly expected to take the good Ihad provided for you, and to have been thankful. You must reallyunderstand that there is nothing else that I can do."
"I give you my word I'm thankful," said Everitt, with a laugh.
"Then, why are you so provoking? Have you given up the idea?"
"Have I come to my senses? No."
"In that case," she said, "I can't understand."
"Oh yes, you can," he replied. "Just reflect for a moment in what anuncomfortable position Miss Lascelles would be placed, if I acceptedyour kindness. She comes here unsuspecting, and she finds she musteither stay and face what is unfortunately disagreeable to her, or do,as I am doing, go away and offend a kind friend. I don't feel that Ihave the right to force the dilemma upon her."
"It would not offend me if she preferred to go."
"It would disappoint and vex you. When we make benevolent plans, wehate the people who thwart us. You have been splendidly benevolent."
"Well, I think you are taking to scruples at a particularly inconvenientmoment. And pray, if each of you flies off at a tangent directly theother is known to be near, how on earth are you ever to meet?"
"Ah," said he, smiling, "but I am not going off at a tangent. Give methe chance, and see if I don't use it."
"What was this but a chance?"
"There shall be nothing more that she can complain of. Everything mustbe absolutely open and above-board. Come, Mary, you know in your heartof hearts that I am right."
"That," she said, with a laugh, "is more than you can expect a woman toown. The utmost you will extract is that I may possibly allow that youare politic. And there is one thing that I shall do."
"What?"
"Ah, that is my affair. Leave me alone."
"I am not sure that you are to be trusted," he said, looking at her, andshaking his head. But he made no further effort to learn herintentions, and in a few minutes took his leave.
What Mrs Marchmont meant to do, and did, was to confess to Kitty whathad taken place. The girl became a little pale as she listened.
"I thought I could trust you, Mary," she said at last.
"If you would both trust to me, I should put an end to this foolishslate of things," retorted her friend.
"There is nothing to end," Kitty answered quietly, though there was atremor in her voice.
"One would suppose that Mr Everitt and I had once been acquainted, andthat something had made us fall out! The truth, however, is simply thatwe have never known each other, and that circumstances have made itpleasanter that we should remain unknown."
"That is all very well for you, but you might consider poor Mr Everitt.He thinks you are hopelessly displeased with him, and naturally thatplaces him in a most uncomfortable position."
"Then, just because he is disagreeable to me, I am to consent!" criedthe girl impatiently.
Mrs Marchmont rapidly shifted her ground.
"You can't deny," she asserted, "that he behaved with the utmostdelicacy in refusing to come here to-day."
"I don't know what I should have thought of him or of you, if he _had_been here," replied Kitty.
She carried things, indeed, with so high a hand, that Mrs Marchmont wasquite disconcerted. Her attempt had failed at least as completely asJack's, and she began to experience a sensation of defeat to which shewas altogether unaccustomed. It seemed really probable that these twoprovoking young persons, in whom, in spite of vexation, she daily took adeeper interest, would so obstinately persist in nullifying her goodoffices as entirely to prevent her from achieving their happiness.Nothing, it must be owned, could be more tiresome than such conduct.And yet she could not feel as angry with them as they deserved. She waseven conscious of a little compunction as she noticed the graver lineson Kitty's sweet face.
And Kitty herself?
She had answered Mrs Marchmont with a becoming spirit, and so far shelooked back upon their talk with satisfaction. But, to tell the truth,she could not quite forgive herself for thinking so much about thematter as she had to acknowledge she was thinking, and though she hadprofessed a lofty indifference to Everitt's conduct, her mind dwelt uponit with a good deal of approval. Perhaps, in spite of her words, shewas beginning to think less of that unfortunate business with the model,and to remember Everitt's face in the chapel on Sunday, and the mannerin which he had refused to avail himself of his cousin's proposal,jack's story made a kindly background for his hero.
After all, and notwithstanding Mrs Marchmont's despair, it is possiblethat her arrangement had not been so complete a failure as it appearedto herself.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
FLIGHT.
With regard to Everitt and Jack Hibbert, a change had taken place whichcould not but be considered remarkable. Everitt, who had hitherto beennoted for the energy and industry of his work, now was frequently absentfrom his studio, and when there painted in a half-hearted fashion, whichwas not likely to do him much good. He was conscious of it, annoyed,and was always expecting a return of his old enthusiasm; as it did notarrive, he became depressed, and told Jack that he believed he had lostthe trick of it. The change in Jack himself fortunately lay in quiteanother direction; Everitt could not tell what had come over the