Frank Sinclair's wife, and other stories

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FRANK SINCLAIR'S WIFE.

ANB OTHER STORIES.

ME8. EIDDELL,

ArTHOE OF

GEOEGE GEITH," " TOO MrCH ALONE," " HOME, SWEET HOME,
"THE EAEL's PEOMISE," ETC. ETC.

IN THREE YOLUMES.

VOL. I.

LONDON:

TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET. STRAND.

1874.

\_All righU of Translation and Eeproduction are Reserved.

PEINTED BY TATLOE AND CO.,
LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S INN EIELDS.

8e3 '

V. 1

CONTENTS

THE PIEST VOLUME.

<i

XXI,

HOW THE STEP WAS TAKEN
GOING BACK . . , ,

ON THE BRINK '.

" TO HAVE AND TO HOLD "
AFTER YEARS ....
COMING STRUGGLES .
FRANKS RESOLVE
"home, SWEET HOME." .
UPON OPPOSITE SIDES
RESIGNING THE HELM
PLAYING WITH EDGED TOOLS

MR. Sinclair's diary

FROM ANOTHER SIDE

AN INTERRUPTED SOIREE .

THE END OF THE SOIREE

THE PLEASURES OF HOUSEKEEPING

FROM MRS. SINCLAIR

MR. MCLEAN TO MR. VARHAM .

SANE OR INSANE ? ,

MR. Sinclair's diary resumed

"a GENTLEMAN TO SEE YOU, SIR "

PAGB
1

18

32

46

60

75

83

96

108

123

138

158

175

192

204

217

231

243

255

260

268

FEANK SINCLAIE'S WIFE.

FRANK SINCLAIR'S WIFE.

CHAPTER I.

HOW THE STEP WAS TAKEX.

When, in the face of the assembled popu-
lation of Mulford-in-the-Weald, Arabella
Constance Marion, daughter of the Eeverend
Fitzhugh St. Clair, Eector of Mulford afore-
said, promised to love, honour, and obey
Frank Sinclair, I do not think, spite of the
fact that her uncle, the Dean of Eingleton,
assisted her father to perform the ceremony ;
that her mother's second cousin. Sir Arthur
Landless, gave the bride away ; that the
Honourable Mrs. Clace, seated in her family
pew, surveyed the sacrifice through double

VOL. I. B

Frank Sinclair s Wife,

eye-glasses with gold rims, and subsequent-
ly partook, liberally, so it seemed to Frank
Sinclair, of lobster salad wHcli he had
made, and champagne which he had paid
for ; spite of all these causes for upliftment
and social exaltation, there is still every
reason to believe that Arabella Constance
Marion did not think she was conferring,
together with her heart and hand, a life-
long obligation on the man who had wooed
her successfully.

On the contrary, the great and the little
world of Mulford- in -the -Weald thought
Arabella Constance had taken some pains
to land her lover, and was proud when,
after bringing him to shore, she was able
to exhibit him to the critical gaze of friends
and neighbours in the character of her
affianced husband. The eldest but one of
eleven living children — seven of whom were
daughters undowered — her chances in the
matrimonial lottery could not have been
considered promising, when a far-away rela-

How the Step was Taken.

tive going down to recruit his health at
Mulford remained at the Eectory the greater
part of the summer, and before the au-
tumnal fruits were over had proposed for
and married her.

Of course, the reader — already, I hope, a
little interested in the fortunes of bride and
bridegroom — must be anxious to know the
particular attraction Frank Sinclair found
in a lady aged twenty-five, already develop-
ing bones in unexpected and untoward
places ; already with a tendency to lines
across her forehead, and occasionally inclined
to be snappish towards her brothers and
sisters. And, as when a writer puts a man
into print he ought to keep nothing back
concerning him, it may be simply stated
that Mr. Sinclair was in the first instance
drawn to Bella — so her friends called her —
not by the beauty of her form or face — for
indeed his eyes had beheld many faii'er
women — not by the sweetness of her voice
or the grace of her movements, not by the

B 2

Frank Sinclair^ Wife,

maimer in wMcli, skipping, and repeating,
and breaking down, and trying back, she
executed the '^ Invitation pour la Yalse,"
not by the extent of her knowledge, which
was indeed limited, or by the brilliancy of
her conversational wit, that in the earlier
days of their acquaintance could only be
gathered from a discreet silence ; but rather
by the persistency with which she made
the family puddings, dusted the di'awing-
room knick-knacks of a morning, and the
quiet perseverance that she brought after-
noon after afternoon, together with a pile
of stockings, to one especial arbour in the
vicarage grounds, where Mr. Sinclair read
poetry to her, the meaning of which she
did not understand, and made that ^'honour-
able and manly" proposal (so Mrs. St. Clair
styled it), which converted him in due time
into the husband of Bella and the son-in-
law of Bella's mamma.

There were drawbacks to Mr. Sinclair.
I admit the fact on his behalf here, as he

How the Step was Taken,

candidly admitted it to " mamma " then,
rirst he was not an earl — ^^ not even a
baronet," as a once popular song states —
indeed, as the same song proceeds to reason,
he "was " something much worse : " a man
with an office in the City, striving to push
his way, and possessed of only enough of
this world's goods to support a moderate
establishment and a wife.

Like most men, he wanted to marry, for
those who say men do not wish to marry if
they could only get what they want are
most utterly mistaken. In Mr. Sinclair's
own rank his experience was large, and
he always declared — and declared, I believe,
truly — that amongst the young fellows he
knew, the wish to settle was the rule, the
desire to remain unsettled the exception.
But till a man has tried, he would never
credit that it is almost as difficult a matter
to find a wife as to get rid of one — that is,
a suitable wife. Of course, a wife — a vague
woman whom he may lead off to his wig-

Frank Sinclair's Wife,

warn and exalt into his squaw, and make
the lawful mother of yonng braves, who
shall throw stones at their neighbours' win-
dows, and torment their neighbours' cats —
any one could get for the asking. But
a suitable wife, an angel at once material
and celestial, who unites in her own person
the dream ideal of youth and the more
prosaic reality of manhood; who, though
his fairy queen, is still a wise and bene-
ficent one; who, though pretty, can add
up her house-keeping book ; who, though
tender and sensitive and sympathising, can
yet be strong enough to defy that wile of
the devil, ^^ What will people say?" who,
though amiable and confiding, can check
the tradesmen's accounts, and remonstrate
with them on the subject of overcharges ;
who can be at once the valued housewife
and the dear companion at the domestic
hearth ; where, oh ! where shall a young
man, or a middle-aged, or an elderly, lay
hands on this modern sphinx — where shall

How the Step was Taken.

he find a woman both useful and orna-
mental, or useful without being ornamental,
or indeed useful at all ?

Country-bred Mr. Sinclair had a horror
of marrying a town miss — a creature, as he
then imagined her, who believed more in a
new bonnet than in Heaven, whose creed
was faith unbounded in the necessity of
following at the very heels of fashion and
wearing unexceptionable clothes, and who
only understood the necessity of obeying
one commandment,, omitted, as she consi-
dered, from the original decalogue —

^'Thou shalt dress well and expensively,
no matter who pays and suffers for it."

Prejudiced by vivid memories of his
mother's old-fashioned gowns and familiar
shawls, reminiscences that brought back
many a thought of home comfort vanished,
of dear soft hands outstretched to greet
" her boy," of eyes full of loving light, now
closed till eternity, Mr. Sinclair fell into
the common error of forgetting there had

8 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

been a time wlieii the old lady he remem-
bered only widowed, and with silvered hair
and furrowed cheeks, was a young and
pretty girl, and as fond, it may be, of a gay
flower and bright ribbon as the most frivo-
lous of her sex.

Time has taught him since those days that
well-fitting gloves may cover useful hands,
that feet encased in the most ravishing of
boots may yet be swift on errands of mercy,
that busy tongues may yet have their
moments of sympathetic silence, of tender
condolence, and that out of very unlikely
materials very good wives may occasionally
be moulded.

At the period, however, at which Mr.
Sinclair and his fortunes are introduced to
the reader, Mr. Sinclair considered London
"hollow, " audits women "make-believes."
He was not, above mixing in such few
gaieties as the fates sent him invitations
for, and he went to parties, and danced, and
flirted, and made a little love ; but all the

How the Step was Taken.

time lie never seriously thought of marrying
one of the angelic girls with whom he
waltzed, or of mating with any but a country
maiden — ^' who will not be above attending
to her domestic concerns," he mentally added,
" and who will not think every man she sees
handsomer and cleverer than her husband ; "
for Mr. Sinclair did not then know quite
enough of female nature to understand that
the mere fact of having bestowed her prefer-
ence upon him, picked hiin out, so to speak,
from the hundreds and thousands she desires
the world to believe sought the honour of
her heart and hand, makes a woman — that
is, a non-exceptional woman — believe her
husband to be handsomer and cleverer than
the husband of any other of her sex.

But despite the prosaic and depreciating
character of his remarks, Mr. Sinclair's was
an Arcadian vision not unrelieved by the
contemplation of material comforts. For
years he had been footless as regarded socks,
and buttonless as concerned shirts. He had

lo Fraiik Sinclair's Wife.

drunk flavourless tea, dined off greasy chops,
remonstrated in vain on the subject of coffee
thick with grounds, and been denied even
that best solace of a forlorn bachelor — a glass
of something comfortable the last thing at
night ; because, in the first place, there was
no boiling water ; and in the next, no water
could be boiled because the fire had just
been raked out.

The man had worked hard and saved some
money, but Comfort was a stranger unto him.
Men with large incomes may, no doubt,
compel her presence even in apartments ;
but she had not a smile for Frank Sinclair,
who used to return evening after evening to
to the same dull rooms where he was wont
to read the paper or some new novel, and
smoke his pipe till it was time to light his
bedroom candle and seek his pillow.

One young fellow whom he knew in those
bachelor times slept on fine linen and fared
sumptuously every day, because the elderly
widow lady to whom the fates sent him

How the Step was Taken. ii

fancied she could trace a likeness between
his features and those of some dear departed
Thomas, her only child. But then Mr.
Frank Sinclair would not have liked land-
ladies of an uncertain age to occupy their
leisure in tracing likenesses in his features ;
and, after all, even muffins nicely buttered,
and tea hot and strong and aromatic, could
not quite have reconciled him to tender
entreaties that he would change his boots
immediately, and devout hopes that he went
to church regularly twice on Sundays.

He was in lodgings, and by no means
happy. He had dreams indeed — waking
dreams — of walks through winding lanes
across dewy fields. He had visions of an
arch, happy face smiling beneath the wealth
of wild roses with which he crowned her.
He thought of a pretty cottage he knew in
the suburbs, where clematis grew round the
hall door and honeysuckle climbed up the
trellis- work ; and pictured to himself, in the
dull winter evenings, while he sat alone in

12 Frank Sinclair s Wife,

his room, lit only by the fire and two com-
posite candles — while the roar of the London
traffic came with a sort of subdued murmur
up from the main thoroughfare into the side-
street where he lodged — the nest furnished,
and the bird he had caught in the country
and brought to the town cage he had made
pretty for her, sitting with wings compla-
cently folded — his darling, his treasure, his
wife.

He did not then know any girl of sweet
seventeen whom he wanted to marry, there-
fore the wicked blue eyes, and the blooming
roses, and the merry laugh were all parts
and parcels of an illusion which time never
realised ; and when, his health being some-
what impaired by hard work and little relax-
ation, he went down, by earnest invitation,
to catch trout in the stream which meandered
through Mr. St. Clair's meadows, he was as
heart-whole as any man need desire.

He was heart-whole, but he wanted a wife
and a home ; and lo ! there were seven in-

How the Step was Taken, 13

cipient wives imder the Eectory roof-tree,
and the home he beheld there was a happy
one ; and, without the necessity for much
allurement, he walked straight into the net
of the fowler.

In some distant way the St. Clairs and he
were connected by blood, but it was a far-
away cousin-ship, which had been kept up
chiefly because of the kindly feeling that
formerly existed between Frank's mother
and the Eector of Mulford.

Frank's family had always spelt their
name Sinclair, whilst the Eector's father
and grandfather had written theirs St. Clair ;
but as the St. Clairs pronounced their sur-
name precisely in the same manner as Mr.
Sinclair, it does not seem to me that the
matter was worth the endless discussion
which took place on the subject under the
Eectory roof.

It certainly, however, was a blow to Mrs.
St. Clairs' s maternal aspirations, that the
first of her daughters should marry not

14 Frank Sinclair s Wife,

merely a man wlio was in trade, but also a
man who, with every right to spell his name
in an aristocratic manner, refused point-
blank to do anything of the kind — indeed,
proved so obstinate on the subject that, as
Mrs. St. Clair remarked to her husband with
a sigh —

^'- We may as well give it up. He has
some old-fashioned prejudice on the subject,
and if we press the matter it will only
create unpleasantness."

^^ I don't care what he signs himself so
long as he is kind to Bella," answered the
Eector, with a catholic sort of Liberalism
pleasant to notice in so staunch a Conser-
vative.

*^ We need not have any fears about
that," said Mrs. St. Clair thoughtfuUy ; '' he
will be a devoted husband."

And therein the lady chanced to be
right — indeed it was her absolute certainty
on that point which reconciled her to trade
and future years of commercial warfare.

Hoi'o the Step zi'as Taken, 1 5

She was ^^ so sure'''' — that was the way she
put it in yocal italics — she was ^^ 50 sure "
of Frank Sinclair, she could have forgiven
him many a worse crime than that of being
partner in a profitable business.

Of course Mrs. St. Clair would have
preferred a different husband for her
daughter in some respects — as, for instance,
had Mr. Clace from Old Park ridden oyer
to lay his lands and money at the feet of
one of her girls, she would have preferred
him — but still, as mothers get on in life,
and girls begin to pass their first youth,
both are commonly wise enough to dispense
with much romance, and Mrs. St. Clair was
honestly glad one of her daughters was
about to make a fairly eligible match.

'^ It is not as if he were a stranger," she
remarked to the Honourable Mrs. Clace,
*'we have known him since he was a boy;
and his mother was quite the sweetest
creature, and the most perfect gentlewoman
I ever met."

1 6 Fyank Sinclair s Wife.

^^ And then it makes such an opening for
the younger girls," said Mrs. Clace, and
thus the feminine talk ran on ; the only-
noticeable thing in the interview being that
the two ladies went through an unwonted
ceremony at parting, for the Honourable
Mrs. Clace proffered the extreme verge of
her cheek to ^Irs. St. Clair, a piece of con-
descension to be accounted for only by the
fact that marriage, like death, seems to have
the remarkable faculty of causing women,
for the time at least, to be of one mind.

" Mrs. Clace was so kind about Bella,
dear," said Mi-s. St. Clair subsequently to
her husband; ''' she spoke so highly of
Frank, and wished Bella all happiness, and
kissed me at parting:" which was Mrs. St.
Clair's happy way of putting things, since
certainly Mrs. Clace had not kissed her —
only presented her cheek, as before stated,
for the Eector's wife to touch with her lips
if she liked; and, judging by the remark
made to Mr. St. Clair, presumably she had

How the Step was Taken, 17

liked — which only proves that in this, as in
other matters, there is no accounting for
tastes.

Having got so far in advance of my story
as to talk of the wedding before the wooing,
I must now go back again to the beginning,
or at least to the day when Frank Sinclair
reached the pretty country station of Mul-
ford-in-the- Weald, where the Eector's old-
fashioned phaeton and fat brown pony,
driven by Miss Patty St. Clair, the romp
of the family, together with two noisy lads,
were awaiting his arrival.

VOL I.

i8

CHAPTER II.

GOING BACK.

" Are you cousin Frank ? " was the question
put to the traveller, while a porter gathered
his luggage together.

" I am Frank Sinclair, if he be your
cousin," said the other with a smile.

" All right, then," cried the boy ; " come
along ! The phaeton, and Patty, and Bob
are waiting for you. Pa could not come
because he's got a funeral."

^^ An agreeable announcement within two
minutes of one's arrival," thought Mr.
Sinclair, but he held his peace ; and by the
time he had been a month with these boys.

Going Back, 1 9

the ugly word seemed to have lost all its
significance to his ear, and lie attached just
as little meaning to the phrase as did Bob
and Charlie, who looked on deaths and
burials but as so many inevitable incidents
in the routine of their father's profession.

Meanwhile Charlie was shouting to his
brother and sister —

<< IVe got him ! Here's cousin Frank ! "

And the rosy- cheeked girl jumped out of
the phaeton to greet him ; and Bob, after an
imperative order to the pony to '^ stand
still," left his head and rushed forward like-
wise to welcome their visitor.

Then what stowing-away of luggage en-
sued ! How willingly the porter helped to
place the portmanteau, and fishing-tackle,
and carpet-bag in the back part of the
phaeton, where Patty enjoined the boys not
to put their great feet on the leather ! How
good-tempered they all were — these cousins
of his, whom he had not seen for years!
What stories they told ! what things they

c2

20 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

had heard of his doings from their father and
mother and elder sisters !

^'When you were a boy did not you do
this, and that, and the other, Frank ? " That
was the way they chatted to him, until
Patty would playfully threaten them with
her whip, and declare pathetically that the
house was a perfect Babel when her brothers
were at home.

These are trifling details, and yet, as trifles
make up most of the happiness or the
misery of existence, I am forced to dwell
on them, so that you, reader, may under-
stand how it came to pass that Frank Sin-
clair felt at once so utterly at ease with his
relatives. For inside the Eectory his wel-
come was just as cordial as it had been at
the railway station.

'' I am so glad you have come, Frank ! "
said Mrs. St. Clair.

And she put her arms round his neck and
kissed him, just as his mother used to do —
only it was not quite the same thing, though

Going Back, 21

it was about the best substitute for the
old greeting that he was ever likely to
know in this world again — ^while the Eector
said —

'^ God bless you, my boy ! you are the
very image of your mother."

And when Frank stood silent for a
moment, unable to answer steadily when
he found himself amongst those who had
known her so well, they felt they liked
him all the better for it, and their hearts
were with his heart.

Of all the sunny spots on earth, I think
that Rectory was the sunniest. Even in the
winter-time it looked bright and pleasant,
and now when, after many years, Frank
saw it in the golden summer-time, he could
not help owning to himself that it was about
the sweetest place he had ever seen in all
his life.

The rooms were hung with light paper;
the bed-chambers were miracles of pink and
white drapery ; the lower apartments Iwere

22 Fraiik Sinclair's Wife.

always brilliant with flowers; while the
garden was full of stocks, and mignonette,
and sweet-peas, and convolvuli, and roses,
and honeysuckles, and everything pleasant
to the sight and grateful to the sense.

The St. Clairs were poor, but theirs was
not that griping, hand-to-mouth sort of
poverty, which is at once so miserable
and so pitiable, and which is not utterly
incompatible with even a fairly large in-
come. Theirs was a small income, but it
was certain. It was a mere question of
cutting the cloth, of buttering the bread;
and the cloth was cut to the best advantage,
and the butter spread over the greatest
possible surface. In marrying his wife,
the Eeverend Fitzhugh St. Clair had secured
two desirable things — a gentlewoman and a
capital manager. Wisely she ruled her
children, prudently she controlled her house-
hold. There was no idleness in that home,
no waste in that kitchen; yet there were
hours of pleasant relaxation, and there was

Going Back. 2^

no pmching at the table of either servant
or master.

The only favouritism, if so it could be
called, consisted in this, that when Mr. St.
Clair was absent the daintiest morsels were
set aside for him ; the tit-bits most likely to
tempt the appetite of a weary man were, by
one accord, left intact. The sunniest peach,
the finest apricot, the sweetest strawberries
were all gathered in love and left on his
writing-table for him. The very youngest
child the Rectory held would have run in
with the rosiest-cheeked apple " for papa,
mamma," jubilant at having found the
fruit, and satisfied at keeping for its
own share some smaller windfall, which
to the unspoiled palate tasted just as well
as the best in the land.

If there were one in the household who
fell into this arrangement grudgingly, and
with a certain ungracious assent, it was
Bella, the second giii; but perhaps this
might be because, having been a mere

24 Frank S'mdair's Wife.

drudge all her later life and taken her
tasks unwillingly, she could see no beauty
in her mother's loving self-denial, in what
Bella sometimes rather bitterly called '' the
sacrifice of her children to her husband,"
which Mrs. St. Clair practised.

But the mother was tender, and made all
allowance for the child, who had never been
quite so amiable as her brothers and sisters.
Only once she said to her —

^^ Bella, dear, if you do not relinquish
willingly — if it be not more blessed to you
to give than to receive, I would rather that
you did not give at all. God loveth a
cheerful giver, remember ; and his creatures
do likewise ; not one who giveth grudgingly
or of necessity."

^'But it is so hard, mamma; it is just the
same thing day after day, always doing for
and considering others, and never oneself."

'-'- The whole of life is the same thing day
after day," answered her mother gently.
''Think of your father's life. Is there

Going Back. 25

much variety in it? If lie did not find a
pleasure in his work he would be most
miserable."

'*0h! I do not know about that," said
Bella. ^-He is out and meets people."

"And do you not go out and meet
people?" asked Mrs. St. Clair.

"Yes, but it is not the same thing, and
you know it, mamma; but you have no
sympathy with me."

" My loye, it is precisely because I have
so much sympathy with you," answered
her mother, " that I do not want you to get
discontented. If you dislike the work you
have to do, leave it, and Patty or Milly
shall take your place."

"But you do not wish them to take it."

"No; I have always tried to make my
children's young days as happy as I could,
so that they might have something pleasant
to look back upon in after-life. For years I
did all you are doing now myself, so that
when you were not at your lessons you

26 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

might have thorough holiday. However,
we will compromise the matter — Patty shall
help you."

But Bella would not have it. If Patty
assisted, Patty might take all the credit.
She, Bella, would continue to dust, and
make the puddings, and mend the stock-
ings, and her mother should never hear
her say another word on the subject. Lis-
tening to which resolution Mrs. St. Clair
walked away, a little hurt and saddened
perhaps, but still not surprised. She under-
stood Bella thoroughly, and knew that when
love such as had been lavished upon her
failed to make her tender and gentle,
nothing but the rough handling of the
world would take the taint of selfishness
and obstinacy out of her nature.
' And so Bella continued to perform those
works which she detested ; and Prank
Sinclair, seeing how utter a di'udge she
made herself, grew to like and pity her.
Time went by, and Bella changed con-

Going Back, 27

siderably. She grew brighter, she spoke
more cheerfully, she was more amiable, she
took a greater pride in her personal appear-
ance, she ceased to snap at the boys, and
only blushed when they asked if her ribbon
were cousin Frank's favourite colour ; if he
had not told her over-night that he liked to
see myrtle flowers in the hair.

She was not romantic, and yet she had
been garnering certain memories while wan-
dering on the river's brink with Frank, that
in the after-time were to her heart even as
the flowing water, making green where it
rippled by.

One afternoon she came in from the
summer-house rather late for tea, and
instead of going direct to the dining-room,
where that usually substantial meal was
laid, she went to her own apartment, and
asked one of the servants to tell her mother
she wanted to speak to her. Whereupon
Mrs. St. Clair, much troubled in spirit
because she feared this singular request

28 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

implied sudden illness, repaired to her
daughter's chamber.

" What is the matter, Bella ?" asked her
mother, as the girl threw her arms about
her and burst into tears.

^^Oh, mamma, mamma! I want you to
forgiye me everything I have ever done
wrong in my life."

^^ Bella, you are crazy," said Mrs. St.
Clair. ^'You know I have nothing to
forgive, and if I ever had it was forgiven
at the time. A mother can retain no
other feeling than love for her child.''

'^But, mamma darling, I am so happy,
and I cannot bear to think I have ever
made you unhappy. Frank wants to talk
to you. He has asked me to marry him,
and I said that I thought neither papa nor
you would object."

^'No, dear; and I pray you and he may
be as happy as your father and I have
been," and Mrs. St. Clair gathered her
daughter to her heart and kissed her tenderly.

Going Back. 29

And yet the motlier was just a little
disapjDointed. She had hoped the first girl
who married would marry well; but then
she had not expected Bella, the least
attractive of her flock, to marry at all.
She was ambitious for her children, and
yet this was the first at all eligible and
tangible off'er which had come to one of
them. It might not be much, but still it
was a first success. What Bismarck felt
when he heard of the first victory gained
by Prussian arms, Mrs. St. Clair felt when
Bella told her Frank had proposed. It was
not much possibly ; but in settling a family
of girls, as in other matters, '' it is the first
step which costs."

Mrs. St. Clair did not wish to see her
daughters governesses, and it was impossible
for each one of them to marry an earl;
besides which, she liked Frank Sinclair,
and was so sure he would be good to Bella.

Had she been his adviser she would have
counselled him to seek any other of her

30 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

children than Bella — even the eldest, Eosina,
who detested all household occupations, and
devoted herself openly to Beethoven and
landscape painting; but, then, he had not
asked her advice, and Mrs. St. Clair was
honestly glad to think Bella was going to
be taken off her hands by a good man.

She would have liked even a barrister
better, it is true, not being above the class
prejudices of her rank about trade, but still
she was glad — honestly glad — to find her
least attractive daughter asked in marriage ;
and she told Frank, with tears in her eyes
and a little feminine exaggeration in her
sentence, that his proposal and conduct had
been " honourable and manly," and that she
should always look upon him as less her
son-in-law than her son.

And then Mr. St. Clair gave his consent ;
and the next day the whole of Mulford had
heard the news, and the unanimous opinion
of the population proved it be that ^^ Par-
son's daughter was uncommon lucky, to be

Going Back, 31

sure." Consequent upon which Frank was
taken all round the parish, and formally
introduced to every old woman who had
ever received beef-tea or a bottle of wine
from those stores which the Eectory held
for the use of the sick and feeble only.

32

CHAPTER III.

ON THE BRINK.

Theee could be no doubt that Mr. Sinclair's
choice surprised the parishioners of Mulford-
in-the-Weald as much as it astonished Mrs.
St. Clair herself. The poor are wonderfully
sharp-sighted concerning the failings of
those who are better off than themselves ;
they have, as a rule, a wonderful instinct
about character; and all the old men and
women and young children in Mulford
knew, quite as well as did Arabella's mother,
that when Frank proposed he had not
selected, by any means, the flower of the
flock.

On the Brink. 33

;N"eyertlieless, in the genial atmosphere of
being engaged — in the delightful occupation
of being made love to by Frank, and of
carrying him round the village a willing
captive tied to her now triumphal car,
Bella improved marvellously. It must have
been pleasant for one of eleven to feel that
she, and she alone, was an object of para-
mount importance in the eyes of her lover.
It was a new sensation to know a person
was considering her and her alone, finding
his sole enjoyment in loving her — thinking
only how he could give her pleasure — and
talking, as they walked along, of those
happy times to come, when she would have
nothing to do except manage her own house,
which Frank intended to make a little fairy
home for his bride.

As for Frank himself, hundreds of men of
his stamp and appearance are to be seen every
week day morning between nine and ten
o'clock, walking briskly down Oxford Street,
or seated on the knife-boards of City omni-

VOL. I. D

34 Frank Sinclair's Wije.

buses — men wlio dress always well, and
often even fashionably — who are a little
fastidious about the cut of their coats and
the sit of their collars, who are given to
flowers in their button-holes, the newest
thing in neckties, and sometimes expensive
breast-pins — who carry themselves well, who
have a good address and a fail* knowledge
of the world — as the world is in London
— and who never show really of what
sort of stuff they are actually made until
they marry and turn out either good or
bad husbands and fathers — either selfish
and wasteful, or loving, tender, and
patient, unrecorded heroes in the battle
of life.

Given a man, accordingly, not bad -looking,
who always dressed well, and who was cer-
tainly much more gentlemanly in appear-
ance than young Mr. Clace of Old Park,
and any girl might have been naturally
proud of such a lover — for which reason,
and for others previously explained, Bella

On the Brink, 35

was exceedingly proud of Frank Sinclair —
proud as well as fond.

Did Frank's glove require that proverbial
stitch in time, needle and silk were at once
produced. Did Frank think the walk
through the winding lane would be the
most pleasant, Bella declared that of all
routes she should like the winding lane best.
Did Frank ask if she should like him to read
to her while she was engaged with needle-
work, Bella said there was nothing she en-
joyed so much as being read to.

And please remember in all this, friends
and readers, the girl was no hypocrite. The
glamour of happiness was around her, the
sunbeams of love fell athwart her path.
Have you ever, when the world seems very
bright to a child, seen how he will skip
along to do your bidding, how he will jump
and shout and exult because you have given
him some task ? and have you ever seen the
same child vexed after a scolding, or sulky

D 2

36 Fra?ik Sinclair's Wife,

because of some disappointmeiit, or dull by
reason of illness ?

Arrived at to years of discretion, you
have, of course, and having looked out over
the plains of life, and beheld the ways of
the men and women who pass to and fro across
them, you understand that adult persons are
but "children of a larger growth" — children
who in their whims and caprices are not
amenable to any human law, who are good-
tempered when they feel pleased, and dis-
agreeable when they are displeased, and
who can produce an enormous amount of
discomfort in life by the indulgence of those
"tempers," for wliich we rebuke a child,
but which we are compelled to endui'e at
the hands of the wife of our bosom, the rich
relative from whom we have expectations,
the principal who pays our salary, and the
valued servant whom we cannot exactly
afford to discharge.

Bella St. Clair — to cut the analogy short
— was very happy and very pleasant in those

On the Brink. 37

bright sunshiny days when Frank asked her
hand in marriage, and she made herself
agreeable accordingly ; whilst for him, he
was the most devoted lover imaginable.
Following the ancient and barbaric fashion,
he gave her presents innumerable — brooches,
and rings, and chains, and bracelets followed
in quick succession — in such quick suc-
cession, indeed, that Mrs. St. Clair had to
raise her maternal voice in earnest expostu-
lation.

To a man who has all his life spent little
on himself, there is an exquisite pleasure in
spending on others, more especially when
those others have not been accustomed to be
so considered, and accordingly Frank Sin-
clair was "generosity itself' — so Mrs. St.
Clair said — towards Bella and her family.

As for Patty, she declared she " grudged
him to her sister — he was such a dear," and
indeed there were many older persons than
Patty who considered that in selecting Bella
he had chosen neither wisely nor well.

38 Frank Sinclair s Wife.

But then these selections are inscrutable,
and Mr. Sinclair had chosen and was en-
gaged, and meant very shortly to be married.

There was no one to oppose his wishes in
this matter. Both the Rector and his wife
disapproved of long engagements. After the
protracted holiday he had taken, Frank
knew quite well his partner would not
agree to frequent absences for the future,
even though he pleaded in justification that
he desired to see his lady love ; further, he
had no consents to ask, no friends to consult,
no settlements to draw. As Eve came to
Adam, (only with a rather better wardrobe)^
Bella was coming to him, utterly 'dowerless,
whilst on his side he had nothing to make
over to her. His money was all in his busi-
ness, and even had he desired to do so, he
could not have withdrawn any portion of it
— wherefore the whole affair proved as ut-
terly Arcadian as can well be imagined.
After the first general and necessary state-
ment of his affairs in Mr. St. Clair's library,.

On the Brink. 39

the question of ways and means was never
mentioned, saye between Frank and his
fiancee^ and then only in that imaginative and
unpractical manner which obtains amongst
lovers, when they sit down like children to
tell fairy stories to each other, or to build
castles destined never to be inhabited, even
by themselves.

It was Mrs. St. Clair who first mooted the
idea of the newly -married pair going for a
time into lodgings, and on that occasion she
made a remark which surprised Frank not
a little.

^' Bella does not know much about man-
agement," she hinted, " and it might be
quite as well for her not to begin with a
house of her own. But, of course, you
know best what will be most conducive to
your happiness."

*^Why, I thought all your daughters
were incomparable managers ! " exclaimed
Mr. Sinclair. '-'- Indeed, how could they be
otherwise ? "

40 Frank Sinclair s Wife.

^^When they have siich a mother/' fin-
ished Mrs. St. Claii', laughing. ^^ Why, that is
precisely the reason for which I should like
Bella not to take too high a flight at first.
I have managed for them, and they have
worked, how well you know, under me —
but still there is a difi'erence, which I could
perhaps scarcely make you understand."

'- ^ Yes, I do understand, ' ' he replied. ^ ^They
have been, after a fashion, clerks, and you
principal."

^' Precisely so," Mrs. St. Clair said, and
Frank went away, a little thoughtful, to
sound Bella on the subject; for although
lodgings might prove more economical,
still the most imaginative individual could
scarcely, out of a ^' genteelly furnished first
floor, with attendance," have even mentally
realised the visionary home of this man's
constant dreams.

He was quite willing to put up with some
inconveniences, in order to have a home of
which he could lock the front door at night

On the Brink. 41

and consider himself master. Eent and taxes,
butclier and baker, cook and housemaid had
no horrors for him, and he ignorantly ima-
gined that every woman liked to have a
house of which she could feel herself mis-
tress, which she might be at full liberty to
explore from garret to cellar at her own
sweet will.

For hours he and Bella had sat discours-
ing concerning the colour most desirable for
their drawing-room curtains — whether the
dining-room furniture should be oak or
maple ; and he therefore felt little doubt
that the idea of ^' apartments " would prove
as distasteful to her as it had done to him,
for which reason he went away and told
her just what Mrs. St. Clair had suggested,
confident that his charmer would at once
say—'

"!N"o, dear Frank, please do let us have
a house of our own — if it have but four
rooms."

To his disappointment, however, his

42 FranJz Sinclair's Wife.

charmer said nothing of the kind. She remain-
ed silent for a minute, and then remarked —

^' I am not sure but that mamma is right.
I do know very little about housekeeping, and
I certainly should prefer not being troubled
with servants, and all that sort of thing, at
first. I want to enjoy myself for a time —
that is, if I may."

^^ Of course you may," he answered; '^ it
shall be all just as you wish," and he hoped
she did not notice the disappointment he
could scarcely conceal. "After all it is
only natural," he thought, ^'and soon she
will get as weary of being homeless as I
am ; " but still the disappointment remained
— the nest his fancy had built was never
to be tenanted by the sweet hopes of early
married life, by the tender memories of the
time when man and wife are scarcely more
than lover and betrothed, when all the road
they are to walk together is before them,
and they set out hand-in-hand to wander
amongst the roses that precede the briars.

On the Brink, 43

'^ Perhaps it is better," he said to Mrs.
St. Clair a few days afterwards; ^'when
Bella has seen the London sights and got
tired of lodgings, we can then choose the
furniture together."

^'You area dear, good fellow," answered
the lady, laying her hand on his, and to his
surprise Frank saw that her eyes were full
of tears ; for he never dreamed she liked him
so much that she would rather have seen
him choose any of her children than Bella.

'^ I hope and trust she will make him a
loving wife," she said, over and over again ;.
and her husband, who, unaccustomed to such
unusual interruptions, and irritated, perhaps,
by doubts which seemed to him unreason-
able, and an anxiety which was, to say the
least, premature, looked up from the sermon
that had been engaging his attention, and
answered —

^^ Pooh ! my dear, the girl will be quite
loving enough. Why, she cannot bear him.
out of her sight ! "

44 Frank Sinclair^ Wife.

"True; but they are not married yet,"
Mrs. St. Clair replied.^

" They very soon will be, at any rate,"
returned the Eector, who felt that his grief
would not be overpowering when all the
fuss was over.

"Yes, and then we shall see," remarked
the mother — ^which only went to prove she
knew enough of the world to be aware that
the fair creature who mends gloves for her
lover one month, may be averse to sewing
on a button for her husband the next, and
that the doting bridegroom who will not
suffer his wife to pick up even a glove for
herself, may before the honeymoon have
passed behold with unmoved stoicism his
bride, utterly unassisted, wheel an arm-chair
forward to the fire.

Lovers ascend to a seventh heaven of
rapture and civility, but ultimately they
must return to earth ; and it depends a good
deal on the tempers they bring back with
them to the old prosaic business of existence.

On the Brink, 45

what sort of an affair existence will prove —
whether snowy or sunshiny, prosperous or
the reverse.

Mrs. St. Clair evidently thought there
might be some rough weather on the voyage ;
but then mothers are not invariably the best
judges of their children's characters, and
Bella declared Patty was her parents' favour-
ite. "And I do not think parents ought to
have favourites amongst their children," she
finished, an opinion in which Erank entirely
agreed, for the very simple reason that in
those days he had not the remotest idea how
parents feel towards their children, and did
not know how impossible it is for the even
balance of love to be held between Hope and
Grace — between Alfred and Harry.

But the time was coming when he was to
know all about that, and a few other things,
the advent of which he could not very well
have foreseen when he walked with Bella
along the winding lanes, and across the
pleasant fields, of Mulford-in-the- Weald.

46

CHAPTER IV.

*' TO HAVE AND TO HOLD."

It was the day of the wedding, and every
member of the St. Clair family had, when he
or she opened his or her eyes, opened like-
wise his or her mouth, in order to ask —
" What sort of a morning is it ? "
"Oh! lovely," other mouths answered, and
then there ensued a great stir and bustle in
the Eectory, for it was not every day that
seven sisters put on new dresses at onoe, and
a little excitement was natural, considering
the unwonted nature of the ceremony.

No human being, who was acquainted
with the Eectory, in its pristine state, could

" To Have arid to HoldP 47

liave recognised the place as it appeared on
the morning in question.

In lieu of pens, and ink, and paper, and
books, and manuscripts, the library-table was
covered with glasses, plates, bottles, dishes,
and all sorts of edibles ready to replenish
the feast spread in the dining-room —
where half the parish had already come to
see the wedding breakfast laid out — which
the old women pronounced to be '^ beautiful,
beautiful, sure-ly."

And certainly the arrangement was taste-
ful and pretty in the extreme. Baskets,
edged with ferns, contained the pale pink
roses of autumn, the rich berries of the bar-
berry, the bright scarlet clusters of the
mountain ash, and all late-blooming flowers
that the Eectory garden could furnish ; whilst,
flanking on each side the wedding cake,
were china vases filled with rare and beauti-
ful exotics that had been furnished from the
gardens of Sir Arthur Landless and the
honourable Mrs. Clace. As for the draw-

48 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

ing-room, Mrs. Clace had sent plants enough
to convert it into a perfect bower, where
were enshrined the wedding presents, which,
when inspected, turned out to be as unmean-
ing and as useless as wedding presents usually
are amongst those whom, for want of a bet-
ter phrase, one is compelled to term the up-
per middle-class.

The half-dozen teaspoons, the cut-glass
decanters with wine-glasses to match, the
electro-plated tea service, the butter-dish,
and two vases for the mantel -shelf, so
familiar to memory as furnishing some
of the bridal gifts of a different rank,
were conspicuous from their absence ; and
in their place appeared a Church Service, an
article with which, it might have been pre-
sumed, a clergyman's daughter was already
furnished ; a gold thimble that looked ex-
ceedingly like brass, the gift of Miss Land-
less ; a Lady's Companion; a sofa pillow, em-
broidered by the fair fingers of Miss Clace ;
a workbox, '^ with Patty's love ; " a framed

'^ To Have and to Hold^ 49

water-colour drawing of the Eectory, ^^ from
Eosina" ; an inlaid writing-desk, containing
a note asking Bella's acceptance of the same,
from '^her affectionate little brothers and
sisters ; " a cedar- wood glove-box, contri-
buted by Sir Arthur Landless, who had
brought it with him from India many years
previously ; a handsomely bound edition of
' Proverbial Philosophy,' in which appeared
Mrs. Clace's own autograph ; a chess-board ;
a paper knife ; a Parian ink-stand, admirably
adapted, of course, for the purpose for which
it was intended ; ^ Lalla Eookh,' in green and
gold ; a card-basket ; a papier-mache blotting
case ; a bog -oak Irish cross ; a diamond ring,
which Mrs. St. Clair had reset for the oc-
casion ; a pair of ear-rings, once the property
of Mr. St. Clair's mother ; and, from the
bridegroom, the sweetest gold chain and the
darlingest little watch (so said the young
ladies) that were ever beheld.

If in the foregoing catalogue any likely
or usual article has been omitted, the reader

VOL. I. E

50 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

may be quite certain it nevertheless formed
part of the collection, for all Bella's friends
and acquaintances had vied with one another
in doing honour to the occasion; even the
school-children presented her with half-a-
dozen anti-macassars, while the grand-
daughter of a rheumatic old parishioner
sent up a pair of crochet watch-pockets,
^^with her duty;" and a young man, who
as a lad had enjoyed the advantage of hav-
ing repeated his Catechism to Miss Bella,
brought her, the evening before tlie wed-
ding, a fan large enough to have served for
a parasol, composed of white feathers, and
trimmed with the eyes from a peacock's
tail, which fan he had, together with other
curiosities, brought with him from foreign
parts.

Altogether, indeed, the Eectory wore an
unwonted air of excitement — not to say
dissipation — ^which might well be, consider-
ing a girl was going out of it that very
morning to be married, accompanied by no

'^ To Have and to HoldP

51

less tlian eight bridesmaids, all arrayed in
sky-blue dresses.

From the glass door at the back of the
hall which led into a shrubbery path, that
in turn conducted to a gate affording ingress
to the village graveyard," red cloth was laid
to the very church-door.

Provision had indeed, been made for rain,
in the shape of two carriages — one belong-
ing to Mrs. Clace, and the other to Sir
Arthur Landless ; but it was felt by the St.
Clairs that a walking wedding was most
suitable under the circumstances, and a very
pretty sight it was to see the bridal party
pass along the path, lined with school-
children and the parishioners, each one of
whom Bella knew so well.

Before them in the church were Mr. Sin-
clair and his best man. The group was
soon arranged, and it was then the Honour-
able Mrs. Clace surveyed the bride and bride-
groom through her double eye-glasses, and
Sir Arthur gave the bride away, and the

E 2

u...vu.'.SITY {if
ILLINOIS library:

52 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife.

Eeverend Fitzhugh St. Clair, assisted by the
Dean of Kingleton, performed that ceremony
which converted Miss Arabella Constance
Marion St. Clair into Frank Sinclair's wife ;
all of which facts have been duly recorded
in the first paragraph of this story.

Altogether it was a very happy wedding
and wedding breakfast ; and when after the
breakfast and changing her dress, Bella
came down to go out into the world and
commence her new life, Frank, seeing how
she wept at bidding farewell to her friends,
how she stopped on her way to the carriage
to shake hands with this old parishioner and
that favourite school-child, felt he had in-
deed secured a treasure, and thanked God
for the blessing vouchsafed.

*' My darling," he said, as they drove off,
*' do not fret so much : we must have them
all to stay with us."

'' Oh ! Frank, you are so good," Bella
answered.

*' Who could help being good to you ? "
he replied.

'^ To Have mid to HoldP 53

And then Bella laughed through her
tears, and said, '^Many people :" and so their
courtship ended, and their married life
began.

Meanwhile, at the Eectory, the festivities
were continued throughout the day, for the
poorer parishioners had been invited to par-
take, at five o'clock, of a feast consisting of
strong tea well-sugared, and immense slices
of cake, which were duly dispensed and
distributed by the bridesmaids, the grooms-
man, the boys, and such of the wedding
guests as kindly remained for the purpose.

Amongst the latter was young Mr. Clace,
just returned from college, who, disregarding
his mother's signs, and nods, and hints, per-
sisted in staying behind, captivated clearly
by Patty's pretty face, and Patty's natural
manners.

" Now, Harry, remember, I will have no
nonsense, I will never have anything of the
sort ! " said the somewhat arbitrary lady,
when her son handed her to her carriage.

54 Frank Smclair'^s Wife.

after promising to return to Old Park in
time for dinner.

"Surely, mother," lie answered ^'it will
be time enough for you to withhold your
consent when I ask it," which caused Mrs.
Clace inwardly to wish that clergymen were
forbidden by law to marry, or, at least, to
have marriageable daughters.

" Oh, dear ! " said Mrs. St. Clair, as she
laid her head on her pillow that night ; "I
am so thankful it is all over; and I hope
and trust they will be happy ! "

" The proof of the pudding is in the
eating," answered Mr. St. Clair, philoso-
phically, for he was sleepy, and unac-
customed as he was to wine, champagne
had caused him to take more cheerful views
of life than those in which his better-half
seemed disposed to indulge.

" Yes, and what I want to know," said
Mrs. St. Clair, '^ is how it is going to eat."

*'I cannot imagine why you think they
are going to be wretched," Mr. St. Clair

'^ To Have and to HoldJ^^ 55

roused himself sufficiently to remark ; ^^ it
seems to me they have every reasonable
chance of happiness."

And, indeed, as time went by, it appeared
as if the Eector were right, and his wife
wrong. Letters arrived from both bride and
bridegroom — chappy, pleasant letters, which
it rejoiced the mother's heart to receive —
letters written during the honeymoon, and
after their return to London ; filled first
with descriptions of foreign travel, and sub-
sequently with accounts of the wonders of
London.

^^ Frank is coming home early to take me
out," so the text of most of these epistles
ran ; ^^ we went last night to the Olympic ; we
are going next week to Drury Lane. Frank
wants to know when you can spare one of
the girls to come up. He fancies I must be
often lonely when he is away, and, indeed,
dear mamma, I do miss you all dreadfully.
Could not Patty spend the winter with us ?
Frank would be delighted!" Which was

56 Frank Sinclair'* s Wife,

indeed true, for already Frank found it
might not be always possible for bim to
return home early, in order to take his wife
out ; whilst, on the other hand, he knew she
must often lack occupation, and amusement,
and companionship in his absence.

" When we have a house of our own, she
will find plenty to do," he considered, and
meantime he was honestly glad to hear that
Mrs. St. Clair intended to let Patty come.

^^She will be out of the way of young
Clace," explained Mrs. St. Clair to her
husband — for since the day of the wedding
Mr. Clace's visits had grown frequent, and
those of Mrs. Clace infrequent — '-'• and I do
not want any child of mine to marry into a
family where she would not be properly re-
ceived," finished the lady, with a proper
spirit, to which the Eector replied —

" You may be very sure she never would
be welcome at Old Park, so you had better
send her for a couple of months to Bella."

Accordingly Patty went to London, but

" To Have and to Hold:' 57

returned at the expiration of six weeks on
the plea of ill-health, strangely silent con-
cerning her visit.

"Did you not enjoy your visit, Patty?"
asked her mother, marvelling both at her
changed face and her singular reticence.

^^Oh! London is a wonderful place,"
Patty answered; '^and Bella wished me
to see everything, and Frank was very
kind about taking me out, but I got tired of
it, mamma. After all, London is not like
the country, and Bella's house is not like
home ; but that is not her fault, for how can
any lodgings be like one's own home ? I
do hope if ever I marry I shall have some
quiet little cottage in the country."

" I hope, love, you have never wished to
be at Old Park," said her mother gently.

"No, indeed, mamma. Mr. Clace called
at Frank's while I was in London, and I told
him it could not be, even if I cared for him,
which I did not ; and I hope you and papa
will not be vexed with me for refusing him."

58 Frank Smclair'^s Wife,

^'My dear, I would not have had you
accept him for any consideration."

'•'- Well, I thought you would not, after
the way Mrs. Clace has behaved towards us
all ever since Bella's marriage; but Bella
used to scold me about it, and yet I do
not think she liked his asking me. Lat-
terly she was always cross and irritable,
more especially when Frank's partner began
calling in the evenings. She used to be
pleasant enough before him, but the next
day she would say I flirted, and ask me how
many more lovers I wanted; and then I
sometimes grew cross, and altogether I
thought it better to come home."

^^ Patty," said her mother, ^' I do not
wish you to go into a house, and then talk
about what happens in it; but I should
just like to know if Bella and Frank are
happy."

'•'' I think so," Patty answered ; " but it is
only because Frank has the temper of an
angel. If I were a man," she added

^^ To Have and to HoldP 59

vehemently, " and married to Bella, I would
not endure her nasty temper and dis-
contented ways for five minutes — that I
would not ! "

Which must have proved very consolatory
to Mrs. St. Clair.

6o

CHAPTER V.

AFTER YK\RS.

It takes a man or woman a long time to
acknowledge that he or she has matrimo-
nially made a mistake — mentally, I mean ;
since no person who is not a simple idiot, or
who is not seeking to deceive him or her self
in the pursuit of an unlawful attachment, will
ever make such an acknowledgment other-
wise— and thus it chanced that many a year
passed away before Prank Sinclair fairly
and fully acknowledged, in the depths of his
own heart, that the Bella who had now the
making or marring of his happiness was not

After Years, 6i

exactly the Eella he had idealised to him-
self in the sunshiny days at Mulford.

At first, when he found his wife peevish
and discontented, resentful concerning his
slightest shortcoming, blind to the personal
sacrifices he made in order that she might
be happy, he framed excuses for her — as
loving men and women will frame excuses
for those dear to them, till all their patience
and most part of their affection is ex-
hausted.

Much sooner than women perhaps — be-
cause they more fully imderstand this wicked
world and the ways thereof — men grasp
the fact that the only real friends they
are ever likely to possess are those of their
own household ; and Frank Sinclair, who
longed with an intense yearning for utter
sympathy, and entire one-mindedness be-
tween himself and his wife, left no stone
unturned to try and bring about a perfect
understanding.

There was nothing in the earlier days of

62 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

his married life that he did not confide to
her ; his hopes, his fears, his anxieties, his
successes ; but when, as time went by, he
found that the things which perforce inter-
ested him were considered tiresome by his
wife, he gradually curtailed his confidences,
and ended, as so many husbands do, by
closing his lips concerning business when he
locked his office door.

And yet the pair were happy enough —
very happy, perhaps, as times and wedded
experience go ; but the reason for this hap-
piness certainly was that Frank had — as
Patty expressed it — the temper of an angel,
which caused him to try to make excuses
when there were actually none to be found,
and to meet selfishness and iiTitability with
that soft answe;- which, if it did not exactly
in his case turn away wrath, prevented an
unseemly exhibition of it.

They had long left the ^' comfortably fur-
nished apartments " — where, as Bella said,
^4t was so horrid to sit all alone from

After Years. 63

morning till night" — and taken up their
abode in a house, which was a very good
house of its kind, though certainly as dis-
tant from Frank's ideal of a home as Bella
proved to be from his ideal of a wife ; but
still, people who have any contentment in
their natures learn to be satisfied in time
with what they can get ; and in lieu of roses
and honeysuckle, of a modest cottage and
homely rooms, Frank accepted a stuccoed
dwelling in a pretentious terrace, with a
long strip of garden groimd at the back
and a short strip of garden ground at the
front.

It was a long way from his business —
so long, indeed, as to necessitate a weary
journey morning and evening; but then,
as Bella truly said, when the question
of locality was first mooted, ^^ We ought to
live in some place where our friends can
come to see us" — meaning that if any un-
fashionable suburb were selected, it was
not to be expected that those notables of

64 Frank Si?iclair^s Wife,

Mulford-in-the-Wealcl, who spent the season
in London, would call once during its con-
tinuance on Mrs. Sinclair.

There was a certain amount of reason in
this observation, and Frank acknowledged
it. A time comes in all married lives when
the man and the woman have for many-
hours in each day to seek their occupations
and amusements separately, and certainly
Mr. Sinclair had no desire that his wife
should live in entire seclusion, or that she
should be debarred in any way from the
social advantages to which she was clearly
entitled by virtue of Sir Arthur Landless
and the Dean of Eingleton.

But still, admitting all this, he thought
there was no necessity for her to have based
the argument upon the entirely suppositi-
tious statement that he had his friends in
the City, and plenty of excitement to amuse
and interest him.

^' I do not know much about the amuse-
ment, dear,'' he answered; "the happiest

After Years, 65

hour of my life is when I leave the office
and turn my face homeward."

To which Bella replied, with a certain
gratification in her tone, despite the ungra-
ciousness of her words, "Men always say
that."

" And mean it too, very often, I hope,"
added her husband; " at least, I can speak
for myself; whatever else you may doubt
in the future, never doubt my love for
home and you."

His tone was earnest — so ea*mest, indeed,
that Bella, remembering the days of their
sweet love-making, rose, and, brushing the
hair back from his forehead, kissed him
more affectionately than was her wont.

"I never have doubted it," she said,
" and I never shall."

And so the twilight deepened, and the
husband and wife sat silent, hand locked in
hand.

IS'evertheless, Bella Sinclair was not one
to believe very implicitly in anything ex-

VOL. I. F

66 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

cepting herself, and she had never yet
breasted any trouble high enough and strong
enough to shake her confidence in her own
infallibility.

To a different man she might have made,
perhaps, a different wife ; but if devotion
and unselfidiness cannot win both in return,
what are we to think of our humanity?
And when the evil days came and division
ensued, it was the thought of all Frank's
love, of all his unappreciated tenderness,
that touched the woman's heart and pricked
the woman's conscience, and brought such
peace to the household as it had never
before known.

So long as he is prosperous, a man's
domestic gods may be propitiated. These
gods are fond of votive offerings, they
like the worshipper who returns with his
hands full of the spoils of the enemy;
but once let the tide of battle turn, once let
the man, hunted and exhausted, run into
the sanctuary for comfort and rest, and the

After Years. 67

domestic gods, as a rule, fail, and the van-
quished finds he has been worshipping all
the time vain idols, who have no power of
consolation in the hour of need !

For years worldly matters went smoothly
enough with the Sinclairs ; true, Frank
thought his wife might have managed
better on the allowance he made for house-
keeping; but he was not a man to brew
misery out of pence, or even pounds, and so
he never worried Bella's soul with com-
plaints concerning underdone mutton or
weak tea.

He honestly believed she did her best for
him, and if the best was bad, why, he knew
it was all he was ever likely to get. Women
are not to blame because Heaven has not
made them clever housekeepers, any more
than men are to blame because they cannot
act, or sing, or paint.

For my own part, I believe it requires
just as much true genius to manage a house-
hold properly as to take the command of an

F 2

68 Frank Sinclair'^ s Wife,

army. The strategetical part is, of course,
rarely required, save when arranging the
rival pretensions of nurse and cook, house-
keeper and lady's-maid ; but the organisation
is precisely similar. Bella Sinclair, however,
did not organise ; she spent — and spent
uselessly — and -Frank perforce had to be
satisfied.

The man's first real pecuniary trial came
about in this wise : —

His partner — his senior partner, re-
member— who had exhibited a little tendresse
for Patty, which attachment Bella nipped in
the bud, married, and from that hour there
was greater dissatisfaction than ever in
Briant View Terrace ; and the result pro-
duced by the dissatisfaction will be best ex-
plained by a conversation which took place
some four years subsequently in the City
oflBce.

"Sinclair," said his partner, Mr. Yarham,
one afternoon, when the clerks had gone and
the managing man was putting on his top-

After Years, 69

coat, ^* if you are not in a hurry I should
like to speak to you for five minutes."

Whereupon, greatly wondering, Frank
repaired to his senior's private oflS.ce.

" We have worked together for a good
many years," began Mr. Yarham, affcer
closing the door, ^^and we have never, so
far as I remember, disagreed during the
time ; hut I think it better we should now
dissolve partnership, and I want to know how
it shall be — shall I leave or you ? "

'^ What have I done ? what have I left
undone?" Frank gasped, for he had not
been prepared for this blow, and it took
away his breath.

'^ You have done nothing, left nothing
undone," answered Mr. Yarham ; ^' but we
had better separate. I suppose I may speak
freely to you, and say our wives cannot
stable their horses together, and never will.
Your wife thinks we have too much out of
the concern ; my wife thinks your wife has
no right to inquire into her pin-money, since

7© Frank Sinclair s Wife,

she had a fortune of her own. Now, you
understand, all this has nothing to do with
you and me individually, only we must
separate. I cannot stand the home indigna-
tion ; you, possibly, go through the same
business. For myself, I cannot see what
legislation could do in such a matter, and at
all events, for the present legislation has not
attempted to interfere. Parliament cannot
forbid marriage ; it cannot ordain that one's
wife shall live two hundred miles away from
her husband's office, and even if it could,
she would still know the price per yard
another woman paid for her dress. I am
not blaming you, remember, or Mrs. Sinclair,
or Mrs. Yarham ; all I say is, my life shall
not be made a burden to me by reason of
women's quarrels. So, now, how is it to be ?
"Will you leave, or shall I ? Will you take
a sum, or give a sum ? "

At which direct question Frank stood
aghast. He could not contradict the truth
of a single word his partner said, and yet

After Years. 71

until that moment, as he told him, a thought
of their parting company had never crossed
his mind.

^^But, then, you are long-suffering,"
remarked Mr. Yarham, " and I am not."

^' I am not aware that I have anything
to suffer," said Frank, a little stiffly,
although at the moment memory recalled
many a mauvais quart d'heure he had endured,
hearkening to how " those Yarhams are rob-
bing you ! "

" I did not say that you had to suffer, but
I have," retorted Mr. Yarham, who, believ-
ing his wife could do no wrong, had no
objection to making himself out a martyr.
"I have suffered for a long time in fact; I
have waited in hopes of things mending ;
but things do not mend, and as our children
grow older matters will get worse. There
will be jealousies and heart-burnings, and
Heaven knows what, between our woman-
kind ; so now, Sinclair, without any ill-will

72 Frank Sinclair s Wife

or disagreeable feeling, let us face the diffi-
culty and see what is best to be done."

^' I would not for anything it should ever
have come to this," said Frank vehemently.
^' Think of the years we have worked to-
gether ! "

'^ Ay, my boy ; but we have taken to our-
selves wives, and that makes all the differ-
ence. It is natural for us to marry, and it
is natural for the ladies — God bless them ! —
to quarrel. Shall we interfere with the
arrangements of Nature ? Heaven forefend !
So now, Sinclair, we have arrived at a
point where our roads must diverge ; shall it
be you to branch off, or shall it be myself?"
and Mr. Varham leaned back in his chair,
and put one leg across the other, and looked
at Mr. Sinclair not without a certain em-
barrassment as he spoke.

"You are the senior," Frank answered,
*' and it should therefore be for you to state
your wishes."

" I have none," was the reply. ^^ I can

After Years. 73

go, or I can stay ; I will pay you out, or be
paid out, making the terms as easy for you
as I can. My wife, as you are aware, lias
some private means and very rich relations,
so it shall be just as you like. Either you
stay and I go, or I stay and you go, without
prejudice ; that is to say, each having as high
an opinion of the other as formerly — higher,
perhaps."

''Is it unavoidable?" Frank asked, after
the manner of one who gropes about to find
some help he is unable to grasp.

'' Quite, and I am sorry for it," Mr.
Varham answered.

And then the pair shook hands.

"Which was the best for him to accept ? —
All the way to Kensington Mr. Sinclair
debated this question. Should he give or
take, buy or sell ? He would have liked to
ask his wife, but he knew she could not
refrain from digressing into tirades concern-
ing theexpensiveness of Mrs.Yarham's dress,
the luxuriousness of Mrs. Yarham's habits.

74 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

^^ Never rises till noon," was one of Bella's
accusations.

^^But, my dear," suggested Frank '^yon
are not generally down for breakfast."

" She has only one boy," urged Bella.

^* As years go by she will probably have
more," Frank was wont to answer ; and
this was just one of those conversations he
felt he could not in his then mood endure
with equanimity.

75

CHAPTER VI.

COMING STRUGGLES.

There are some persons whose ordinary talk
has just the same effect upon a mental wound
that a medical plaster has upon a physical.
It keeps the place raw, it irritates beyond
all reason. A man shrinks from it as he
might from a charge of cavalry or discharge
of musketry. Since, look you, men can
endure the cannon's mouth sometimes better
than a woman's tongue.

Frank Sinclair could, at all events, and
for this reason he said nothing to his wife
concerning Mr. Yarham's proposition ; but
lay awake all night, considering which path
he had better decide to take.

76 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife.

If he took the one he should, to be sure,
have a certain sum of money ; but, then, it
would be needful for him almost to com-
mence again to rear a business edifice there-
upon. A man, if he have a certain family
of four, and an uncertain family of fourteen
possibly to follow, cannot easily afford to sit
down for life on a small fixed income ; and
Mr. Sinclair knew quite well that if he let
himself be paid out, he should have at once
to find some other commercial investment
for his money likely to yield a large per-
centage.

Looking at the matter from a different
point of view, if he paid out Mr. Yarham he
should for a long time find himself, pecu-
niarily, most seriously crippled; and yet,
after much thought and deliberation, this
was the course he decided to adopt. Not
for one instant did he contemplate taking in
another partner ; better any harass in the
City, welcome any struggle rather than the
trouble of hearing his wife's complaints of

Coming Struggles. 77

unfairiiess, of listening to her recital of petty
annoyances — of petty feminine jealousies.

No ; he would pay as much as he could,
and borrow as much as possible, and owe as
much as Mr. Yarham could conveniently
allow. It was a mere question of time and
work, he comforted himself by saying. The
business was a good busines, and in time, no
doubt, it would all turn out for the best.
And so the affair was concluded, and the
partnership hitherto subsisting between
Alfred Yarham and Francis Sinclair was
dissolved, by mutual consent, and duly
gazetted.

^'lam so thankful!" exclaimed Mrs.
Sinclair, when sh e heard of it . ^ ^ IS'o w you will
be able to keep what you make for yourself."

^^ I shall not be one sixpence better off,
probably, for years," answered Frank, a little
bitterly, '^ and shall have to work twice as
hard."

" Oh, that is all nonsense ! " remarked
Mrs. Sinclair. ^' I do not believe ]\Ir. Yar-
ham ever did any work."

78 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife.

'' My dear, you were not at the office to
know," Frank mildly expostulated.

'* [N'o, but I am quite certain of it, notwith-
standing," was the peculiarly feminirie, and
therefore utterly unanswerable, reply.

From that time Frank Sinclair's troubles
commenced ; but they gathered about him
slowly. It was not any one great loss, or
any particular panic, that made him a poor
man ; but the constant drag of interest to
pay, of larger salaries to give, of more work
to do, that made his life about that period
one long anxiety.

Never before in his memory had every-
thing rested entirely on his own shoulders,
depended altogether on his own health and
exertions. As a very young man he had,
indeed, assisted his mother's modest income ;
but she was not wholly dependent upon him,
as the pregnant hampers, laden with good
things, that arrived from her little cottage,
and gladdened the hearts of those landladies
who kindly took charge of their contents

Coming Struggles, 79

for Frank — levying large tolls by the way —
went to testify. After her death he had no
one to be anxious for. He worked himself
into a partnership in a moderately successful
business, where an older and more expe-
rienced man took the principal lead, and
whilst he and Mr. Yarham continued
together he had never really known the
actual meaning of an hour's uneasiness.

Now the case was altogether different :
with an increasing family, a wife who seemed
to grow daily less and less capable of making
the best of their means, and an establishment
the expenses of which were certainly rather
beyond than within his means, he soon found
anxieties for the present and the future
crowding into his City office, following him
through the streets, mounting with him to
the knife-boards of West-end omnibuses,
and rousing him at night from the sleep he
so much needed after the labours and troubles
of the day.

Frank Sinclair gi^ew older visibly, and

8o Frank Sinclair s Wife.

more irritable certainly. For his temper
was angelic no longer. Even Patty — still
unmarried — who came at rare intervals to
pass a few days with them, could not help
noticing that, and the reason for the change
was not, perhaps, far to seek.

He had an anxious time of it in the City,
and when he returned at night it was to a
miserable, untidy home, ^^ where there is
never a comfortable meal ready for him,
mamma," Patty declared. ^^ Bella says he is
so uncertain in his time that it is of no use
having anything prepared. I assure you,
one day when Bella was off visiting some new
friends she has made (horrid people, I call
them) I got the cook to have late dinner — a
nice little dinner — and Prank seemed quite
surprised and grateful. I spoke to Bella
about the way she neglects him and her
children, and we quarrelled, and I never
intend to enter her doors again."

" My dear Patty," expostulated her
mother, ^^ you cannot wonder at Bella's re-
senting your interference."

Coming Struggles,

'^ Well, it would be impossible for me to
be there and not interfere," Patty retorted.
'' She has got into a clique who seem to
beKeve all men are little better than either
monsters or fools. I do not really, stupid
as Bella is, think she would be so bad if it
were not for the set of people she has about
her. I am sure it used to go to my very
heart to see Frank come home tired and
jaded at night, and Bella generally off to
some party ; and whether she was at home
or not, nothing comfortable or pleasant. As
for the children — and darlings they are,
the very sweetest pets I ever beheld — she
takes no pride in them at all : theii* dresses
are torn, and they have no nice, pretty
clothes ; and if it were not for their nurse,
who *is only a girl, I believe they would
never be washed, for Bella is far above
looking after her children. I used to mend
their things till I saw she did not like it ;
and, oh ! mamma, it is completely wretched.
I cannot think how Frank bears it even as he

VOL. I. Gf

82 Frank Sinclair^ Wife,

does. I am sure I should leave her. There,
I never saw such a house ! Often when I
was in London I thought about the evening
before she was married, when she collected
all the unmended stockings and piled them
in her basket, and put the lid on, and said,
* I have done with you, and I hope I shall
never have to darn another pair.' And I
do not believe she has. I think she wears
them till they will hold together no longer,
and then buys new."

^^Did Bella say so?" asked Mrs. St.
Clair.

^' Yes, indeed. I thought I told you at
the time."

"!N'o," her mother answered; ^^ and I
wish you had not told me now."

And she turned away with tears in her
eyes, sick at heart to find how much stronger,
in some persons, nature is than training,
selfishness than duty.

S3

CHAPTEE VII.

feai^k's resolve.

One summer's evening, ten years after bis
marriage, Frank Sinclair left his office with
the intention of walking home. It was plea-
santly cool after the heat of the clay, and as
he had scarcely moved from his desk since
early in the morning when he came into the
City, the prospect of a walk, even through
familiar thoroughfares, between endless rows
of houses, seemed pleasant to him.

'No person who has not been in a strug-
gling business, can imagine the relief of
mind it is to a man to feel that even for one
hour the pressure is relaxed, that toward

G 2

84 Fraiik Sinclair's Wife,

to-morrow lie need not look forward with
dread ; and after years of anxiety, after days
and nights of hard thought and painful
work, Frank Sinclair was able at last to say,
^^ The battle is over, and I have won."

For the battle was over, and the fight
won so far as this, that in pecuniary matters
he was the day forward instead of the day
behind ; that he had the typical five-pound
note in hand without which no City man
can be pronounced happy ; that he was, still
to speak allegorically, able to hatch his
chickens before going through the process
of counting them. Consequently, so far as
a tranquil mind concerning business could
tend to make him happy, Frank Sinclair
might that summer's evening have been
so called.

But he had other and nearer causes for
anxiety than any mere pecuniary affair ; and
now that the strain of business pressure was
relaxed, that the entangled skein of com-
mercial matters had been made compara-

Frank! s Resolve. 85

tively smoothj the man could not help
thinking abont home and home sorrows ;
about his wife who was no helpmate ; about
his children who were neglected ; about his
house which was wretched ; about domestic
extravagance which had added in no small
degree to increase the troubles he had been
daily called upon to endure, in that modem
pandemonium where men pant out their
lives and peril their souls, not for wealth,
not even for competence, but just for the
sake of a mere subsistence, the bread of
which is bitter to the palate, and the waters
whereof are briny to the taste.

It takes a man or woman a long time to
confess that he or she has made just that
one mistake which is utterly irrevocable.
Old recollections, the fond memories of
tender words whispered when the dusty
roads of life were still untraversed, when it
was all greensward under-foot, and blossom-
ing roses over-head ; the very dread, it may
be, of the thought of the way still to be

86 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

traversed with an uncongenial companion :
all these things conspire to induce human
beings to make the best of their bargain,
and to lay the fault of domestic unhappiness,
as long as possible, on any cause save that of
utter unsuitability.

Frank Sinclair had striven to do this, at
any rate, and even as he walked home that
evening he made excuses for the woman
who was his wife, and vowed, if it lay in
his power to make a better thing of the
future, the future should be better than
the past had proved.

Only, how was he to set about it ? Be-
tween them there had grown up insensibly
a barrier, strong in precise proportion as it
was indescribable.

Arabella had indeed, as Patty stated,
fallen amongst people whose friendship (save
the mark !) and sympathy (that a good word
should ever come to be so misapplied !) were
effecting infinite harm.

These were persons who, never having

Frankh Resolve. 87

done a day's real work in their lives, had
no faith in the real work of others ; who,
just as every man thinks he can drive a gig
through London, believed there was nothing
difficult in conducting a business ; who had
a general contempt for men, their useless-
ness, their selfishness, their exacting ideas.
Even the males amongst that clique had a
way of saying, " If you want a thing done
well, get a woman to do it," whilst all the
time the women did nothing except complain
about the shortcomings of the rival sex.

Those were the days before '' Women's
Eights " was discussed either privately or
publicly. ^^ Women's Wrongs," a much
more prolific and dangerous subject, was
then the popular question in certain circles.
Ladies who were married, and ladies who
were single, alike agreed in condemning the
arrangements of Providence as regarded
mankind.

People may object to the institution of
women's rights, and the open discussion of

Frank Si7iclair's WifeP

their fitness for this or that trade and pro-
fession, but there can be no question that
an open sore is better than one falsely
healed ; and that if women think themselves
unfairly treated, it is better they should say
so in the market-place than beside the do-
mestic hearth ; that the question should be
decided by the experience of the world,
rather than sulked over between husband
and wife, father and daughter.

If it give the smallest pleasure to a gentle-
woman to go out and earn her own bread
instead of letting some one more competent
earn it for her, there cannot, I apprehend,
be any reason why she should be prevented
from doing so. England is a free country,
which means that we reside in a land where
one human being has full liberty to annoy
another to his heart's content, and why
should woman be an exception to this rule ?
The times in which a father could exercise
a certain control over his son's career have
had their day, and are gone ; and if modern

Frankh Resolve, 89

daughters develope a taste for '' cutting their
own grass," to use an inelegant but expres-
sive phrase, paterfamilias may be quite
certain it is much more to his interest
they should do so, than sit at home in that
fearful state of idleness which obtains in
modern English homes — thinking of the
author of their being as a surly creature,
who delights not in the latest costume dress,
in the sweetest hat that ever came out of a
milliner's shop, or in the heaviest plaits of
hair that ever were bought ^^ cheaper than
cheap," through the kind offices of a friend
in Germany.

For my own part, if women choose to go
out and work with and like men, it seems
to me that it is simple folly to raise any
objection.

Years ago, a widower, burying his second
wife, loudly expressed his intention of fling-
ing himself into the grave after her coffin,
and was, indeed, only restrained from doing
so by the strong arms of his friends, who

90 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

with difficulty prevented the execution of
his project.

The scene was a suburban bui'ial-ground,
where people were buried daily by the score ;
and as familiarity breeds contempt, or at
least indifference, the officiating clergyman
proceeded with the service, unmoved alike
by the man's grief and the bystanders' ex-
postulations.

Suddenly, however, his noisy lamentations
becoming quite unendurable, the curate very
mildly remarked, " If the gentleman wishes
to get into the grave, there is nothing to
prevent his doing so," which unexpected
permission at once ended the scene.

The gentleman did not jump in after his
wife, any more than a certain other gentle-
man died on the floor of the House of Com-
mons ; and it is the firm belief of the present
writer that if women's rights had never met
with the smallest opposition — had a wise
public said, " You shall take men's work if
you desire it ; you shall hedge and ditch ;

Fratikh Resolve. gi

you shall walk four miles to your work in
the winter mornings; you shall go down
into the sewers ; you shall drive dust carts ;
you shall have businesses, and leave your
homes every morning at eight o'clock, so as
to reach office by nine ; you shall have full
liberty to go out, no matter how ill you feel ;
you shall forget your sex, and let men for-
get it too, and treat you as they would men,
peremptorily and roughly; you shall have
households to keep, and incompetent hus-
bands if you like, boring you when you
come home for money ; you shall go out in
all weathers, and face all difficulties, and
take all responsibilities, since such is your
pleasure " — we should never have had
another word of women doing men's work,,
or wanting to do it either.

It was the gross ignorance of women
concerning the battle of life that made them
ever wish to go out into it ; and I hope and
trust the day may come, though writer or
reader may not live to see it, when, for the

92 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

«ake of England's honour and England's
glory, her daughters, wearied of the world's
clamour and the world's unkindness, may
thankfully creep back home, and tell to their
grandchildren and their great-grandchildren
how much better and happier a thing it is to
rule a household aright, and to make bright
a fireside for a man's return, than to go
forth through the mud and the rain, the melt-
ing heat and the suffocating dust, without a
dear face and kindly smile looking forth from
the open door to welcome one's return.

It is dangerous to preach an old religion
when a new is abroad ; and, therefore, to
moderate the fury of the storm with which
these remarks are certain to be assailed, I
will just add in all honesty, that I believe
the last state of English society to be far
more healthy than that which preceded it.
The sore long concealed has been exhibited
at last. Instead of women saying over their
tea, ^^ Men do no real work," they are crying
aloud in the streets, " Give us work ! " and

Frank's Resolve, 93

the only matter for real regret in the whole
business is that there cannot be found work
enough to give them, since it would prove
better for women to learn sympathy with
men from actual experience than for them
to refrain from sympathy altogether.

But, as has been said, on that especial
summer evening when Frank Sinclair left
the City in order to walk home, women's
rights had not been thought of — not in
England, at least, save vaguely.

The preliminary notes of war had sounded,
it is true, and were carried to human
ears like voices from a far distance ; but
what had actually come to pass was this —
that wives were looking distastefully on
former occupations, without having taken
courage to lay hold on new ; that daughters
were taking part with their mothers against
the stinginess which refused them unlimited
credit, and insisted that a ten-pound note
should last them, oh ! for ever so long ;
that the willing service, the loving thought-

94 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife,

fulness of a previous generation had become
a mere memory of the past, and that
women had left their own especial sphere
without actually aspiring to shine in that of
man.

It was an uncomfortable transition state,
that, in which it fared very hardly with
many a man who had really very few sins
of his own to answer for, and who was
merely made the unhappy scapegoat, des-
tined to bear the real or fancied transgres-
sions of previous generations of husbands,
forth into the wilderness.

The result to each male who chanced to
be selected for this purpose was uncomfort-
able, and for a long time previously Frank
had found his domestic situation unpleasant ;
and as he walked along, thankful at heart
for the pecuniary ease time had brought,
his thoughts recurred over and over again
to home troubles, and he began marvelling
if the fault lay at all with him, and if so,
Jiow he could remedy it.

Frank's Resolve. 95

Once more lie recalled the past, carefully
TN^eigliing each step, and asking himself how
matters would have been had he acted in this
way, or in that. Had he been too reserved ?
had he been moody, irritable, apparently un-
generous? Might his wife not have mis-
taken his ill-concealed anxiety, for temper,
his desire for economy, for meanness, his
abstraction, for want of love ? Putting
aside the memory of that bright sunshiny
time at Mulford, before they twain became
one, he could not, even for the children's
sake, endure that the mother of his girls
and his boys should drift any further away
from his affection.

He would make an effort to come to a
thorough understanding with her. Sitting
in the soft evening light, he would make
the experiment of taking her fully into his
confidence, and trying to make her under-
stand the precise nature and extent of the
difficulties which he had encountered and
overcome.

96

CHAPTER VIII.

"HOME, SWEET HOME."

In one of Miss Ingelow's most charming
poems, there is an exquisite description of
two who started on their way with the
merest trifle of a dancing rivulet dividing
them, and the author — I repeat the story,
after years, from memory — goes on to tell
how the stream grew and widened ; how they
first were compelled to loosen hands, once
clasped together ; how by degrees the voice
of one failed to reach the ear of the other ;
how the figures of each grew dim by reason
of the waste of waters intervening; and
how, finally, they who had commenced

''''Home Sweet Home,^"^ 97

to walk tbTough life together were divided
for ever, unless, indeed, they might per-
chance meet in eternity on the shores of the
great sea.

It was just with the same sort of horror
with which one might contemplate the
possibility of such an end coming to
passionate love, to tender friendship, that
Frank Sinclair looked forward to the chance
of himself and his wife becoming yet further
estranged.

He could not tell when or where it had
begun; he had no idea when or how it
might end. He overlooked the fact that
when people whose interests should be
identical separate thus, there must have
been some tiny stream, so slight as to be
scarcely noticeable, dividing them at first;
for Frank Sinclair was not yet prepared to
say even to himself, ^^It has been an error
all through. The sunshine, and the peace,
and the love, and the comfort of that
country rectory threw a glamour over me,

VOL. I. H

98 JFrank Sinclair's Wife.

from which I have been emerging ever
since."

He felt this, but he would not have liked
to shape the thought into words, for he was
loyal and loving, this man who could not
rule his wife, and he would have been
content — so the lofty ideal fades, and the
dream- castle vanishes — if she would only
have looked after their house, and seen to
their children, and given him a kindly word
of welcome when he came home, and seen
that a servant was up in the mornings to
get his breakfast ready, and that some sort
of repast was prepared for his return at
night.

No such utterly prosaic ending of all
romance had he pictured to himself when he
read poetry to --Arabella in the Eectory
garden. Now he had neither prose nor
verse, and there was the hardship.

It is a sad case when a man cannot at
home hope for a repast of any kind, either
mental or physical; and with the memory

^' Home^ Sweet Ho?ney 99

of breakfasts at tlie various City hotels, of
dinners at Becky's, and Tom's, and Sam's,
and Betty's, and of cold weak tea at home,
Mr. Sinclair could not delude himself into
the idea that matrimony, as he had found
it, was very different in point of comfort,
though it proved decidedly more expensive,
than a first floor furnished at so much a
week for a single gentleman, with attend-
ance included.

Well, well ! now that he had time — alas !
how many of us have used that sentence !
sometimes, however, commencing it with
'^when" instead — now that he had time, he
would try to put it right ; he would talk to
Bella and see if, for his sake — the sake of
the former lover who he knew had once
seemed to her Kke the Fairy Prince — she
would not try to make a better thing of life
for both of th,em.

It is but a poor little story, this — about
common worldly doings — about people the
like of whom we meet every day, who kept

H 2

lOO Frank Sinclair's Wife,

all the commandments, or at least, those of
them which the heroes and heroines of
ordinary novels most usually transgress;
and yet, if I could but convey to my reader
even the faintest idea of how utterly piteous
and pitiable a thing it seems to me, for a
man to trudge homeward over the stony-
hearted pavements, carrying such thoughts
as these in his heart, I might hope to
interest him more in my tale than is the
least likely to prove the case.

And here it may be at once confessed that
when, long ago, this story of events which fell
under my own observation was first planned,
my intention was rather to sketch the
purely grotesque side of the subject, than
to depict troubles that had to be encoun-
tered, and very deep sorrows which had to
be endured, by reason of Erank Sinclair's
folly, and the greater folly, shall we call it,
of his wife ? But all absurdity has its grave
side, all humour its tears ; and there may be
as much cause for sadness in the fact of a

^'' Ho7ne^ Sweet HovieP loi

husband being utterly neglected, as there
was — spite of the dictum of the older
playwrights — in the fact of a wife's un-
faithfulness.

Slowly the man paced along, planning.
In one way he was happy himself, and he
wanted to see whether he could not induce
Bella to be happier too. He knew enough
of life to be well aware that husband and
wife ought to be true staunch friends to
each other — he to her, she to him. He
could not believe in any woman feeling
satisfied with the life Bella was leading;
and he thought if he talked to her tenderly
and lovingly, they might '^come together,"
so he put it, ^^ again." As though they had
ever really come together yet !

If a man makes up his mind to be
conciliatory, it is somewhat irritating to be
thrown back upon his good intentions.
Frank found it to be so, at all events, when
on entering the drawing-room he found
several persons there before him, and those

I02 Frank Si7iclair's Wife,

the very persons lie most cordially hated to
see in the house.

There was a little simpering major, who
had a trick of shaking him by the hand for
about five minutes at a time, murmuring
during the performance unmeaning plati-
tudes about his ^^ dear friend," his ^^good
friend." There was a young lady who
painted pictures, and parted her hair con-
siderably on one side, and clothed herself in
a loose sort of blouse. There was a lacka-
daisical woman, with long ringlets, who had
worried her husband into a lunatic asylum,
and who was now, having lost her occupa-
tion, killing time as best she could. There
was a young gentleman supposed to have
intentions towards the young lady who
painted pictures — which however, he kept
carefully locked up in the recesses of his own
bosom — who was wont to read idiotic verses,
chiefly in praise of woman's superiority, to
a credulous and admiring audience. There
was a middle-aged widow who had taken up

^^ Hovie^ Sweet HomeP 103

Mendelssohn vehemently, and scoffed at
Handel, and who had achieved quite a
reputation in certain circles for her ren-
dering of the ' Lieder ohne Worte.' And
last, but by no means least, there was Mr.
Sinclair's especial abhorrence, a Miss
Myrton, who was to him as thistles and sour
grapes — as the bitterness of wormwood.

Frank Sinclair had conceived an aversion
for Miss Myrton, in comparison to which
the Franco- German feud that Englishmen
may expect to see raging for the next few
centuries will be mildness itself. He de-
tested the woman, who in personal appear-
ance was by no means the sort of woman
who is ordinarily detested.

She was not lean; she did not arrange
her hair sausage fashion on each side of a
high forehead; she had not high cheek-
bones and a hollow chest ; nay, rather, for
her years she was comely and well developed.
She had fair hair just streaked with grey,
and blue eyes, and a still good complexion ;

I04 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

site dressed well, and not too youthfully ;
she was courteous enough in her manner,
and yet Frank hated the woman, for to her
influence he ascribed most of the discomfort
of his home.

'^0 tares, though, will grow even if the
devil sow them, unless the soil make their
seed welcome ; but Bella, discontented and
selfish, had welcomed the tares, and behold
they bore abundantly.

After the first interchange of civilities
between her husband and her guests, Mrs.
Sinclair (more, perhaps, by way of hazarding
a question than because she felt interested
in the matter) inquired —

" Have you dined ? "

^'^N'o," Frank answered, turning from the
window out of which he was looking at
vacancy.

"Dear me, how unfortunate !" his wife
exclaimed. '' I waited for you until half-
past five, and then thought it was useless
doing so any longer.''

^' Home J Sweet Homer 105

^^ Of course, for I am generally home at
half-past five," Frank answered, with a ring
of sarcasm in his voice, only intelligible to
those who knew he rarely returned from
the city so early.

^^But never mLad," he went on, glancing
at the equipage which then prefigured the
kettledrum of more modern times ; ^^ I will
have a cup of tea."

^^ Catherine shall make more directly,"
Mrs. Sinclair declared, and Major Clements
was moving to the bell-pull, when Mr.
Sinclair stopped him.

''' Thank you, no," he said ; ^^ I will go
down into the dining-room, and have some
tea and cold meat there."

Whereupon Mrs. Sinclair and Miss Myrton
exchanged glances, as who should say —

^' A man all over ! Scarcely in the house
before he is thinking what he should ike
to eat and drink."

Certainly if there were anything Frank
thought he should like, he did not usually

io6 Frank Sinclair s Wife.

get it; but that ^was a yiew of tlie ques-
tion which neyer came within the range of
Miss Myrton's theoretic observation. Not
utterly indifferent was that lady to gastro-
nomic considerations, but then she made
them subsidiary to the charms of friendship,
or at least professed to do so.

Now, if Frank had taken that role !
but, unhappily for his own comfort's sake,
Frank did nothing of the kind. He only
walked down-stairs, and meeting the house-
maid, desired her to bring up tea, and some
cold beef if there were any. Eeferring to
that latter item, the housemaid presently
returned to say there was none.

^' It is of no consequence," Mr. Sinclair
replied — and for a fasting man the answer
could not be considered unreasonable —
*^ bring me some tea and bread and butter,"
and he took up a book and began to read.

At the end of half an hour he rang the
bell.

'^ Is that tea soon coming ? "

''^ Home^ Sweet Ho77iey 107

^^ Oh ! if you please, sir, the fii-e was out,
and cook had no wood, and she has sent
Jemima out for some."

Then Mr. Sinclair arose and delivered
himself of a Commination Seryice over the
head of that " treasure of a housemaid," Ca-
tharine Holmes, who dressed Mrs. Sinclair's
hair so beautifully. He went on ^^ dread-
ful," so Catharine subsequently stated in the
kitchen ; he declared he would get servants
who understood their duties, and should
perform them ; and then, to quote Catharine
Holmes' succinct narrative of the interview,
'^ he clapped on his hat and went out of the
front door like a whirlwind, banging it after
him."

Mrs. Sinclair and Miss Myrton heard the
bang in the drawing-room, and correctly
interpreted its cause.

io8

CHAPTEE IX.

UPON OPPOSITE SIDES.

As a rule, when a man has a disagreement
or cause of disagreement with his wife, it
is usually — in books at least — considered
the inevitable consequence that he shall
rush off to the gaming-table, the tavern, the
boudoir of some more gracious fair, or to
that other resort of suffering humanity, his
club. As one scale flies up, the other
appears — in fiction at all events — to go
down. It is now wife and struggling virtue,
it is next day no wife to speak of, and utter
recklessness. Eemove the loadstone from
a husband's existence and he drifts — accord-

• upon Opposite Sides. 109

ing to novelists — as hopelessly as the needle
hunting after a lost north pole. The first
qnarrel is the first step in a downward
descent, man being, according to this new
doctrine, the weaker vessel and prone to
sink. Following which train of argument,
had Frank Sinclair adopted the conventional
course, he would, on that night when he
banged the hall-door of his dwelling-house
after him, have returned home excited with
wine, and a hundred pounds out of pocket,
or perhaps, indeed, never have returned
home at all.

But this unheroic hero of mine was
really, spite of his good looks and his ener-
getic temperament, only a very common-
place sort of individual, who would as soon
have thought of plunging wildly into dissi-
pation because he and his wife were not of
one mind, as he would of cutting his throat
because he never could get hot water for
shaving in the morning; and, accordingly,
when after a long, solitary walk he re-

no Frank Siyulairs Wife.

appeared in Briant View Terrace, he was,
to all outward appearance, precisely the
same individual in every respect who had
come home from the City a few hours
before.

To outward appearance only, however,
for during his ramble he had certainly
undergone a change. He left the house
angry, and he returned to it calm, it is
true ; but he also returned sad and almost
hopeless. What was to become of his home
and his children, if this sort of thing went
on ? if day by day Bella became less a wife,
less a helpmate, less a mother, less a com-
panion, even than at present.

The establishment was in a state of
anarchy, the children were neglected, he
was miserable. Had the destruction of his
day-dream only involved his own comfort,
his own happiness, Frank would not so
much have cared ; he would have let things
drift ; but he who has given hostages to
Fortune may not dare to flee from any

upon Opposite Sides.

Ill

battle, no matter how distasteful the war
may prove.

There is nothing so difficult, I imagine,
as for a man to reform a bad manager;
indeed, it is so difficult that, taking men
round, as a rule, they never attempt the
task. They sulk, they are angry, they de-
clare things must be altered, they grumble
about the household expenditure, they lay
the blame on the servants, and then they
decide that endurance is the better part of
valour, and that what cannot be mended it
were wisest to ignore. But Frank could
not as yet contemplate with equanimity the
possibility of such a life stretching away
before him, and he therefore spoke to his
wife that night on the subject of her short-
comings, as he had never spoken before.

He pointed out to her, quietly and tempe-
rately as he imagined, that even as a bread-
winner he was entitled to more consideration
than he received. That although it was quite
certain a man could put up with a great deal

112 Frank Sinclair^ Wife,

of annoyance, still it was equally certain
whilst he remained in the flesh he could not
live without food ; that it was unpleasant, to
say the least of it, not even to be able to rely
upon having a cup of tea in his own house ;
and he finished by saying that if Bella could
not get servants who understood their
business and would do it, he must himself
try whether he might not prove more
fortunate.

Whereupon Mrs. Sinclair declared that of
course she had long been aware nothing she
could do was right.

* '*I did not say nothing you could do
would be right; I merely expressed my
opinion that nothing in the house has been
right for a long time," he replied.

^^ Then you had better manage the house
yourself,'' she said. ^^ You would soon tire of
it, I can tell you. Men never can enter into
the troubles and anxieties of a woman's life.
You think it something wonderful to be able
to earn a little money after your way has been

upon Opposite Sides. 113

made smooth for you ; but if you had to look
after your children, and nurse them through
all their illnesses, and were pestered with ser-
vants, and received nothing from your hus-
band in return but black looks and cross
words, you would be very soon glad to be
a man again."

^^ I do not think, Bella, you can complain
of black looks and cross words from me,"
Frank said gently.

*^Yes, you are always grumbling if
everything is not in apple-pie order; but
how can things be always in order where
there are children, I should like to know ?
And then, if I want a little money you are
so disagreeable, that I am sure I have often
prayed to be shown some way in which I
could earn it for myself. You have always
quantities of gold and silver in your pockets,
and yet when I require a sovereign, it is
given to me as though it were a thousand-
pound note. You are not so stingy where
your own fancies are concerned."

VOL. I. I

114 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife.

He did not answer her for a moment ; he
rose and walked up and down the room,
then he stopped suddenly and said —

^^ Bella, what is it that has come between
US? why is it that we cannot be of one
mind ? that you will not understand I want
nothing, ask nothing, except what would, I
honestly believe, be for the good and happi-
ness of ourselves and our children ? Where
have I failed in my duty ? Is it a sin for a
man to ask that the money he earns hardly
shall be spent prudently — to complain, when
after the day's labour he returns to find his
home wretched, his servants idle, his wife
engaged with visitors ? "

*^Am I to have no visitors, then?" she
asked sharply. '^ Am I to live mewed up
here without a soul to speak to, whilst you
are amusing yourself in the City ? If I had
only known what you expected from a wife,
I would never have married you ; and as it is,
it seems to me that the best thing for both of
us would be never to see each other again ;

upon Opposite Sides, 1 1 5

we should then be able to live without
quarrelling, at all events." And having
pictured this cheerful connubial future, she
burst into tears.

*^ Shall I ever speak again, or shall I
never?" thought the man. And then he
gravely kissed his wife and bade her not
talk nonsense ; and, lighting a candle, went
sorrowfully up to bed.

Next morning, the servants having over-
slept themselves, he left without his break-
fast; and as fasting does not generally
induce cheerful views of life, Frank Sin-
clair decided that he was not to have
much comfort in his domestic relations,
and that the sooner he made up his mind
to that fact, the better for all parties con-
cerned.

But during the day he came to a different
conclusion. Like most men, he inclined to
lay the blame of his home unhappiness on
others rather than on his wife. She was
badly advised. She had fallen amongst a

I 2

ii6 Frank Sinclair s Wife,

set of people who could not understand the
difficulties of her position, and who would
not let Bella understand them either. He
felt quite satisfied^ if he could only once
make her comprehend that he had not
a thought in life beyond her and the chil-
dren, things might be different. He had
made a mistake in taking a house in Briant
View Terrace ; one in a less pretentious
locality, nearer to his business, and further
away from her undesirable acquaintances,
might change everything.

He would move ; he would speak to Bella
about it that very night.

But when he returned he found his wife
out of temper. She had waited dinner for
him, and cook, who liked to have ^'her
evenings clear," was sulky, and everything
was spoiled.

^*It is always the way," said Mrs
Sinclair ; ^' I have tried waiting for you over
and over and over again, and then you come
in with the same story about being detained,

upon Opposite Sides. 117

or haying an appointment, or something of
the sort." >

^^ Do yon think I tell you what is not the
truth ? " he asked. He then, without wait-
ing for a reply, added, ''However, it does not
matter ; you need never wait for me again."

''But if I do not wait you are out of
temper."

"l^ot if I can get anything to eat; and
besides, it is better for me to be out of tem-
per than you."

" And why, pray ?"

"Because I can keep silence and you
can not."

" Oh, indeed ! this is the first time I was
aware of your possessing so valuable an
accomplishment."

" Do not let us quarrel, Bella," he en-
treated. If there were one thing he dread-
ed more than another it was that, perhaps,
because he felt if once he quarrelled with
her the breach on his part might be
difficult to repair.

ii8 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife.

** I have no desire to quarrel," she answer-
ed. " No one can say I ever was the first
to commence even an argument."

Hearing which astounding assertion, Frank
looked in his wife's face and remained mute,
marvelling to himself.

" Can I be as much self-deceived as she ?
Is the whole or any portion of this miserable
wrangling my fault ? " And till he had
thought the matter over a little longer,
he decided not to moot the idea of removing
from Briant Yiew Terrace.

That evening, however, he mentioned the
desirability of such a plan. He told his wife
he considered the house and the neighbour-
hood too expensive for their means, and he
hinted that, for the sake of the children, it
would be well to commence laying some-
thing aside for that rainy day which, even
in a bright noontide in June, it is always
prudent to remember must come before
Christmas.

Further he explained he found the long

upon Opposite Sides, 1 1 9

journey night and morning, in all sorts of
weather, telling upon his health.

^^ There are plenty of good houses much
nearer the City," he went on ^^ to be had at
comparatively low rentals, and — "

*^You want to take me into some low
neighbourhood out of reach of all my
friends," finished Mrs. Sinclair ; ^^ but I tell
you, once for all, I will not move. It is quite
bad enough to be left alone the whole day
where we are ; but it would be worse if I
had not a soul to come in and speak to me.
If you were so fond of your business as to
wish always to be near it, you should not
have married at all."

"You are quite right, Bella," he answer-
ed, '^ I ought not to have married ; but as
we can neither of us rectify that mistake
now, I am determined to do what I think
best for you and the children. It is per-
fectly ridiculous labouring on year after
year, and not being even twenty pounds
the richer. Supposing sickness were to

I20 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife.

come, that T were to be laid aside for
awhile — "

" What is the use of supposing what may
never come?" she interrupted. "At all
events, moving into a different neighbour-
hood could not secure good health for ever,
and it would make me wretched to leave the
few friends who have been so kind to me in
my loneliness."

" I am afraid,'' said Frank, "' those friends
have done mucli to alienate us."

" No," she replied ; " if we are alienated,
it is your own fault ; for many a day you
have brought nothing but black looks and
utter silence into your own house. The City
people you are so fond of have all the
pleasant talk, I suppose; at all events, I
have not the benefit of it."

"If I have been dull at home I am
sorry," he began. "I did not wish to
cause you anxiety by talking to you of my
troubles ; but the last few years have proved
hard, struggling ones for me, and it is

Up07i Opposite Sides. 1 2 i

because I dread a recurrence of such a fight
that I want to retrench and curtail our
expenditure, so as to have some njoney
before us in case of losses, or bad trade — "

'''" Oh, I am sick of trade ! " Mrs. Sin-
clair exclaimed impatiently.

^^ Well, but, my dear, it at all events pays
rent and taxes, butcher, baker, and milliner,"
he ventured to suggest. *

^^ What is it that pays butcher, baker, and
milliner, Mr Sinclair?" at this juncture
inquired a visitor who, having entered the
drawing-room unannounced, had heard the
conclusion of Frank's sentence. ^^ I am sure
I wish I could do something to make money,
if it were only that I might give it away in
charity. How do you do, dear?" — this to
Bella ; -and then the ladies kissed each other
tenderly. '^Mayl really remain?" Miss
Myrton continued. ^^ Are you certain I am
not de trop ? I am always so dreadfully
afraid of interrupting a conjugal tete-a-tete ^
The husband bit his lip as he threw him-

122 Frank Sinclair'* s Wife.

self back in his chair, annoyance mastering
politeness ; but Mrs Sinclaii* evidently wel-
comed the interruption, even as an out-
matched general would gladly greet the com-
ing of a strong ally.

123

CHAPTER X.

RESIGNING THE HELM.

" When you have the misfortune to be a
wife," said Frank drily, to Miss Myrton,
" you will find that the conjugal Ute-d4Ue
generally has reference to ways and means."

" YeSj on the man's side," observed his wife.

" And on the woman's too, I think," he
replied. " At all events, I would venture a
considerable bet that out of every hundred
married men who leave home in the morning
for business, ninety -nine have been asked for
money by their wives."

^^ But why cannot they give it without
being asked ? " inquired Miss Myrton.

124 Frank Siriclairh Wife.

" Because they are men ;" and Mrs. Sin-
clair threw a tone into her explanation
which implied that in one word she had
summed up the whole case against the sex.

'^ That certainly is a misfortune/' her
husband replied ; ^^ but still, the business
of life could scarcely, I imagine, go on
without men to conduct it."

" I can not allow that to pass without con-
tradiction," said Miss Myrton. '^ I have
always held the opinion that there is nothing
a man does which a woman could not do
better — that is, supposing she has the same
social and educational advantages.''

" I am not certain that I quite grasp
what you mean by social and educational ad-
vantages," he answered; "and with regard
to the other question, since it has never been
practically tried, it must be considered, as
you suggest, a matter of opinion. Even
you, I presume, would not wish it to become
other than a matter of opinion. It is all
very well to talk about doing men's work,

Resigning the Hebji, 123

but actually performing it would prove
quite a different matter."

^' If I could not do men's work better
than they, I should feel ashamed of myself,"
remarked Mrs. Sinclair. ^^They make such
a fuss over every little trouble — over every
slight annoyance. If they had the constant
anxieties women have, they would learn to
be more patient and more amiable."

'-'- Well, I do not know," said her husband.
'' I must say I have never found anxiety im-
prove my temper, nor make me more patient."

*' That is because you are a man," ex-
plained Miss Myrton, repeating Mrs. Sin-
clair's former statement; ''it is only wo-
man's nature which is perfected through
suffering."

For a moment Frank looked at the speaker
to see if she were jesting. It had certainly
never occurred to him before that she
possessed the slightest sense of humour, but
it seemed incredible that any rational being
could make such a speech in good faith.

126 Frank Sinclair'^ s Wife.

One glance at Miss Myrton's face assured
him, however, that she was thoroughly ia
earnest — that her estimate of female cha-
racter was as high as her opinion of male
perfectibility was low, and he therefore
asked quietly —

'^ Pray, have you known many women
who, through suJffering, have grown more
patient and amiable ? "

" Yes, numbers," was the reply. '^ Oh,
I could tell you such tales of passionate
natures becoming subdued — of devotedness
taking the place of selfishness — of lives
passed only in ministeriag to others, as
would, I am certain, convert you to my
opinion."

" And have you never come in contact
with unselfishness and amiability in men ? "
he inquired.

^* IS'ever in the domestic circle," said the
lady sadly.

^' I must compliment you on your frank-
ness," he replied, amused almost in spite of
himself.

Resigning the Helm, 127

^^ Of course the present company is al-
ways excepted," Miss Myrton suggested.

*' Unless it chance to be masculine,"
Frank answered. At which point Mrs.
Sinclair declared it was of no use losing his
temper ; that any one knew all men were
selfish ; they could not be men unless they
were — they could not help it any more than
they could help having beards ; and the
way women gave in to them, and flattered
and petted their very weaknesses, increased
the evil.

^' "Why, there is my own father " she

was proceeding, whenTrank interrupted her
with —

^' Than whom a more thorough gentle-
man never existed."

" Yes, but the manner in which mamma
insists on every thing and person giving way
to him is perfectly ridiculous," persisted
Mrs. Sinclair.

^^ I cannot think so," her husband an-
swered. " I never saw anything more

128 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife.

beautiful thau your mother's love for and
devotion towards liim. And, Bella, is it not
reciprocal ? Is not your father's life spent
in labouring for his wife, his family, and
his parishioners ? Does he ever spare him-
self ? does he ever rest when he ought to be
at work ? Miss Myrton," Frank added, turn-
ing towards that lady, '^ when I am weary
of London and London ways, when my very
heart seems to grow sick of the selfishness
and the frivolity of town life, I think of
that quiet country/ parsonage, and the peace
and affection which dwell there, and feel for
the time happy."

^^ And yet gentlemen are not, as a rule,
satisfied to lead quiet lives," said Miss
Myrton.

" I fancy you are mistaken on that point,"
was the reply. ^' Boys may weary of mono-
tony, but when men have experienced the
cares of existence they are content, more
than content, to step aside into retirement.
Of course there are exceptions to all rules,
and speculative men, who lead feverish

Resig7ii7ig the Helm, 129

lives, Kke to continue doing so to the
end. Taking the world round, however,
I beKeve there is a charm to the bulk
of men in even the idea of sitting
down at peace under the shadow of their
own viae and their own fig-tree, which
women entii-ely fail to understand."

" "We have no chance of getting tired of
action, certainly," remarked Miss Myrton.

" That is precisely the evil of a woman's
position," chimed in Mrs. Sinclair.

^'Well, I do not know why you should
consider it an evil," Frank replied. '"For
my part, I think a little inaction would suit
me remarkably well. It is possible for a
soldier to have too much of fighting, and
though no man ought to grumble at his
business or profession, still it seems inex-
plicable to me, who have not found my fight
easy, how it is that those who can sit at
home at ease should find fault with any
dispensation of Providence which enables

them to do so." And having plainly stated
VOL. I. e:

130 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

this opinion, and given his wife what she
figuratively called a slap in the face with it,
Mr. Sinclair bade Miss Myrton '"'- Good-bye,"
and went out for his customary evening
stroll, in which pleasant thoughts did not
always bear him company.

Once again he had failed in carrying his
point. What the end of it all was to be he
could not even imagine.

Had he not shrunk from laying bare his
domestic concerns to the gaze of other
people, he would have spoken on the sub-
ject to his father-in-law, and requested his
advice ; but Frank was too loyal and too
chivalrous to make complaints about the
woman he had married; and besides, he
argued, if he could not manage his own wife,
who should be able to manage her for him ?

Unrestrained, however, by any such deli-
cate scruples, Mrs. Sinclair, the moment the
door closed behind her husband, commenced
pouring her grievances into her friend's sym-
pathetic ear ; and the ladies talked the matter

Resigning the Helm, 131

over, and then turned it and talked it again,
till it was proved more conclusively than ever
that poor Bella was most miserably united
to an inconsiderate and possibly profligate
male, '' who, very probably, my dear,"
finished Miss Myrton, ^^ spends nearly all
the money he makes in gambling, or worse
— for men are all alike."

"And then their wives and families suffer,"
argued Bella ; and yet even as she spoke her
conscience, though not over-sensitive, ex-
perienced a twinge. Memory and sense
could not always be lulled into forgetfulness
of patient kindness — of tender forbearance
— of slights borne patiently — of a life
which might have been happier and more
profitable, but for her.

" It is a great pity," went on Miss Myrton,
" you have no male relation in London, who
could look a little after the interests of you
and your children. A wife is so completely
in her husband's power that he may waste
-all his money, and leave her and his family

132 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

paupers ; " and so the wretched woman ran
on, inculcating the modern doctrine — which
had not in those days become an acknow-
ledged religion — that the interests of man
and wife can ever be, except in most ex-
ceptional cases, dissimilar ; that it is needful
for the law, or for friends, or for male or
female relatives, to intervene between the
woman and the guardian she voluntarily
selected for herself.

And Bella Sinclair listened and believed,
and pictured to herself an hour when possibly
she and her children might have to return
penniless to the paternal roof, because of"
Frank's incompetence to manage his busi-
ness, or recklessness in spending the profits
he derived from it.

But this particular vision Mrs. Sinclair
refrained from confiding to her husband
immediately. Perhaps she had a doubt as
to how it might be received by him, and it is
possible she would never have revealed the
spirit of prophecy with which she had been.

Resigning the Helm. 133

suddenly gifted, had Frank agreed to her
. going out of town in August for the second
time in one season, and provided money for
capacious lodgings at an expensive sea-side
resort.

^' No," he said; "if you want country
air you can go to Mulford ; you know your
mother has written over and over again,
asking you and the children to spend a
month at the Eectory ; and I think you
ought to accept the invitation, as it is two
years since you have been there. However,
if you do not wish to see your parents,
please yourself; only I am determined not
to spend another hundred pounds merely for
the food of sea-side leeches."

Then the storm broke, and that un-
happily in Miss Myrton's presence. '' He
could spend fast enough if he wanted it for
his own extravagance. Yes — she was not
the only person who suspected how the
profits of the business went — other people
could not avoid seeing how he grudged

134 Fra7ik Sinclair's Wife,

every sixpence which Tras needful for wife
or child. It was all nonsense talking about
short of money. Every one knew that per-
sons in business could get as much as they
desired."

According to Mrs. Sinclair, that was
the counterbalance against the vulgarity
of trade, and the reason why girls of good,
family were induced to accept City suitors.

Honestly she believed the City to be a
sort of bank, with stores of gold, into which
a man had but to dip his hand and take out
what he wanted.

" It must be one thing or another,"
finished Mrs. Sinclair. '^You are either
incompetent to manage your business, or
else the money goes into other channels.
You will never make me believe that there
is any necessity for this , constant pinching,
and grudging, and cheese-paring."

" If that be your opinion, then," said her
husband, ^'for the future you and your
friends had better take the conduct of affairs ;

Resigning the Hebn. 135

for it is not right that, if I be either such a
fool or such a scoundrel as they and you
make me out, I should retain the reins.
There," he added, producing out a bunch of
keys and flinging them passionately on the
table, '-'- you had better go to the office to-
morrow, and make all future arrangements
for yourself. As for me, if it had not been
for the children I should have gone right
away to Australia years ago. It is enough
for a man to bear the worry of business
during the day, without coming back to such
a wretched apology for a home as this.''

^^ What a funny idea ! " said Miss Myrton,
who, having raised the storm, was somewhat
alarmed at its violence, and thought it good
policy to treat the quarrel as a jest. ^' I
think it would be rather amusing to play at
business for a day."

^' It shall be for more than a day," Mr.
Sinclair replied, ^^ or else the whole concern
shall go to the dogs. As my wife is so
clever, she shall have an opportunity of

136 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

exercising her particular gift, or else of starv-
ing ; for I swear I will never voluntarily go
into the City again until she tells me she
finds she has made a mistake, and done me
the most gross injustice a woman can put
upon a man."

"You attach too much importance to
what Mrs. Sinclair said,'' observed Miss
Myrton in her new character of peace maker.

" No, he does not," interposed that lady
sharply. "I meant it, every word. I
would not have married had I thought it
ever could have come to this."

"I will not recriminate," her husband
answered; "but neither will I draw back.
Keep the keys, go down to the office, and
do what you like. You can rummage my
papers as much as you please, but you will
find no love-letters or betting-books amongst
them. It is high time there was some
change, and if you think you and your
friends can do better for yourself and the
children than I have done, in God's name

Resigning the Helm. 137

take the helm. Only remember that what
I have said I mean. I will never resume
the conduct of affairs, until you tell me
you are as sick of responsibility as I have
been for this many and many a day ; " having
announced which agreeable resolution, Mr.
Sinclair walked out of the room and the
house.

" My dear, you have gone too far," said
Miss Myrton.

Perhaps for the moment Mrs. Sinclair
thought so also, for her face was very white
as she arose and, taking up the keys, put
them in her pocket.

I3S

CHAPTEE XI.

PLAYING WITH EDGED TOOLS.

When, next morning, Frank Sinclair awoke,,
it was with the impression that something
disagreeable had occurred, which would
have immediately to be faced ; but directly
after he decided it must be Sunday morning, .
and the reason which caused him to arrive at
this conclusion was that he heard a stir and*
rustle in his wife's dressing-room, sugges-
tive of the donning of gorgeous apparel.

Not given to early rising when it might,
perhaps, have proved a satisfaction to her
husband, Eella always on Sundays displayed
a fearful activity, and therefore for a
moment Frank decided it must be that

Playing with Edged Tools. 139

one morning in the week when he and his
wife walked forth together. Such pleasant
experiences as a companion for a couple of
miles on his way to the office, or a familiar
face meeting him on his return from the
City and taking his arm as a matter of right
and love whilst they strolled back together,
were things of the past and long ago. Even
that Arcadian sun had shone but for a very
brief period, and after the first few weeks
had set altogether.

It was only for a moment, however,
that Frank imagined Sunday had come
round again. Almost as he heard the rustle
of his wife's skirts the events of the previous
evening recurred to his memory. He re-
membered Bella's words, he recalled his
own ; the moment when, like a gauntlet of
old, he flung down his keys, was reproduced
for his benefit; he recollected telling his
wife to take the management of afiairs, and
behold — ^but it never could be — she had
determined to keep him to his word.

140 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

Frank pulled down his watch, and looked
at the hands. It was precisely half-past
:seven. He held the watch to his ear. It
was going, and his eyes had not deceived
Tiim. He raised himself on his elbow and
looked through the half-open door of the
dressing-room. There he beheld a vision as
of a woman arrayed in purple and fine
linen. At this point Frank Sinclair lay
down again and thought.

She had taken a burst of passion for the
-declaration of a settled opinion, and elected
to abide by it. She had done a marvellous
thing, at least so he considered — risen in
the morning in the same mind as she closed
her eyes at night. She really believed him
to be incompetent, herself capable of man-
aging a business ; and, not out of any undue
feeling of vanity, but merely because he
■could not understand such utter non-com-
prehension of life's difficulties, Frank almost
laughed aloud at the idea.

Could such insanity really exist? the man

Playing zvith Edged Tools. 141

asked himself; for, after all, his experiences
of the humours of humanity were limited,
and he did not then quite grasp the fact
that if there are a hundred men preaching
sermons, doing their best to keep businesses
together, wi'iting books, painting pictures,
designing new inventions, there are a thou-
sand men who honestly believe they could
preach better sermons, make larger sums
out of business, write more successful books,,
paint finer pictures than those who have
made such things the employment of their
lives.

It is so easy, theoretically, friend, to
manage your neighbour's affairs better than
he does ; there is nothing at all difficult in
driving mentally through crowded streets
whilst another man holds the reins, which of
course you could manipulate better. If only
you had the editorship of some one of our
magazines, you would speedily raise the cir-
culation from thousands to tens of thousands ;
and if Smythe would kindly give you his

14-2 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

chance — let you, in effect, step into the
business he has made in the sweat of his
Lrow — ^you could retire on a quarter of a
million within five years.

Which is all very well ; only, perhaps, if
you had the management of your friend's
affairs, you would land him in the Gazette
hefore many months were over, as certainly
as you would come to grief in the City, if
you were to undertake to charioteer your-
self through it.

Hitherto Frank Sinclair had scarcely
viewed his wife's opinions from a serious
point of view. Her temper, her manage-
ment— or rather want of management —
her selfishness, her unreasonableness, had
annoyed him sorely ; but he had never
realised until now that his wife considered
him a mere cumberer of the ground — a
mere obstacle between herself and opu-
leiice.

^^ It is because she knows no better," he
thought. " One day will sicken her : let

Playing with Edged Tools. 143

lier go. If such, be her opinion, it is well
she should prove its fallacy." And straight-
ivay he rose and dressed, and descended to
the dining-room, where Mrs. Sinclair was
partaking of hot tea and toast, ham, eggs,
and other edibles.

^^This is a change," said the master of
the household, seating himself opposite his
wife. ''My dear Bella, how did you get
the servants up? "

'' Oh ! I told them it was necessary I
should be away early," answered his wife ;
to which he retorted mentally —

'' Was it not a pity you never told them
I must be away early ? " — forgetful, or per-
haps unconscious, of the fact that women
work by fits and starts; for which reason
it may be that their labour is ''never done,"
while " men's work is from sun to sun."

" What a lovely morning ! " Mrs. Sinclair
remarked. She was in quite a conversa-
tional mood.

" Exquisite," answered Frank ; but still,

144 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

the beauty of the morning did not strike
him with any sense of novelty, for he had
been able to admire many such whilst his
wife's eyes were closed in slumber.

*^ I must run away and put on my bon-
net," she suggested, standing in the door-
way.

Many a time afterwards he saw her stand-
ing thus, with just a shadow of expectancy
— ^just a trace of fear in her face. Did she
wish him to remonstrate ? Frank could not
tell. The game had begun : how would it
end?

He walked to the window, and looked
out, thinking the while whether he should
permit this folly to continue, or tell his
wife there had already been too much of it.
If she really thought he were incompetent,
or a rogue, was not it better she should have
an opportunity of proving or disproving her
suspicions ?

Let her go for the one day, at all events.
Let her take his keys, and read his letters,

Playing with Edged Tools, 145

and look over his papers, and ransack his
drawers. Let her see, for once, what life
in an office was like. Perhaps there might
be peace between them after such an expe-
rience. At all events, her temper was already
improved. Yes, he mentally, in cool blood,
repeated the resolution he had made in his
anger the preceding night. She would not
be inclined, he felt confident, to rise at such
an unwonted hour a second time; but before
he resumed the reins she should confess the
extent of her injustice, and some clear under-
standing should also be arrived at concern-
ing their future life.

He would take advantage of this oppor-
tunity, and, after letting her weary of her
own way, endeavour to put matters on a
more satisfactory footing than had yet been
established between them.

Clearly enough he now saw where his mis-
take had been from the first. He had given
in to his wife's fancies, petted, humoured,
pampered her till, like a spoiled child, she

VOL. T. L

146 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

did not know what she wanted, and could
find no better amusement than quarrelling
with a man who had for so long a time
refused to quarrel with her in return.

Yes, she should go. '^ She will return at
night," he said to himself, ^^ weary and
humble enough. She will give me back
my keys, and say she does not think a
man's life so pleasant a one after all."

Thus Frank reasoned, forgetting that none
of the annoyance of business would be at
all likely to cross her path. She would be
exempt from anxiety, from care, from fear,
because utterly ignorant of there being
cause for any one of the three. Tired she
might return, but enlightened certainly not.
But the man could not foresee all this, and
perhaps if he had foreseen he would still
have permitted her to continue in the road
she seemed to desire to travel.

It was with a sense of satisfaction that
Mr. Sinclair noticed the utter unsuitability
of his wife's dress for the role she intended

Playing with Edged Tools, 147

to adopt. Had she been about to pay a
morning visit at the town house of the Dean
of Eingleton, or to join a pic-nic organised
by the Honourable Mrs. Clace, she could
scarcely have arrayed herself with greater
magnificence.

" You will get your dress into a mess, I
am afraid, in my dusty office," said Frank,
as he walked with her to the outer gate.

'^ Oh ! no," answered Bella, smiling gra-
ciously ; " I shall have all that put to rights,
now."

^^ Good Heavens ! " thought her husband ;
but he held his peace, and just then the
omnibus appearing, he put her into it.

^^ Good-bye," she said, and held out her
hand almost affectionately.

" Good-bye," he answered, and clasped
her fingers in his.

After that the conductor banged the door,
and Frank, having watched the omnibus out
of sight, walked slowly back into the house
and sat down in the dining-room to thmk,

L 2

148 Fra7ik Sinclair's Wife.

until interrupted by the entrance of his
eldest child, who came to ask —

^' Is it really, really true, papa, you are
going to stay at home for a whole day ? "

" Yes, Minnie, I intend doing so."

^' And please, dear papa, may we have a
holiday ? "

" I imagined it was always holiday with
you," he said.

" Not quite," she answered ; ^^ I have to
practice my scales, and draw blocks, and
teach the little ones to spell — Patty is in
two syllables."

" And what are you but a little one ? "
he asked.

" Oh, papa ! " Miss Minnie exclaimed
reproachfully, and then she flung her arms
round his neck and asked him again for the
coveted holiday.

^^ It shall be as you like, dear," he replied.

" And will you take us for a walk ? "

^' What, all of you ? " her father remon-
strated.

Playing with Edged Tools, 149

^^ I do not mean, of course, the baby," she
explained, ^'for he would soon get tired,
or even Harry; but me, and Tom, and
Susie."

'''- And where shall we go ? "

'^ Go ? oh, anywhere ! " and she ran away
clapping her hands, and calling out at the
top of her voice, '' Tom, Susie, we are going
out with papa I "

'^ Surely," considered Mr. Sinclair, ^^ this
is not such a miserable sort of existence,
after all, that Bella should declare it insup-
portable, and envy me the drudgery of my
City life. However, she will not, I fancy,
care to repeat to-day's experiment, and I
then really must talk to her seriously.
Poor Bella! I wish we could understand
each other better. Now the pecuniary anx-
ieties are at rest, how happy we might be ! "

And so, never doubting but that the day
would end Mrs. Sinclair's aspirations after
a business career, Frank set himself
thoroughly to enjoy his holiday. He took

150 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

the three children to Eichmond, where they
all ate '^ maids of honour," and roamed
about for hours.

Had it not been for thoughts of his wife,
and a certain pity he could not help feeling
for the mortification he believed she was
preparing for herself, he would have been
perfectly happy, and even as it was he
could answer Minnie's question, whether he
did not feel ever so much better for his
holiday, in the affirmative.

For he did feel better and younger for
the change, slight though it had been ;
and it was not until he came again within
sight of his own house that the old dull,
gloomy feeling crept over him once more.
Life in Briant View Terrace did not seem
so cheerful an ajffair as it had done amongst
the pleasant Eichmond meadows — existence,
with the prospect of his wife returning
home tired and cross after her self-imposed
task, was not exactly the same thing as it
appeared while listening to his children's

Playing with Edged Tools. 151

prattle as they walked beside the ^' silvery
Thames."

But when Mrs. Sinclair returned, a first
glance at her face dispelled Frank's appre-
hensions with regard to a stormy evening.
She had a great deal to say, and said it.
She asked Frank how he had amused him-
self; and when, in tui'n, he inquired if she
were not very tired, she said cheerfully —

" Xo ; I have done nothing to tire me.
I only looked over some of your papers,
to put them in order, and answered a whole
tribe of letters I found you had left with-
out reply. It seems to me that you cannot
have been a very regular correspondent."

At which assertion Frank smiled. He
could have told of reams of letters written,
and copied, and posted. He could have
told stories of that last hour before six
o'clock, which might have appalled any
person less fond of pen and ink than his
wife ; but her passion was correspondence.
She wrote and crossed and recrossed epistles ;

152 Frank Si7iclair^s Wife.

filled quire after quire of note paper with,
details of events not worth recording, of
gossip not worth repeating; and Mr. Sin-
clair knew it was in vain to tell her that
perhaps the hardest work of a business
man's life is replying in wiiting to the
mass of inquires which each morning's post,
ay, and each succeeding post, brings with it.

'^ Did you keep copies of your letters ? "
he asked.

"No. Your head clerk there — what is
his name ? — said something about copying
them ; but I had used the wrong ink, and
of course it was not worth while writing
the whole of them over again."

"I do not suppose it will signify," said
Frank, with a little unconscious irony.

'^ There was nothing in them of the slight-
est consequence," she replied, which made
her husband laugh in spite of himself, as
he answered —

'^Perhaps that may have been the reason
they were left without reply."

Playing zmth Edged Tools. 153

To wtLich '' sarcasm," as Miss Myrton
would have called it, Mrs. Sinclair deigned
no answer. '

'^ You have had enough of the City, I
should think, Bella,'' her husband remarked,
after a pause.

'^Enough of the City!" she repeated;
" why, I have but just begun to go to it."

' ' And of course you never wish to go
there again ; that is what all ladies say."

*' That may be what the ladies you know
say ; but I say, having once received your
authority, I intend to go to the City till I
have got things a little into order."

''Till you have got what?"

" Till I. — have — got — things — a — little
into — order," she said, laying a distinct
emphasis on each word.

For a moment Frank paused, then he
began —

"It is quite time, Bella, that you and I
came to a thorough understanding. I have
tried to consider to-day's escapade a joke — "

154 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

^' Oh ! you have," she interrupted.

^* But now," he went on, unheeding, ^^I
want to know whether all this be a matter
of conviction or of temper."

^^ It may be a matter of temper on your
part ; it is one of conviction on mine," said
Mrs. Sinclair.

'^ That is to state in plain English," he
replied, '^you consider I am unable to
manage my own business, and that you
are able to manage it."

" If you like to word it so — yes."

'^ And that you — a woman, a wife, a
mother — really desire to take my place be-
cause of my supposed incapacity."

'^ I want anything which shall make our
home happier," she answered.

'' And God knows so do I," he argued.
^^ Then it comes to this— that you are to be
the man, and I the woman ; that you are
to do my work — for I swear we shall not
both do it ; that you are willing to turn
out in all weathers, to meet all sorts of

Playing with Edged Tools.

people, to endure all sorts of unpleasant-
ness; and I am to remain at home, to
manage the cook and the housemaid, to see
that the children learn their lessons, and
that the doctor is duly sent for if one of
them eyince any signs of feverishness."

" That is the work to which you would
doom us women," she said.

'' Then in Heaven's name take men's
work, and see how you like it," he retorted.
'^ I will never try to baulk your fancy
again. Do you know, Bella," he went on,
with a forced laugh, " all this folly of ours
reminds me of a story I once heard about a
Mr. and Mrs. Gourley, who could not agree.
She always — figuratively, of course — desired
to wear a portion of his garments, to which
he naturally enough objected. Well, to
cut a long story short, one morning he got
up, and, putting on her clothes, said, ' Now,
Mrs. Gourley, before sunset we must decide
whether I am to be you or myself ; ' and
while the controversy waxed warm, a knock

156 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

oame, which was answered by the master of
the house himself.

^'^Can I see Mr. Gourley?' asked the
visitor.

'^ ^ No, I do not think you can at present,'
was the reply.

<< ^ Why, surely you are Mr. Gourley ? '
said the other.

^' ' I am not certain for the moment who
I am,' answered Mr. Gourley, * but if you
come back this afternoon I may be able
to answer youi' question.'

^^ He came back in the afternoon — "

''And?" questioned Mrs. Sincliar.

''Mr. Gourley was Mr. Gourley once
again ; and Mrs. Gourley, Mrs. Gourley
stiU."

" What a foolish story ! " said the
lady.

"Yes, my dear," was the answer; '* there
are a great many foolish stories, and foolish
people, about in the world still."

" That there certainly are, particularly

Playing with Edged Tools. 157

the latter," said Mrs. Sinclair, as she rose
to light a chamber candle.

'^ Then you are quite determined to con-
tinue going to the office ? " said Mr. Sin-
clair.

^^ Quite, as you have goaded me on to
this point — unless you wish to withdraw
your permission."

^' Oh ! no," he answered. ^^When I go
to the City again you shall ask me to do
so — be quite satisfied on that point, Bella."

And yet ten minutes after he was anathe-
matising his own obstinacy and his own
folly. " She will tire," he comforted him-
self by thinking, " in a day or two, and
be very glad for me to take her place."

But the days went by, and still she did
not ask him to take her place, and showed
no sign of either weariness or distrust.

158

CHAPTER XII.

MR. SINCLAIE's DIAEY.

Aeout this time a very remarkable thing
occurred. Mr. Sinclair commenced keeping
a diary, and from it for the future extracts
shall be given. The opening paragraphs
reveal its raison d?etre, Mr. Sinclair's
volume commenced as follows : —

'^ A month ago, had any one told me I
should ever write a journal, I should have
laughed the idea to scorn. I always thought
it was an occupation only fit for girls, child-
less wives, and hopeless spinsters ; and
yet, here am I, strong in body, sound in

Mr. Sinclair's Diary. 159

limb, who ought to be in the City looking
after the interests of myself and family,
sitting in this cool room like a Sybarite,
with flowers near, and sunshine all around
me, inditing just for want of something to
do and some one to talk to — not indeed a
goodly matter, but a chronicle of such small
beer as is brewed in the course of my daily
life.

^^It is not a bad life as times go. If I
could get over the absurdity of my anoma-
lous position, and feel assured that things in
the City were not going to the dogs, I
should rather like it. Suppose some decent
fellow, now, somebody whom I do not know
— for in the first place decent fellows are
rare, and decent fellows blessed with
fortunes are still rarer — were to give or
leave me ten thousand pounds on condition
of my leading so purely simple an existence,
I could do it without grumbling ; but, then,
not having the ten thousand pounds makes
all the difference.

l6o Frank Sinclair's Wife.

^^This is not much like a diary, I am
afraid ; at least it is not at all like the thing
I kept in the City. In that I know there
is: 13th— See Jones 12 o'clock. 14th—
Meeting of Creditors re Eobinson. 15th —
Smith's promissory note. 16th — Own ac-
ceptance, and so forth. But that is not a
diary exactly ; it is a series of memoranda
of disagreeable events which are to be — not
a chronicle of events that have occurred. A
man I know in the City could tell me where
he dined any day for the last twenty years,
and he has preserved the menu of every
grand banquet of which he has partaken for
a similar period ; but that is not keeping a
diary. A lady who used to visit me has a
record of how she spent each evening since
she was eighteen, we wiU say; and, according
to her dates, she must now be three-and-
thirty. If one may believe that diary, she
has met or seen every person worth meeting
or seeing, and can tell one what they wore
and what they said. But that is not a diary

Mr. Sinclair's Diary. i6i

precisely — at least, it is a diary only of the
thoughts, speeches, and feelings of other
persons, not of one's own. A true diary, it
seems to me, would be that of a fellow who
commenced keeping it when he could speak,
and got some one else to write it for him
till he learned to make pot-hooks for himself.
I wish babies could keep diaries ; I should
like to know what they think about.

^' Well, here am I, as I have said, writing
a history, which I mean to read some day to
Bella, when she has come to her senses. By
that time, possibly, it will be the only article
of property left to us. If I could go back
and prevent her making such an incredible
idiot of herself, should I prevent it ? No, I
think not. It was, perhaps, quite time she
went to the City and I stayed at home.
The place where ruin is wrought signifies
but little. If she do not ruin me at the
office, she would certainly have done so
here.
' '^ I have been at home, now, for six days.

VOL. I. M

1 62 Frank Sinclair^ s Wife.

Speaking correctly, this is the sixth — Tues-
day. The first day I took the children to
Eichmond. The second, I went with them
to Greenwich. Saturday, in order to place
myself in funds to sustain the siege my wife
evidently intends to maintain, I went to
a broker in Broad Street, and directed him
to sell out a few shares I held in a certain
unprofitable little company, that has never
yet paid anybody connected with it three
per cent. The result of that sale I saw in
yesterday's Times (I treat myself now to the
Times^ at a penny an hour). The shares are
down a quarter; so at this juncture I am
glad it was I who sold, and not somebody
else. I mean, when I get the proceeds, to
open a fresh banking account — perhaps at
the savings bank — and so place myself in
an independent position as regards house-
keeping.

'' I hope I never made housekeeping or
pocket or pin money unpleasant to Bella. I
do not think I should like to have to ask her

Mr. Sinclair's Diary. 163

for daily supplies ; and yet I am aware my
omitting to do so is filling her mind with the
darkest suspicions as to my former probity.

'^ ^ People cannot go to Eichmond and
Greenwich for nothing,' she argues, I have
no doubt, ^ and he must, therefore, have had
a large amount stored away, of which I
knew nothing.' "Well, Bella, the day may
come when you will know me better — the
day has come in which I know you better,
and the knowledge is not quite agreeable.

^' Being left in charge of an establishment,
I had an idea — possibly erroneous — that I
ought to look after it a little, and conse-
quently inquired yesterday for the trades-
men's weekly bills.

'' 'Missus don't have any,' answered the
housemaid.

" ' Well, but there must be some bills
this week, because I have paid for nothing,'
I said, my conscience accusing me the
while that I had been less careful than my
wife.

M 'I

164 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

'^ ^ If you please, sir, I think they run to
the end of the quarter,' was the woman's
reply.

'^ Hearing which, I ascertained the names
of the tradespeople, and sallied out to ask
for a statement of our general indebtedness.

" "When a woman has a certain sum per
week entrusted to her in order to pay
butcher, and baker, and candlestick maker,
I think she ought to pay them ; but that is,
I am aware, a mere matter of opinion. This
is one of the many advantages of being a
wife. Had Arabella been my housekeeper,
I certainly should have been entitled to give
her in charge for misappropriation.

^^ But I must not condemn her unheard.
Here are the bills — not pleasant to look
upon. The butcher's, a series of hiero-
glyphics, the only intelligible thing in the
business being the sum total; the milk-
man's, which he ekes out with halfpennies
as largely as he does his milk with water ;
the baker, who out of quarterns has con-

Mr. Sinclair's Diary. 165

structed an edifice of debt almost as big as
the Pyramids; the greengrocer, who deals
likewise in oranges and nuts, fresh straw-
berries, and fruit for preserving, and who
seems, if his statement be correct, not yet to
have received remuneration for the mistletoe
under which I kissed nobody last Christmas
Day, and the holly which adorned our
drawing-room mirror, to the serious detri-
ment of a new satin paper.

^^ There are others likewise. Here is a
very dirty envelope, the seal of which is wet
and clammy, and as I draw forth the paper
it seems to be redolent of shrimps. Gracious
Heaven ! "When could we — when did we —
eat all this fish? Whilst as for the coal
merchant, it is a simple impossibility that
our modest household ever consumed this
amount of fuel.

^^Poor Bella! If she had such a series
of Damocles' swords hanging over her head,
I do not wonder at her temper being a trifle
sour.

1 66 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

" "WTiat ought I to do ? Accept the bills
as correct and pay them, or ask her about
them ? Certainly not the latter. She must
never be able to say I could not manage the
house as well as she can manage the office,
and so far she has not condescended to ask
me a question. I informed her, indeed, that
no money ought to be paid to any one until
after the fifth, when a heavy bill would have
to be provided for ; but she has treated my
suggestion with indifference — at least so
McLean, whom I have requested to call or
write no more on business, informed me.

'' Perhaps she may have had as cogent
reasons for not paying these gentry, as I for
not heeding the smaller fry of duns till the
great wolf was satisfied ; but of course her
reasons cannot affect me. Better clear all off,
and begin de novo^ on a strictly cash system.
Then I shall see what a style of living by
no means princely or luxurious really costs.
At present it strikes me that, by comparison,
lodging-house life is economy itself.

Mr, Sinclair'' s Diary, i6

^' As for Bella, emphatically the City suits
her admirably. Her temper is diyine ; her
appetite excellent. The way in which she
rises morning after morning at the first tap of
Catharine's knuckles fills me with a terrible
surprise, not to say envy ; and what amazes
me still more is the way in which Catharine
and Anna Maria arise also. To be sure, I have
ascertained that they take it in turn to pre-
pare breakfast, and that when Catharine comes
down Anna Maria returns to her couch —
which is an admirable arrangement, though
one, I should have imagined, scarcely con-
templated by Mrs. Sinclair when they were
engaged. Purther, Elizabeth, the nursery-
maid, has the kitchen fire always lighted
for them, and the kettle on, by the time
they come down, and they lay the breakfast
things over-night, so the hardship is reduced
to a minimum.

" However, that early rising is a hardship
no one can deny. Even Arabella has, I
fancy, some idea of the kind. She yawns

1 68 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

frequently now at breakfast, and does not
say much about the beauty of the morning.

"I wonder when she will tire of it — or
rather confess she is tired of it. One thing
I do know, however : even when she is
heartily disgusted with the City — as I would
to Heaven she were now — I will interfere a
little more in the expenditure here than I
have ever done. I will not have such
another array as this marshalled before me.
I thought we might have been extravagant ;
but imagined we had, at least, paid our way.
It seems in this I was mistaken. Moral:
In how many things may one be mistaken ?

" Wednesday. — Before paying the accounts
referred to in yesterday's chronicle, I ex-
amined a few of the items — notably those
charged on Thursday, Friday, Saturday —
and have come to the conclusion that if the
goods so charged ever arrived on the pre-
mises, they were not consumed there. What
confirms me in the latter opinion is, that
when a sirloin of beef which did duty on

Mr, Sinclair^ Diary. 169

Sunday hot, re-appeared on Monday cold, it
was but a wreck of its former self.

^^ So far I have made no observations ; but
observations concerning the children's din-
ner have been made to me, and yet of my
own personal knowledge I can state that
their mid-day repast consisted on Monday of
boiled mutton and a huge plum pie, of both
of which dishes I partook, not without
relish. Fui'ther, there have been dark allu-
sions to a cat, which I generally see either
in the embrace of Susie, or else fast asleep
on a mat in the conservatory. Cats, I be-
lieve, are addicted to thieving, but I never
yet heard of one that had a penchant for
brandy and water, or even a glass of wine,
and yet these articles diminish unaccountably.

'•'• Perhaf)S our cat is an abnormal creature,
and tipples when no one is by. If this be
the case all I can say is, spite of her demure
looks, she must be the most deceitful of her
sex. However, time proves most things,
and supposing I ever detect puss sipping

lyo Franh Sinclair s Wife.

intoxicating liquor from a decanter, having
previously taken out the stopper to facilitate
arrangements, I shall certainly set up a
show in the front garden, and invite the
superfluous sixpences of all passers-by. .

*' Meanwhile, Bella still goes to the City.
She does not like, I fancy, being remarked
as a ^ regular passenger,' so now we walk
down the road till we strike a fresh line of
omnibuses, by one of which she proceeds to
her destination. !N'ot a sentence about busi-
ness have I heard for a whole week, I have
not opened a letter, I have not asked a
question, I have not had any confidence re-
posed in me. McLean came up to tell me
there would not be enough money to meet
AUington's bill, as Mrs. Sinclair was paying
every one who asked for cash the?' most per-
sistently ; but I informed him I had left
everything to her management, and did not
want to be troubled about business again at
present.

'' The look of pity on the fellow's face

Mr. Sinclair s Diary, 171

would have been absurd had it not been so
genuine. Clearly he thinks I have lost my
senses. The neighbours imagine I am ill ;
seeing me lounging about the garden, and
walking with the children at unwonted
hours, they have arrived at the conclusion
that something is the matter with my
health, and some half-a-dozen have sent
cards and kind inquiries, and even gone the
length of stopping Minnie in the street to
ask whether her papa be ill, and what is the
matter with him.

*^Here, likewise, is a letter I have just
received —

" 'Southampton, August 18tli.
" * Dear Sinclair, — I cannot tell you how dis-
tressed I was to hear of your illness from McLean.
What is wrong ? I fear it must be something serious
to necessitate your staying at home for so long a time.
Had I not been compelled to leave for Guernsey to-
night, I should have run up to see you. I heard
Mrs. Sinclair was in town, and called at the officer-
but she was out, and I could not wait for her return.
If I can be of any service, pray command me.
" * Tours faithfully,

"*E. Vaeham.'

172 Frank Sinclair s Wife,

^^I wonder what he thinks is the matter
with me. Softening of the brain, possibly.
Hardening of the heart would be nearer the
mark. Oh ! to think of all I hoped, of all
I expected, of the happy home-picture I
drew for myself in the garden at Mulford !

*^And yet, perhaps, I am scarcely right
io think myself a fool ; for if I am one, I am
only one in company with the wisest and
strongest of men. Was not Adam but as a
reed in the hands of Eve ? And why should
I blame myself for not being cleverer than
the greatest historical characters since the
Creation ?

" Why indeed ? But I am placed in a
more difficult position than any of them — at
least, so it seems to me — and that makes me,
perhaps, too severe on my own want of
moral courage. Adam had no house to
manage. Samson pulled one about the ears
of his persecutors. Solomon took to berail-
ing men, women, and circumstances; but
no man with whom I am acquainted, in the

Mr, Sinclair s Diary, 173

whole range of sacred or profane story, was
ever left at home with a house and servants
and five small children on his hands, whilst
his wife, who had never managed her own
establishment, undertook to manage his
ajffairs.

'' Heaven send me safe through it ! To-
morrow I think I shall make a trial trip to
the basement, and see what is going on in
the kitchen. It will not be a nice expedi-
tion, but it may be necessary for all that.

'^ * Papa,' says Susie, climbing on my
knee at this juncture, ^what is a Molly
Coddle, and who is Mr. Paul Pry ? '

^' "With a dreadful prevision of what was
to follow, I answered, ^ A Molly Coddle, my
dear, is a philanthropist towards himself and
his own wants ; and Mr. Paul Pry is a
kindly sort of person, who takes a great in-
terest in the welfare of his friends and
neighbours.'

*^ '- Then that is what Catharine says you
are,' said my candid darling, laying her rosy

174 Frank Sinclair s Wife,

cheek on my shoulder, and looking up into
my face with her great blue eyes.

^' Clearly, the fact that children should be
taught to honour their father and mother
has formed no part of Catharine's educa-
tion."

^75

CHAPTER XIII.

FROM ANOTHER SIDE.

''My dearest Millicext (thus Mrs. Sin-
xilair, who wrote long letters instead of a
diary — there are some women who do so,
just as there are some women happily who
do neither), you will be anxious to hear all
about my proceedings, and I therefore,
having finished my morning's work, devote
the remainder of this lovely forenoon to you,

'^ How I envy you, dear independent
creature, who can go here and there without
being controlled by either circumstances or
home ties ! Take my advice, and never
marry. I say this, although Frank has been

176 Fra7ik Sinclairh Wife,

amiability itself since I have put my
shoulder to the wheel. IN'o doubt he felt
himself unequal for the work — entre nous^ he
ought to have been the woman, I the man.
He has just the quality of mind which
delights in looking after small details. I
have heard of persons who could do anything,
from tying a shoe-string to calculating the
coming of a comet ; but for my part, I do
not believe such legends. It must be shoe-
string or comet, of that I am quite certain.

*' Well, my dear, but this is digressing,
and I have so much to say, and so little space
to say it in. Whilst you are luxuriating
beside the glorious sea, here am I writing to
you from a City office, to which I have
come regularly every day (Sunday, of course,
excepted) for a whole week. Thank you
for your kind answer to my little note
telling you I had got into harness.

" The office is not at all dingy — indeed, it
is much more cheerful than many a sitting-
room ; and I have had it thoroughly cleaned
and put to rights.

From Allot her Side. 177

'' How Frank ever was able to find his
papers, I cannot imagine — bnt then, what
would a man's shelves and drawers be like
at home, if a woman were not always at
hand to make things tidy ?

^^ From where T sit there is a glimpse of
the Thames, looking bright and silvery in
the sunshine, and there is nothing in all
this City life which seems dull and dreary,
as men try to make it out. Indeed, could I
walk into oijier offices, and make and do
business like a man, I think a commercial
career must be very exciting and pleasant •
but in the ipresent imperfect state of society,
a woman can do nothing b'd bear the burdens
man places on her shoulders. I hope I am
effecting a little good here, however. The
clerks, particularly one McLean, seem to
be most industrious and anxious. You can
easily understand that until I came to the
office they never comprehended the import-
ance of constant and devoted attention.

^^Mr. McLean, indeed, rather bores me

VOL. I. N

178 FranJz Sinclair'* s Wife.

with advice, but I make allowances for over-
zeal.

'^ Do you know, I rise now quite early, and
feel the better for it ? Whilst you, luxu-
rious creature, are sipping the cup of coffee
Finette brings you or reading pleasant letters
from friends, I am travelling by omnibus to
the City.

'* I do not now come by what I used to
call Frank's omnibus, as I found the gentle-
men were beginning to regard me as a
'regular passenger,' and wished to establish
a speaking acquaintance on the strength of
the fact. I very much dislike the omnibus
journey, however, by any route. I meet
many girls and women going to City ware-
houses and workrooms, and I cannot say
they have confirmed my idea concerning the
glorious future in store for our sex.

'^ Ah, my dear, how sadly has female
education been neglected ! I assure you
these poor creatures have not an idea beyond
dress, admiration, and amusement. When

From Another Side. 179

a gentleman gets into the omnibus it is quite
pitiable to see the conscious looks of even
very plain girls, who giggle and bite their
lips, and whisper to each other, as if a
husband were the one tiling needful,

^' I am afraid many of them think he is.
How will it be ten years after marriage ?
How indeed !

^' Every morning Frank walks with me to
the omnibus. At first he made some little
opposition to my taking his place, but that
has now quite ceased. The children and he
seem perfectly happy together, but the ser-
vants naturally do not like my absence or
his interference.

"They have been much more attentive
lately, however. I think it touches them
seeing how hard / have to work : at all
events, I never am obliged to wait one
second for my breakfast, and you remember
how poor Frank used to complain of having
to go without any — hut then men are so im-
patient,

N 2

i8o Frank Sinclair's Wife.

^' Do you know, dear, since I came here I
have paid away nearly one thousand pounds.
It seems a great deal of money, does it not ?
The interest would be fifty pounds a year
for life, so you see I must have been right,
and that the business is a good one if only
properly managed.

'' There was one poor man to whom I
paid two hundred and fifty pounds. He
assured me with tears in his eyes that he
had been trying to get that amount from Mr.
Sinclair for six months without avail, and
that the payment would preserve him from
bankruptcy.

^' He took my hand in both of his and
blessed me. And now, just to show you what
men are, even the best of them, when Mr.
McLean came in he was quite put out at
the poor man having been paid. He said he
was a swindler and a hypocrite, and told
me in so many words that I shoujd bring
destruction on the business.

^'He is always talking about some stupid

From Another Side, i8i

payment on the fifth, as thougli, when a
thousand pounds has been raised in so short
a time, there would not be plenty to meet a
dozen payments between this and the fifth.
If it were not that Erank is now so kind
and good, and devotes himself so completely
to my amusement and comfort, I could
shriek aloud when I think of the manner in
which he used grudgingly to give me five
pounds.

" Why, fifty times ^^^ would be nothing
out of such a business, properly managed.
Yesterday I bought the sweetest dress you
ever beheld, and a wonderful bargain in
checked silk for the girls; but do you
know, I have not yet had courage to take
the parcel home. Last week I ordered a
new bonnet, and Frank said —

" * Ah ! I thought the City would soon
take the gloss off that splendid lilac affair.'

" Of course he meant it for a sneer —
because men never can understand how
unsuitable a woman's dress is, if she be

1 82 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

intended to do actual work ; and in con-
sequence I do not like to send home the
dresses. I have locked them up in a cup-
board, for when Mr. McLean saw the label
he groaned — actually groaned, my dear !

"You will laugh when I tell you the
part of City life I dislike most — having to
live on sandwiches. The first day I had
nothing but a Bath bun and a strawberry
ice ; the next, a biscuit and a little lemon-
ade ; the third, I took Mr. McLean into my
confidence, told him I was a very poor
breakfast-eater, and had always been accus-
tomed to take luncheon when my children
had their dinner in the middle of the day.
I think that touched him — men are so stupid
about children, although they will not sacri-
fice anything for them — and he actually
undertook to get me a chop.

" Shall I ever forget that chop ? It was
brought in on a hot- water dish, and stoam in
grease, which had saturated the potatoes.
There were besides a thick lump of bread^

From Another Side, 183

a salt-cellar without a spoon, a japanned
pepper-castor, a knife "with a black handle,
and a steel fork.

" If I add that the tray was covered with
a soiled cloth, you may imagine the appe-
tising nature of the repast.

"This is the direct effect of man's pre-
sence. Each day I see Mr, McLean par-
taking with relish of just such a meal, so
served.

'-'- Of course, I could not touch the dainty
repast, and have ever since brought some
sandwiches with me. But sandwiches are
apt to grow monotonous.

"Since I wrote the first part of this
letter, there has been a great upset at home.
Frank, like all men hasty, discharged the
cook, and the housemaid discharged herself.

''''Imagine my feelings when I entered one
evening to find both servants gone, and no
one save an ignorant girl in charge of the
establishment. I remonstrated, but of

184 F'rank Sinclair's Wife,

course imavailingly. I proposed to make
peace, T whose household was always peace-
ful, but was met with the assurance that I
could not do two things. I could not
manage a business in the City and my
servants at home as well.

^^I said ^I thought I could,' but Frank,
with almost a sneer, said, ' l^o, the thing
is impossible. Either you must be Mrs.
Gourley,' he remarked, referring to that
horrid story, '- or I must ; and if you elect
to return to be Mrs. Gourley, I shall expect
the establishment to be much better man-
aged than heretofore. I cannot afford to feed
a dozen families out of my income.'

'^Having uttered which nasty jeer, he
went out for a walk with Minnie ; and while
I was crying ready to break my heart in the
drawing-room, Susie came up to my chair,
and said, ^ Mamma, you are not one-half so
nice as papa.' I could not help slapping
her. Eeally children are as ungrateful as
adults. And then she began to cry, and

From Another Side. 185

say she would tell her papa; and she did
tell him, but he only remarked aggravat-
ingly—

^^ '- You are mistaken, Susie, I am not one-
half so nice as your mamma ; I indulge you
too much, and it is not well for children to
be indulged.'

^^ ^ I think it is well for me,' Susie said,
and then she drew up quite close to him, far
as possible from me — and I have always
tried to be so kind to my children. Haven't
I, dear Millicent ?

"I do not really think any woman was
ever so sadly placed as I. No one seems to
sympathise with me, except you, dearest.
You understand my trouble and my position.
Fancy five children and an utterly incom-
petent husband — amiable, but powerless to
avert misfortune or mantain a position !
What will be the result of all this ? Shall
I be able to put things on a more satisfactory
footing, or are they hopeless ? To be sure, I
must say that, spite of poor Frank's neglect.

1 86 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

the business appears healthy, and capable of
much extension.

^* Judging from the tone of his corre-
spondents, he has not answered letters
regularly; and I trust, therefore, that
much business will follow from my own
punctuality. "Wish me success, dear, and
believe me ever yours affectionately,

'^A. Sinclair."

To which Mrs. Sinclair received the
following reply : —

^' Dearest, — How I feel for your sad lot !
It is indeed lamentable to consider Jiow the
very best women are those most severely
tried. Would I were near you now to help ;
or, if I could not help, to condole, or perhaps
better, say, sympathise.

*'When I think of it, I really have no
patience; though, indeed, even at the risk
of offending you, I must say again, I fancy
you went a little tiny bit too far that night.

From Ariother Side, 187

Mr. Sinclair felt your remarks, I could see
clearly ; and although they were quite true,
it was natural he should feel them — possibly
on that very account.

''But then, I have not patience to think
of you — dear, high-spirited, energetic, cou-
rageous creature that you are — being placed
in such a position. The fact of your ability
to manage his business more ably than your
husband, is surely no reason why you ought
to be compelled to do so ; and he is com-
pelling you, I clearly see. How he can
bear your going about in those horrid
omnibuses by yourself baffles my compre-
hension-— amongst all kinds of men and
women too !

'' Oh, you poor thing ! I could cry when
I think about you — and when am I now
doing anything else ?

''If I am walking, I say mentally, 'How
dear Bella would enjoy this ! ' When I am
looking at the sweet, familiar sea, I imagine
your delight were you gazing at it also.

Frank Sinclair's Wife.

When I am out for a drive, I consider how
much good the bracing air would do you,
poor darling ; and when I come home from
my morning dip, I think, ^ What a deal of
good sea-bathing would do that dear child ! '
But it is of no use wishing, is it, love ? If
wishing could bring you here, I should see
the door open and you enter at this
moment.

^'Some day, perhaps, we may hope to
enjoy this lovely place together. Mean-
while, you too will want to know something
of my daily life. Eeally, dear, it seems to
me that since I came here I have done
nothing save eat, sleep, bathe, amuse my-
self, and talk !

^^ When I think of your industry I blush.
We make up a pleasant party, though it is
€omposed of incongruous materials. First
there is Mrs. Hantrey, our hostess — cer-
tainly one of the most charming women I
ever met. So far as I know she has only a
single fault : she is devoted to a plain, heavy,

From Another Side. 189

stupid husband; laughs at his tiresome
jokes ; humours his singular fancies ; and,
although it is of course impossible she can
really do so, professes to believe there is no
one like him on earth. Then we have an
astronomer, who talks of little excepting
Saturn; an author with a dreadful wife
(why is it that nice men marry such horrid
women, and vice versa F) ; a girl who writes
melancholy poetry, and thinks some day she
may attain to the unhappiness of Mrs.
Hemans, or end tragically like L. E. L. —
that is her idea of perfect bliss ; a lad who
has a charming voice, and sings exquisitely,
and likes, I fancy — he ^not being really one
bit sentimental — to see tears in the eyes of
those w/io have eaten of Ufe'^s fennel ; a widow
from the Sister Isle, with neither money nor
beauty, but possessed of plenty of mother-
wit, and apt at repartee; together with a
Mr. Munro, a very clever barrister, complete
oair party.

"The latter gentleman holds the most

190 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

advanced and correct ideas on the subject of
women's capabilities, of any person — male or
female — I remember to have heard speak on
the subject. There is only one point on
which we disagree. He says, ' There is
nothing man could not make of woman;
there is no height to which he might not
elevate her, if he set himself heartily to the
work.'

"Now 1 say, * There is nothing woman
could not make of herself; there is no
height to which she might not rise, were
she only true to herself — faithful to her
noble origin.'

'^You, dear, have done — you have been
this. I so often speak of your noble self-
denial — of your brave abnegation of social
rules.

" He longs to know you : he declares you
must be a * perfect woman,' and of course,
dear, I declare you are not — being utterly
disloyal to you ! ! !

"Write constantly, and tell me all about

From Another Side. 191

everything. I was so amused with your
description of the domestic rebellion. Mr.
Munro was intensely delighted to find yon
had hit off one weakness of his sex capitally
— viz., their belief in being able to perform
women's duties better than women them-
selves. And you, dear, and your servants
always got on so capitally, and they seemed
so devoted to you. But there, I must say
no more, or I may vex you ; for after all, are
you not married, and is not your husband
the first to you ?

^^ And now, dearest, good-bye. Write as
often as you can, and give me one of your
charming naive letters whenever it is
possible.

^^ Always your lovingly attached

'^M. Myeton."

192

CHAPTEE XIV.

AN INTERRUPTED SOIREE.

Letters are ghosts, or rather accusing
witnesses. They photograph our thoughts,
our troubles, our wishes, our joys, our sins ;
and which of these things are pleasant in
the retrospect? IS'ot the likeness of our
thoughts, for they are dead and gone ; not
that of our troubles, bearing an impression
we love not to remember ; not that of our
wishes, which, whether gratified or ungra-
tified, are our wishes no longer ; not that of
our sins, which turn no lovely faces to us
now. No : letters should be written on the
sand of the sea-shore, for the next high tide
to wash away from sight and memory.

An Interrupted Soiree. 193

First cousins, perhaps, to the grains of
sand are post-cards, since one might imagine
little of importance could be retained on
them. Yet some people possess such ex-
quisite tact, and have such small reluctance
to wear their hearts where daws may peck,
that they will dun for that five pounds, or
indicate where the wound festers on an
open memorandum, to save a halfpenny. It
always delights me to hear of these people
having used two cards for the purpose ; that
is to say, they write the address on one side,
and the matter on the other, and then, be-
hold, the things have stuck together, and
the reverse of each is blank, and the missive
has cost just a penny !

But the post-card, with all its capability
in some hands for giving present annoyance,
never can in the future raise such ghosts,
recall such skeletons, as old letters. Take a
bundle of your own', carefully hoarded by
some acquaintance too fondly attached to
friends and old relics to destroy one of the

VOL I. 0

194 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

valuable documents, and what do you think
of the feelings, sentiments, fears, hopes,
therein expressed !

Or pick out at random, from a long un-
used cabinet, letters you placed there in
years gone by. Do you think the people
who were not afraid to write would care to
read them?

There came a day, I know, when Mrs.
Sinclair, finding a package of epistles crossed
and recrossed, tied up with pink ribbon,
and labelled " M. Myrton," flung it intact
into the fire ; but that little feat of temper
was far from her thoughts in the golden
summer time of which I am writing.

" I fear " — so Frank's diary proceeds,
after the remark already quoted concerning
Catharine and Susie — '^ I shall never be
able to keep a diary so regularly as I kept
my books ; and if it be not kept regularly,
of course it cannot be a diary. Shall I make
it a weekly affair, as some people do their

An Interrupted Soiree. 195

Tiousehold bills, or bring it out with the
magazines ? If I am to do it at all, I fancy
I bad better try to keep the thing properly;
for, after all, events are like expenditure.
It is difficult to remember the items after
the lapse of twenty-four hours. What a
thing habit is ! When I was in business
and went to the City every day, I should as
soon have thought of keeping a diary as of
omitting to balance my cash ; and now I
never balance my cash, and I keep a diary
or at least attempt to do so, and feel uncom-
fortable at having made no entry for three
days.

" What is the last event recorded? — Oh !
that I was considered a Molly Coddle and a
Paul Pry by my domestics. I say was,
because, although they may remain of the
.same opinion, and probably do, they are
my domestics no longer. It seems strange
to write the word ' my ' in connection with
female servants, but when a man comes to
be mistress of a household, he cannot well

o 2

196 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

help having something to say to those who-
are supposed to be under him.

^' They had never been under my wife,
and that created a diificulty. So long as the
Catharine for the time being took her up
a comfortable breakfast, say, a couple of hours
after my departure, and dressed her hair
properly and made herself tidy — not to add
smart towards the afternoon, when visitors
were expected to call — so long as she failed
in none of these arduous tasks, and the
cook attended regularly to receive orders,,
was clever at pastry and pudding making,
and could serve an omelet, or some outre
dish, to the satisfaction of — well, suppose
the Dean of Eingleton, or the honourable
Mrs. Clace, or Miss Myrton, or any other
favoured mortal whose society my wife
affected, Bella — wisely perhaps — never
troubled herself about minor details.

*^ It was expensive, but then she had not
to pay that expense, and it was easy. As
this diary is, of course, not intended for

An Interrupted Soiree, 197

publication, I may hint, without treason,
that I am afraid my treasure, spite of her
recent early rising and commendable atten-
tion to business, is fond of ease.

^^ That may, however, to quote Miss
Myrton, be only my ' male want of apprecia-
tion.'

^^ Sometimes these very clever women have
a curious elliptical way of expressing them-
selves— and yet not elliptical, so far as I am
concerned, for I have not the remotest idea
■ of what Miss Myrton generally thinks she
means.

^^!N'o human being can imagine the satis-
faction I feel at Miss Myrton' s absence ; the
only drawback being, she is certain not to
remain absent for ever. I wonder whether
my wife has written to her an account of
the servants' defection, and if so, what she
said — whether she gave the true, unvar-
nished narrative with which I furnished her,
or one taken from the feminine and imagina-
tive point of view. It is said that faces have

198 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

a * mother's side : ' I am sure facts have a
woman's side ; but this is beside the ques-
tion.

"The departure of tbe cook and house-
maid occurred in this wise : — After much
exercise of spirit and a greater trial of cou-
rage than I ever had experienced, even when
going to ask my bankers to discount a bill,
I at length descended into the front kitchen.
It was an accident which ultimately decided
me to do this ; but I had for days been tell-
ing myself that if I ever were to make a
good mistress, I ought, once at all events,
to visit my domestics' own particular do-
main.

** Whether I ever should have carried out
this, intention, however, had I not — want-
ing a glass of water — rung seven times for
it without the slightest notice being taken
of the bell, is doubtful; but as the water
did not come to me, I determined to go to
the water.

"As I went down the stairs I heard,

An Interrupted Soiree. 199

through the closely-shut door, a murmur as
of many people talking, and when I turned
the handle and entered, I beheld a spectacle
which might not have surprised Bella, but
which certainly startled me.

" On the table, covered with a fair white
cloth, were spread the various delicacies of
the season. A cool and refreshing salad
occupied the post of honour beside the re-
mains of a noble sirloin of beef. There was
a portion of a cold ham (I made my observa-
tions subsequently, and at my leisure);
there were preserves, fresh butter, new
bread ; a lobster — the gift, I have reason to
believe, of a gi-ateful fishmonger, for it
never was charged to, or paid for by, me ;
radishes, red and white, water-cresses — a
contribution, likewise, of a grateful green-
grocer ; periwinkles — the gift of one of the
guests, who had carried those dainties all
the way from Hatton Garden (it is a strange
idiosyncrasy of female domestics that if they
have the fat of the land and the increase

200 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

thereof, they still crave for water-cresses
and periwinkles) ; there was a plum tart ;
there was a great jug of ale that I am con-
fident had been often replenished during the
previous half-hour ; there was likewise a tea-
tray, on which stood our silver teapot, ewer,
and sugar-basin ; and altogether the repast
seemed inviting.

'^ Around the festive board were seated
three men and four women, exclusive of the
members of our own modest establishment.

^^ The cook presided over the tea-table
department, whilst the housemaid was press-
ing raspberry jam on the notice of a reluctant
swain.

" Into this group, I fell, so to speak, like
a shell; but I did not explode, although
the assembled company seemed as much
frightened as if I had been composed of
combustible materials.

^^ At once they all rose to their legs
whilst a little beast of a dog, which I
always detested, from under shelter of the

An Interrupted Soiree, 201

•cook's chair, set up a series of the most
frightful yelpings I ever heard.

^^ ^ Would you be good enough to give me
a glass of water ? ' I said to Catharine. ' I
have rung seven times.'

'^^Yes, sir; I will bring it up in a
moment, sir,' answered Catharine, and
rushed off to fetch it.

^^ ' Thank you,' I said ; ^ but as I should
be sorry to disturb so pleasant a party, I
will wait and take it myself. I hope, sir,' I
added, turning to the principal male figure
in the foreground, ' everything is as you like
it, and that you want fomothing ? '

^' ^ Thank ye,' he replied ; ' the beef is a
:first-rate cut, and the beer topping.'

'-'-'' I am delighted to hear it ' I was

beginning, when the cook, whose former
experiences had probably made her ac-
quainted with all the ins and outs of such
poor devices as mine, broke in with —

^^ ' No, sir, you ain't delighted a bit, and
it ain't no use a- trying a-gammoning of me,'

202 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

— ^there was a suspicious-looking square
bottle near her, wliicli had hitherto escaped
my notice, but which connected with her
thick utterance suggested gin — ^ I have lived
all along with respectable families who knew
what was what until now, and who would
have scorned such poking and prying ways,
such underminded things as for gentlemen,
gentlemen indeed ! to come down spying out
the nakedness of the land.'

"^ My good friend,' I remonstrated, 4t
seems to me that this land is certainly not
barren.'

^^ ^ Call yourself a gentleman indeed!'
she repeated, ^ and grudging 'poor servants,
as is up early and late a-working for your
pleasure, the society of their friends once
and away ! '

*' ^ You are quite welcome to the society
of your friends,' I replied, ' and your friends
are quite welcome to the poor refreshment
my larder affords, but it will be for the last
time in my house.'

An Interrupted Soiree, 203

'-^ ^ Yes, just hark at him, and he calls his-
self a gentleman ! ' the woman shrieked out.

*^ * You clever soul, when did you ever
hear me make such an assertion ? ' I retorted.
^ I have to work harder than any of you,
and to pay a great deal more ; and the po-
pular idea of a gentleman is some one who
does nothing and walks about with his hands
in his pockets. I dare say some of your
friends have done both things ere now, and
so are much more of gentlemen than I.
However, I wish you all a very pleasant
evening, and am sorry I interrupted its
enjoyment.'

*^ But she would not be appeased. Moved
thereto partly by the knowledge that Fate,
represented by myself, was walking towards
her ; partly by the presence of her friends ;
partly by reminiscences of my wife's cowardly
conduct in presence of a real foe ; and greatly
by the stimulant of — tea, shall we say ? —
she recommenced.

204

CHAPTER XV.

THE END OF THE SOmEE.

^' ^ Calls hisself a gentleman ! ' said the
cook.

" ^ My good woman,' I said, ' in that re-
spect, as I have before stated, you are quite
mistaken.'

*' ^ Good woman ! ' she repeated hysteri-
cally. All this time that wretched dog was
barking, and the company standing, and the
tea — if they wanted any — cooling. ' Good
woman ! '

" ' Is there another term which you think
would suit better ? ' I inquired.

^ ^ ' And he calls hisself a gentleman ! '

The End of the Soiree, 205

she persisted. * You call yourself a master ?
Why, the very dog barks at you. You
who could not feed your family, but had to
let your wife, sweet lady ! go and work her
fingers to the bone. Master, indeed ! '

"^IS"©, you mistake,' was my reply, ^I
am now your mistress, and do not mind the
dog in the least. When you are quite dis-
engaged, but not till then, I should like to
have five minutes' talk with you. Good
afternoon,' I added, speaking to the assem-
bled company, who were all standing staring
and gaping as a street crowd stares and
gapes when a horse is down, or a man run
over, or a pickpocket collared ; ^ and I wish
you a pleasant evening.'

'^ With which benevolent hope — so, at
least, it seemed to me — I was leaving the
room, when between me and the door inter-
vened the cook.

^^ She was not an agreeable sight at that
moment to contemplate. The weather was
warm, and she not cool. The sun inclined

2o6 Frayik StJiclair's Wife,

one to be thirsty, and she had drunk water
and something else. At the best of times
she had never seemed to me a desirable
person ; but now she seemed something
more undesirable still.

^'Dressed in her best, she nevertheless
looked a dowdy. Her cap was awry ; her
l)rooch had come unfastened; her sleeves,
for the purpose of convenience, had been
turned back, leaving her large wrists with-
out a particle of merciful shading. Her
face was red, its expression angry. Well,
even the life of a mistress of a household is
not all couleur de rose. The dolce far niente
of a woman's life had hitherto seemed very
pleasant; but now I was, in addition, to
have experience of it^ for titer in re,

" ^ If you please, sir, just one word before
you go ; I don't want no five minutes' talk
with you, nor no two minutes neither, nor
lialf a minute, if you come to that. And
you don't hope we shall spend a pleasant
evening; having, with your nasty, mean,

The E7id of the Soiree. 207

■spying, poking, underminded ways, made
sure it should be quite the other thing.
-Drawing-rooms is for gentlefolks, and kitch-
ings is for poor creatures who has to earn
their bread in the sweat of their brows;
and when gentlefolks, as they call their-
«elves, comes down into kitchings and de-
means theirselves looking after candle-ends
and cheeseparings, so to speak, it is time
servants told masters to suit theirselves,
because they do not intend to stay another
iour under the same roof.'

^' ^ You have said exactly what I intended
saying to you, though I should scarcely
have spoken before your friends. And now
that we perfectly understand each other,
perhaps you will give them their tea.'

^^ ^ I shall give it, or I sha'n't give it,
just as I like. Who are you that you should
come a interfering when a acquaintance
drops in promiscuous? Your dear lady
would never so have demeaned herself. From
iveek's end to week's end she never put her

2o8 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

foot inside tKis here kitching; she never
inquired after bare bones that dogs could
not have got a toothful off ; she never went
a poking after her tradespeople, nor a sus-
pecting her faithful servants. She is a lady,,
she is, that it were a pleasure to serve.'

•^ ^ "Well,' I answered, 'I hope you will
get just such another mistress,' and I made
another step towards the door, hoping to
end the controversy.

" ' Ah ! that's another of your nasty
sneers,' the half- tipsy wretch shrieked out.
^ Catharine, have you not a word to say
when you see your friend so put upon?
Are you a-going to stay on in a house where
things has come to such a pass ? or do you
intend to speak up, and tell Mr. Francis
Sinclair, Esquire, that you ain't a-going to
put up with his arbitrary ways, since as-
]iow — thank heaven so be ! — you beant his
wife ?'

•' ^ I certainly shall not stay in a place
where there is no cook,' answered Catharine
loftily and yet, as it struck me, uneasily.

The End of the Soiree. 209

"^Yery well,' I remarked; ^ come up-
stairs wlien your friends are gone, and you
shall have your wages.'

'-'- ' And arrears,' suggested the cook, with
an emphasis which filled me with unspeak-
able apprehensions.

'' ' Any arrears that may be due to you
shall be paid after I haye spoken to Mrs.
Sinclair,' I replied; and the way being
more clear, I passed out of the kitchen,
hearing as I went —

^^'And won't Mrs. Sinclair like to be
asked about the arrears — won't she just ? '

*^ That remark decided me. Straight up-
stairs I went to the nursery, where Eliza-
beth was trying to lull the cries of our latest
blessing.

"^Elizabeth,' I said, ^have you a
mother ? '

^^ * No, sir, nor yet a father,' she answered
briskly. ' I have only an aunt as goes out
nussing and charing.'

" ' Could she come here for a few days ? '

VOL. I. P

2IO Frank Sinclair^ s Wife,

^' ^ Here, sir — to this house ?' and Eliza-
beth looked dubious.

*' ^ Yes,' I said; ^ the cook and housemaid
have given me warning, and we must have
some one; and I thought if you had a
mother, or aunt, or anybody '

'^ ' Oh, sir ! ' cried the girl, ' let me try.
I am not up to much, but I could do more
if I was let. I can make the fires, and boil
the kettle, and get the breakfast; and I
could get the early and late dinner — I know
I could ; and, sir, there have been dreadful
goings on here, and it will be a good day
for us all when some people leave ; but don't
ask me to bring aunt — I will do it all my-
self till you are suited, if you will only let
me.'

'' ' Then you do not want to leave also ? '
I suggested.

" ' Leave, sir ! I do not know where I
should lay my head if you turned me out,
for I would never — never go to my aunt.
I would rather be dead — I would indeed.'

The E7id of the Soiree, 211

^' Slightly comforted — for, my knowledge
of eyenyery plain cooking being limited, I felt
relieyed to know breakfast and dinner could
be prepared without my help — I descended
to the drawing-room, where Catharine soon
joined me.

" During the interyal which had elapsed
between my exit from the kitchen and her
appearance up-stairs, she must haye taken
thought to many things — notably that, al-
though work in any form is objectionable,
her work in our house was not excessiye \
that she was not debarred from occasional
tender interyiews and pleasant strolls with
the then loyer of her choice ; that our
yisitors were not illiberal; that my wife
gaye away her old-fashioned dresses, and
new-fashioned ones too, instead of selling
them ; and that, if I were a drawback to -^
the happiness of the Briant Yiew Terrace
household, I was yet not more of a drawback
than many another master she might chance
to encounter.

p 2

212 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

^' Further, I suspect she thought to ad-
vance her prospects, or in other words, to
have her wages raised, for she began —

^' ^ I have just come up, sir, to offer to
stay till you can suit yourself. It would
be hard for my mistress to return home
and not find a servant here to do a hand's
turn for her.'

^^ ^ It is very kind of you,' I answered,
' but I am suited.'

^^ And when I said that the ^ superior
young woman's ' face was a sight to behold.

^^ ^ You do not wish us to leave to-night,
sir, though, I suppose ? ' she remarked.

** ^ If your friends have gone, so that you
are both quite at liberty to attend to such
small matters, I wish you and the cook to
pack up your boxes, and be out of this house
within one hour ; by that time I trust Mrs.
Sinclair will have returned, and I can then
ascertain what is owing to you.'

^'^As for that,' Catharine declared, ^she
could tell me as much about that as Mrs.

The End of the Soiree. 213

Sinclair. She had put it all down in a
book.'

" And the book, which being produced
turned out to be ^ The Good Servant's In-
structor,' proved conclusively enough to me
that during the past year Catharine had
received about six months' wages.

^' Not uplifted by this discovery, I ven-
tured to inquire if Catharine could inform
me how the cook's pecuniary matters stood.

^^ ' Yes, she had kept her account on the
back of an old valentine.'

^^ And having been favoured with a sight
of this document, I walked out to the shop
of our nearest tradesman in order to get
change for a twenty- pound note.

*' When I returned, the cook opened the
door and accosted me with a series of sen-
tences which I gathered to mean : ' Did I
want to see their boxes packed ? Did I want
to be sure they had not the plate — plate
indeed ! — stowed away in their trunks ?
Should I like to turn out their pockets?

214 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

Did I intend to accuse her of robbery be-
cause there was a dress Mrs. Sinclair had
given her among her things? Would I
come up into their bedroom and bring a
policeman with me? — it might save the
trouble of sending one after them the next
day.'

" ^My good woman,' I answered, ^ it is
very kind of you to suggest all this ; but
the only real want I have at the present
moment is, that you lock your boxes with
all speed, take your wages, and go.'

'^^And about their wages; she should
expect her month, and board-wages into the
bargain.'

^^ '- You shall have your wages till to-day,'
I answered ; ^ and if I hear any more non-
sense from you, I shall go for a policeman
to see you off my premises.'

^^ ^ Well, then, about a character.'

" ^ You can refer any one you like to me,'
I replied. ^ There can be no objection to
that.'

The End of the Soiree 215

'^Apparently, in all her experience she
had never heard of a bad character being
given, for she retreated up-stairs seemingly-
satisfied ; and about half an hour afterwards
she and Catharine, and three of their friends
who had waited, so they said, ^ to see them
through it,' drove off in a cab, laden with
luggage — which cab the beer-boy, providen-
tially coming in the very nick of time, had
brought for them from a neighbouring stand.

^'•I feared the return of my beloved — •
must I confess it ? — even though right as
well as might was certainly on my side. I
dreaded the domestic storm that I fancied
must ensue when Bella discovered the de-
cided step I had taken.

^^But here again I proved wrong in my
forebodings.

^'When I told Arabella there were no
servants, that there was no dinner, and but
small prospect of supper, my darling only
answered, with a smile of conscious superi-
ority—

2i6 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

'' ' "Well, dear, I suppose I can have a
cup of tea; or if not, let us go out for a
walk.'

'^ Here was an example held up to me,
and I am not ashamed to say I felt grateful
for her clemency; but then — oh! forgive
me, Bella — I could not quite forget.''

217

CHAPTER XYI.

THE PLEASURES OF HOUSEKEEPING.

" Taking it as a whole, when a man becomes
the mistress of a domestic establishment, he
finds there are drawbacks to the pleasure of
his position.

^' Until I descended to the basement, and
disturbed that pleasant little party, my life
had not been totally unenviable ; but from
the moment the cook drove off, waving her
handkerchief at the house in drunken de-
fiance, I have experienced a sense of defeat
which it would be impossible to describe in
words.

'' Bella's amiability also did not, para-

2l8 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

doxical as it may seem, render me more
comfortable. Life in the City appeared to
be going on charmingly with her, while life
in Briant View Terrace was progressing
anything but smoothly with me. It was, of
course, easy for me to say mentally that the
whole fault commenced with Bella ; but this
proposition, though true, failed to console as
it should have done, since I could not avoid
acknowledging, after two days' experience
of our 'help,' that economy may be bought
at too high a price, and that even an occa-
sional party in the kitchen, and a liberal use
of intoxicating liquors, may be more con-
ducive to comfort than the most rigid virtue,
if incompetent to cook a chop.

" The next morning, after the evacuation
of the premises by cook and housemaid, the
young nurse contrived to burn the toast, to
boil the eggs hard as bullets, and to bring
up the tea tasting very strongly of smoke.
I sat wretched, remembering Bella's fast of
the previous night ; and she made me more

The Pleasures of Housekeeping, 219

wretched by saying it did not matter in the
least, and that the girl would do better in
time.

'''- If she had only been so amiable with
me in the days departed ! I considered.
But then again, I considered, I had not been
so amiable as she ; I remembered swearing
at our then Catharine, banging the hall door
after me, and walking forth to calm my
temper, when a repast was not to be had ;
and now, under worse circumstances, Bella
only smiled, and said, ^!N'ever mind, dear,'
and so drove me to the verge of distraction.

^^Had I told her formerly ^not to mind,'
she would have obeyed me literally.

^^ The girl certainly did her best — but
then that best was very bad indeed; and
get a suitable servant, or rather pair of
servants, I could not. IN'aturally, respect-
able women objected to me as a mistress,
and those who might have been willing to
overlook that drawback did not strike me as
being desirable servants.

220 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

^^I asked the tradespeople, I went to
registry offices. I saw people, and places,
and phases of character I had never before
conceived had an existence. I advertised,
I answered advertisements, all in vain.
Two or three of our neighbours, wanting, I
presume, to get rid of their own servants,
kindly sent them in to me, and half Eliza-
beth's time was taken up in answering the
door, and replying to the questions of would-
be candidates, who looked contemptuously
at her face and hands, which were, I regret
to say, in a chronic state of black lead and
perspiration

"Were it not for exposing my relations
with Bella, I should write to Mrs. St. Clair,
and request her to find me a staid and
respectable person. Under the circum-
stances, however, this is impossible; I
cannot let it be known at Mulford that
Bella and I have changed sexes — that she
is now a man, and I a woman ; and that we
have changed natures as well, since she is

The Pleasures of Housekeeping, 221

now amiability itself, and I — well, the less
I say about my own feelings and temper the
better.

" But for very pride I should ask Bella to
find me one servant, at all events ; and
seeing my perplexity, I think she might
offer her assistance in the matter. How-
ever, she does not, and I am at length
driven to accept the services of a ^ professed'
cook, who charges for her services ten and
sixpence a week, with beer ad lihitum^ and
five meals a day.

'' When I observe that this worthy woman
sleeps at home, and is supposed to have
breakfasted before she comes in the morning,
and to sup after she leaves at night, it will
be understood that her appetite is fairly
good.

^'Let me not be ungrateful, however, to
Mrs. Eudge — that is her name. Never
before have the children rejoiced in such
puddings, tarts, and sweetmeats — never
before have I sat down to dinners so admir-

222 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

ably cooked, at so moderate an expense.
It may be — indeed, I know it is, that Mrs.
Eudge annexes small articles from our
larder, but tben she takes very good care
that no other person has the chance of doing
so.

^'- Farther, between her and the trades-
people there wages a war which, I believe,
no laying down of arms on either side could
permanently end.

" ITot an article that comes to the house
pleases her. The mutton is always too fat
or too lean, the sirloins have not sufficient
of the under-cut, the fowls are ^ poor things
— just like eating money,' the fruit is half
rotten, the butter rank, the milk short
measure, and thin even beyond the wont of
London milk, the vegetables are stale, and
the oilman's goods nothing but trash.

^^ So at least I hear Mrs. Eudge stating at
the side gate — though I am bound to add,
none of the articles are beneath the notice of
that lady when she wishes to carry them

The Pleastcres of Housekeeping, 22^

home. The farce she makes of asking my
permission before she makes up her little
private bundle is really admirable.

"Up-stairs she comes with a piece of
plum-tart, or possibly the fag-end of a
fowl on an immense dish, and asks whether,
as the item is too small to serve up again for
the mid-day dinner, she may take it home
for Eudge.

'' Eudge, being in delicate health, likes,
so his wife says, to ^pick a bit' — meaning
thereby that he is partial to scraps of bread-
pudding, cupfuls of soup, the tails of soles,
cold vegetables, and such like.

" Of course I well understand that, under
cover of these gifts, Mrs. Eudge takes home
other ai-ticles which are not gifts ; but my
courage has so evaporated, that were I to de-
tect her making away with the appetising
morsel I had intended for my adored one's
dinner, I should only go out and secure
another morsel equally inviting.

" The woman can cook ; and, after all, one

2 24 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

virtue in a woman covers a multitude of
sins. My Eella declares such, cutlets never
were served, and I must say I think Bella
understands such things. For myself I like
steaks, and Mrs. Eudge sends them up to
perfection.

'-'- But there are drawbacks. For example,
Mrs. Eudge likes to take her orders direct,
and she generally takes them in a bonnet.
Before me now I see the woman, elderly,
hungry-looking, clad in black, severe, un-
suggestive of cleanliness, unappetising.
Morning after morning she applies her
knuckles to the breakfast-room door, and
says when she enters —

** ^ About dinner, sir V

^^ On my word, I have scarcely got over
the pang of parting from Arabella before
Mrs. Eudge appears. And, unaccustomed
as I am to catering for a family, the ordeal,
especially in warm weather, proves hard.

*^ Before I became the mistress of a house-
hold, I could have sworn there were fifty

The Pleasures of Housekeepmg. 11^

kinds of meat. Now I find them narrowed
to mutton and beef, poultry, game, and fish.
Variety with these materials is out of the
question. After all, the feminine mind may,
in Great Britain, have to contend with diffi-
culties. Why cannot we cure elephant
hams, for instance ? Perhaps if we did we
should not like them. I fancy Mrs. Eudge
would.

^^ I am getting dreadfully weary of the
life : there is no use in trying to make the
best of it. If Bella do not give in, I must
leave London for a time. The absurdity of
the whole affair would be ludicrous, if the
sadness were not still greater.

"Is Bella mad, or am I? Last night
I tried to get her to confess she would like
to remain at home for one day, but she
replied with such an air of superiority, that
I shall not venture on a similar question
again. I wonder how the business really is
going. McLean no doubt really manages
it, letting her believe she is holding the

VOL. I. Q

226 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

reins ; but if this be so, she will never give
in. She will attribute the comparative ease
in money matters, that I have been strug-
gling for years to compass, to her own
superior cleverness, and there is no knowing
when she will find out her error. "What
ought I to do ? Having made the mistake
of beginning wrongly, how am I ever to
rectify it ?

^^ She will not listen to reason, and I can
not apply force. Perhaps my better plan
would be to engage a thoroughly experienced
housekeeper, stop this business craze, and
let Bella take her way, while I take mine.
But then she might object to the house-
keeper— indeed I am sure she would.

*' Will no one tell me what I ought to do ?
Short of emigrating or cutting my throat, I
think I would do anything to end this diffi-
culty. If it were not for the children, I
might know to act. There, I will write no
more to-day.

" Eemembering all I hoped, all I believed.

The Pleasures of Housekeeping, 227

all the fond, foolish dreams I hoped, be-
lieved, and dreamed during my courtship, I
cannot help tears blinding me.

'^I look at the last sentence, which I
wrote three days ago, and hesitate whether
I shall run my pen through it, or whether I
shall let it remain, so that if Eella ever read
this record she may understand how she has
grieved and wounded me. I do not think
she can understand that part of the affair at
all, or surely she would not so gratuitously
have hurt any one's feelings. Better let the
passage stand, perhaps.

''Concerning money matters I am grow-
ing anxious. Last night, for the first time
Bella looked thoughtful and troubled. She
ate little dinner, she fell into reverie, and
seemed, when I spoke to her, to have to
bring her mind back from a distance before
she answered.

'^ Can it be that she has let anything go
wrong with Allington ? Scarcely, I fancy.

Q 2

228 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

McLean knew the importance of that, and
besides, some time has elapsed since the day
his payment was due, and I should have
been certain to hear of it ere now. I asked
her if she were ill, and she said ^ No.' I
asked her if there were anything troubling
her, and she said ^ No,' again. I asked her
if she were tired, and she said ^ A little ;'
that the day had been intensely warm, and
the office close. I asked her if she did not
think she had better remain at home this
morning, for a few hours at all events, and
she said ^ Decidedly not.'

*^ There is something the matter, I am
confident, and of course I shall soon have to
know what it is. Meantime I have my own
especial cause of anxiety. Susie is certainly
ill. I cannot make out what ails the child,
She seems ^peeky,' and languid, and ner-
vous. She is never happy, except when I
have her in my arms. The doctors say she
ought to go out of town ; and I must talk to
Eella about this to-night. If anything went
wrong with her I should break my heart.

The Pleasures of Housekeeping, 229

^'Mrs. Eiidge declares the child's mother
ought to be at home with her; but from
previous observation, unless Bella be greatly
changed, if she were at home she would not
spend much of her time with the children.

" I have spoken to Bella, and she says
that if I want to go out of town I had better
do so ; that it is impossible for her to go ;
that there is not much the matter with
Susie ; that I have indulged her too freely
in cakes and fruit ; that Dr. Hirst is an old
woman; that Susie will be well enough
if no fuss be made over her; and that no
doubt the children are not looked after
properly — indeed, how could I expect it,
with Elizabeth doing the housework, and no
one else in the shape of a servant, except an
old charwoman ?

'* Clearly my beloved was in a very
irritable frame of mind. I wonder what is
the matter. I am quite as certain some-
thing has gone very wrong at the office, as I

230 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

am that Susie is in a very precarious state
of health. I hear her crossing the hall while
I write, and in another moment she will be
beside my chair, saying piteously, 'Take
me up, papa.' "

231

CHAPTER XYII.

FROM IVIES. SINCLAIR.

" My Dearest, — I am in such dreadful
trouble, and where can I go for help save
to you? In whom can I confide except
in you ? This business must have been
wretchedly conducted. How it has been
kept on for so long a time I cannot ima-
gine. Everything is just from hand to
mouth. Frank does not seem to me to have
a thousand pounds in any place. If he have,
it is certainly not at his bank, for — would
you believe it? — there was not enough there
to meet eleven hundred pounds, which had
to be paid on the fifth. The clerk I men-

232 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

tioned in my last letter said I ought not to
have parted with that two hundred and
£% pounds ; but only fancy, dear, two hun-
dred and fifty pounds being of any object in
a business I

" I made some such remark to Mr. McLean,
and he declared he was afraid I should find
it of very great importance; that he felt
confident not merely all trade connection
would cease with Mr. Allington — that is the
name of the gentleman — but that we should
find him ^ very nasty ' (I repeat his expres-
sion) unless the affair was arranged.

^^ I asked him how the affair could be
arranged, and he said, only by paying the
money, and suggested I should see if some
of Frank's business friends could not help
me. I should tell you he had mentioned
this before the fifth, but I rejected the
proposition because, as I assured him, Mr.
Sinclair would not like me to borrow from
strangers.

^^ To this he answered, ' That Mr. Sinclair

From Mrs. Sinclair. 233

would like still less to have irregularities in
his payments, and that had he been fit to
attend to business at all, the thing would not
have happened.'

^^You cannot think how miserable it
makes it for me, the way in which every one
will insist that Frank is ill. When I say he
is well, they reply, with a sort of incredulous
smile, that they are glad to hear it —
delighted.

'-'- 1 spoke to Mr. McLean about this the
other day, as I heard him tell a gentleman
he was afraid Mr. Sinclair was no better,
and asked him what he imagined was the
matter. After a good deal of hesitation, he
answered that he supposed Mr. Sinclair's
head was a little affected.

^'My dear, depend upon it, he thinks
Frank has softening of the brain.

" I have talked a good deal to this person
about the business. He seems devoted to
his employer ; very sorry for me ; though
he mistakes the whole position, and I have

234 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

thought it best not to enlighten him, as
there is no use in telling people everything.
He is clever, too, and has been with Frank
for years. The sum of what he says is
this —

"For ages Frank has been 'paying off'
that dreadful Mr. Varham — with whom,
as I told you, he was once in partner-
ship— and it has clearly left him almost
penniless. The business seems to be car-
ried on with credit; I mean, nothing
appears to be paid for at the time. People
sell things to Frank, and do what Mr.
McLean calls ' draw on him ; ' then Frank
sells these things to other people, and
'draws' on them. It appears to me to be
altogether a muddle, and of course I cannot
put it right all at once. However, dear, not
to tease you with these details, we have
now got enough money to pay this eleven
hundred pounds except one hundred and
sixty, and I want you, you rich thing, to
lend it to me. Mr. McLean says we shall

From Mrs, Sinclair, 235

be having money shortly. I asked him why
we could not wait for ' shortly ; ' but he
says if we do unpleasant consequences may
follow. So, love, I write to you in all con-
fidence.
^ ^^ Most affectionately,

A. Sinclair.
" Mr. Allington has just been here. My
dear, such a man ! But I will tell you
everything to-morrow."

But apparently, on second thoughts, Mrs.
Sinclair could not wait for the morrow,
since that same night she wrote from Briant
Yiew Terrace the following epistle : —

" I cannot rest, dear, without writing to
you once more. Frank seems ill at ease,
and, God knows, so am I.

'^ What with anxieties in the City and
anxieties at home, my life is not worth
having. There are no servants here. Frank,
indeed, has procured a woman able to cook

236 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

very well; but, beyond this, we are dependent
on Elizabeth, the children's nurse. And
Susie is ill, or at least Frank says so, and
the doctor says so, and declares she ought to
go out of town ; and amongst all my troubles
I believe I shall go mad.

^^ In a postscript to my letter of to-day,
I told you Mr. Allington had been. Talk
about men, he was a brute — simply, purely
a brute !

^^ He came into the outer office — I heard
him — and asked to see Mr. Sinclair.

^' ^Mr. Sinclair,' Mr. McLean answered,
^ was not at the office.'

''' ' "Why was he not at his office !'

'' ^ He is ill,' Mr. McLean replied; and I
declare to you, my love, I blessed him in my
heart for that answer. What would he have
said had he known Frank only remained at
home because he felt that he could manage
his business no longer ? Poor Frank !

'''mi What ails him ? '

'' ' Something the matter with his head.'

From Mrs, Sinclair. 237

^^ as he mad?'

^'^ don't know, sir.'

*' ' And who is taking charge ? '

'-'- ' Mrs. Sinclair.'

'-'- ' Why isn't she with her husband ? '

^' '1 hope he is not so bad as that ? '

'^ ' Does she know anything of the busi-
ness ? — but I suppose she don't.'

" • I do not think she knows much,'
answered Mr. McLean.

^^ ^ Mr. Allington,' I said, from the door of
my oflfice at this juncture, ' perhaps you will
kindly walk this way.'

'' I intended to treat him a little loftily,
but it was of no use. The horrid creature
kept on his hat, and after saying, ^ Good
afternoon, ma'am,' plunged both hands
into the depths of his pockets, and com-
menced—

'^ ' Sorry to hear about Mr. Sinclair. Bad
job, ma'am ! '

^* ' Yes,' I answered, wondering what he
would think could he see Frank at that

238 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

moment enjoying himself at home with the
children, as I know he does,

" ' I assure you, ma'am, I find it disagree-
able to haye to speak to a lady on such
matters; but still, you know, business is
business, and money is money. Now, about
that eleven hundred pounds ? '

" ' I have got it all,' I gasped, ^ except
about one hundred and sixty pounds, and
that I expect to have very soon.'

^' ^ How soon ? ' he asked.

*' ' I have written to ask a Mend for it
to-day, and I shall have it, if she be at home,
by return of post.'

" * And if she.be not at home ? '

" ^ But I have every reason to suppose
she is.'

*' ^ What reason, if I may inquire ? '

'^ ' I had a note from her the day before
yesterday,' and then, seeing he did not be-
lieve me — the horrid wretch — I took your
dear three lines out of my pocket and placed
them in his large^ fat hand (forgive the pro-

From Mrs. Sinclair, 239

fanation, but it seemed necessary. I never
thought I should have to do with people who
doubted my word^ and I do think Frank
sometimes must have been tried).

^'He read your loving words out loud,
holding the paper at arm's-length, con-
templating it through a great pair of spec-
tacles that he placed leisurely on his horrid
nose.

*' ' That is the lady, then ? ' he said, when
having finished, he gave me your sweet note
back again, ' from whom you are to have the
money ? '

^' I answered, ' Yes, it was.'

'-'- ' Then, ma'am,' he remarked, ^ I will go
round to the firm who hold your husband's
bill, to ask them to take no steps till to-
morrow afternoon. I think they will do this
for me ; and I hope you will get the money,
and I am sorry to see a lady so situated.'
Having given utterance to which remark, he
held out a hand that reminded me of an
elephant's foot, and took, to my intense

240 Fraiik Sinclair's Wife,

relief, his large, ungainly person out of the
office.

^' When he went out Mr. McLean came
in. Eeally I like that man, he is so re-
spectful, and yet so sympathising. He
wanted to know the result of the inter-
view, and so I told him everything — when
I hoped to get the money, and from
whom.

^^ He looked very grave, and asked if he
should not go round to Mr. Yarham ;
^Because,' he said ^the matter is now be-
coming serious, and if we cannot pay the
amount I am afraid of the consequences.'

•^ 'What consequences ?' I inquired.

^' ' Why, ma'am,' he said, '- they could
take Mr. Sinclair now if they liked. It is
evident they are only holding back because
they are sorry for you and for Mr. Sinclair's
illness.'

'' ' They !— who are they I '

" ' Mr. Allington and his firm. He is the
London partner of a great house in IS'otting-
ham.'

From Mrs, Sinclair, 241

" ^ What do you mean -by ^^ take " Mr.
Sinclair ? ' I asked.

" For a moment lie hesitated, then he said,
* Lock him up.'

^^ ^ Lock him up ! Where ? ' My dear
I was so confused, I mixed up Bedlam and
all sorts of places.

" ' In prison,' was the reply.

'^ * In prison ? ' I almost shrieked. 'What
has he done ? '

" ' Failed to meet his engagements ; in
other words, failed to meet that accept-
ance.'

'^ Dearest, conceive of it ! And Frank
has let such a risk be run ! and these are
men's laws against men ! Can we wonder,
therefore, at their conduct to women ?

" I shall go to bed to-night and dream of
poor Frank lying on straw, and having
chains on his feet and hands. Write, dear-
est, and relieve the frantic anxiety of
'^ Your devoted Friend,

'^ A. SiXCLAIR.
VOL. I. E

242 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

" Only fancy, my dear, if they even
imagined Frank had nothing the matter with
him, save his extraordinary ideas ! Poor
Frank ! Eeally it is all very pitiable, and
he has not a notion of it. I keep the whole
trouble locked away. Would he do so much ?
— or any man ? Poor Frank ? "

It was quite as fortunate for '^ poor Frank,"
in those days, that he had not the remotest
idea of the extent of his wife's consideration.
Latterly he had not slept very well ; but
could he have formed an idea of the way
business had been retrograding and disagree-
able affairs progressing, in the City, he
might not have slept at all.

243

CHAPTEE XYIII.

ME. MCLEAN TO ME. VARHAM.

Happily it is giyen to women to get dread-
fully frightened, but still never perfectly
to understand — that is to say, a woman
takes alarm rapidly, but she is fortunate in
so far as she never grasps the whole of a
trouble at a first glance.

It is customary to talk of a woman's
imagination as vivid ; but if so, it is vivid
only to a limited extent.

If the kitchen chimney be on fire, she
may conjure up visions of flame to the
seventh heaven; but if flames be blazing
to the seventh heaven, she fails to realise

E 2

244 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

blackened walls, roofless homestead and the
silence of despair.

For my own part, I do not believe the
woman ever lived whose imagination en-
abled her thoroughly to realise the meaning,
say, of the single word ^^ruin;" and I can
scarcely credit that even the virtues of an
Act of Parliament will assist her to the
extent indicated.

The feminine mind can picture things in a
dreadful state of excitement, but it fails to
picture them in the state which follows that
excitement. Paris during the siege, with
shells bursting and cannon roaring, it was not
impossible for a woman's imagination to con-
ceive ; but beautiful Paris desolated ; gay
Paris silent ; smiling Paris sitting weeping
amid her own ruins : these things are to her
facts spoken as parables.

]^o doubt, in the good time coming,
women shall have become so like men that
they will be able at once to compass the
meaning of ^^ bankruptcy," ^^ ruin/' "re-

Mr, McLean to Mr, Varha7n. 245

treiiclinient," ^'retirement," as well as nien
can now ; but then they will not be women,
only a smaller sort of man !

Abstract questions of this kind, however,
had no place in Prank Sinclair's meditations.

He was concerned with himself for him-
self— himself, of course, including wife, chil-
dren, reputation. On the one side was
possible ruin, on the other the memory of
that wretched period of his life when no-
thing he could do was right, and nothing
Eella could do was wrong.

If he gave in now, if he went to his office
and resumed the reins of government, domes-
tic matters would, he knew, drift back to
their former position ; whilst, on the other
hand, if he did not take some decisive step
— if he stayed at home with the children,
and continued to spend his days in idleness,
all the labour of years would, he knew, be
lost ; and even supposing bankruptcy were
averted, the uphill work he once thought
over would have to be continued, perhaps,
to the end of life.

246 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

"Well, let it, he decided. Better that —
better anything than a discontented wife —
a wretched home. Better even to procure a
situation, than for Bella and him to lead the
existence which once obtained in Briant
Yiew Terrace. Of two evils he chose the
evil he considered least, never taking into
consideration the fact that all Bella really
wanted was a tighter hand and less gentle
tenderness than he had hitherto employed.

But Frank Sinclair could not be ungentle ;
he could not return taunt for taunt — re-
proach his wife with having wasted hard-
earned money ; for having learned nothing
from the severely economical training of her
youth, save how — when opportunity offered
— to spend lavishly and uselessly in her
husband's home.

It was not in Frank to do any one of these
things. He could only, having commenced
a negative sort of battle, fight it silently
out, opposing to force that kind of passive
resistance which is more annoying and more

Mr. McLean to Mr. Varham, 247

difficult to deal -with than any active war-
fare.

During the whole combat, however — that
is, after the first couple of days — he under-
stood perfectly well he was playing with
edged tools, which could, and very possibly
would, injure him most seriously.

But then, there are cancers so terrible
that the patient ceases to dread the surgeon's
knife ; and there are family troubles which
eventually become so intolerable that a
man feels, even if the sky fall in the at-
tempt, it were better to make a change.

And all the while things were getting
worse in the City, as the following letter
from Mr. McLean to Mr. Yarham will ex-
plain. Mr. McLean had been clerk in the
office when Yarham and Sinclair were
partners. He was now manager in Frank's
office, having elected to cast in his lot with
Mr. Sinclair.

For him, however, Mr. Yarham had al-
ways entertained the highest respect, and

248 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

therefore, though he was grieved, he did not
feel surprised when he opened Mr. McLean's
letter, and read : —

Lane, London, Sept. 30th, 18-

" Deab Sir, — Knowing the friendship you
have always entertained for my employer, I
went round last evening to your oflB.ce,
hoping to see you concerning some private
matters of Mr. Sinclair's. Hearing you
were out of town, and likely to be so for
some time, I took the liberty of asking
Hudson for your address, and trust you will
excuse my writing this letter.

^'I am sorry to say Mr. Sinclair has not
been able to come to business for a long
time past. I am still more sorry to say
Mrs. Sinclair has been able.

^^ I do not intend by the foregoing remark
the slightest disrespect to that lady; but
affairs have, in consequence of her interfer-
ence, got into terrible confusion, and it is on
this account I venture to ask your advice
and — assistance.

Mr. McLean to Mr. Varhain. 249

" As you are aware, on the fifth of each
month we have been in the habit of making
regular payments to Mr. Allington, and
hitherto everything has given way to that.
These payments one month under another
were regarded as equivalent to cash, and the
discount was in itself, a handsome income.

" Mrs. Sinclair, being unacquainted with
these business details, and paying no
attention to me when I ventured to explain
them, paid away a sum of money to a per-
son who has set up a claim against Mr.
Sinclaii', wi'ong in every particular ; and the
consequence is, Allington's last draft is still
unsettled.

*^ I have written to Mr. Sinclair on the
subject, but he returned my letters unopen-
ed, saying, ' he left everything to Mrs.
Sinclair ; ' and when I called, he repeated
what he said at the beginning of his illness,
namely, that for reasons which he could not
explain, he had decided to remain at home,
and leave the whole management of his
business to Mrs. Sinclair.

250 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

" He is much changed since I last saw
him, and seems irritable and despondent.
It is pitiable to witness poor Mrs. Sinclair's
distress. She cries half the day, I think,
and literally trembles when she hears Mr.
Allington's voice. Not being accustomed to
business or business ways, she thinks he
is treating her cruelly; but he has been,
I assure you, much more patient and lenient
than I expected.

^' He offered to take the amount lying at
the bank, and let the balance stand over to
next month ; but to do this it was necessary
to get a cheque from Mr. Sinclair, and this
Mrs. Sinclair said she could not do.

^^ ^ Is he really so bad as that ? ' Mr.
AUington asked; and then Mrs. Sinclair
covered her face, and sobbed like a child.

^^ '• Bless my soul ! ' he went on, ^ you
had better apply for some power to act for
him. Things will go to wreck and ruin
if you let them drift like this. You have
got your children as well as his creditors to

Mr. McLean to Mr. Varham. 251

consider. Have you no male relation whom
you can consult ? '

^^ But she only shook her head in reply.

^' '- That lady did not send you the money
then ? ' he asked.

^^ ^ !N"o, she could not spare it ; and I have
written to two or three other friends, but no
one seems to have any money.'

'* ^ And the worst of it is, Mr. Allington,'
I said at this juncture, ' that our trade is
totally at a standstill. Of course, till this
matter is settled we cannot order any more
goods from you ; and in Mr. Sinclair's state
of health, it is impossible for transactions to
be opened with any other house. Our pay-
ments, beyond what is required for current
expenses, do not come in till the twenty-
ninth.'

" ' Can you certainly pay the amount
then ? ' he asked.

^^I said, yes, we could ; and to my great
relief, he promised to wait till the thirtieth,
and then re-apply.

252 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

^^ Knowing what lie is, I must say I felt
agreeably surprised at his leniency; but his
manner annoys Mrs. Sinclair greatly, and
«he is besides sadly vexed at the way in
which her friends hold aloof. I believe she
thought she had nothing to do but ask and
have, and not only has no one helped, but
no one has even come to see her.

'^If I could induce her to remain at
home, I think I might pull things round
even now, although, with no business doing,
the prospect is not bright. I wish you
would advise me as to the best course to
pursue. If I were able to open an account
with some other house on equally advantage-
ous terms, I should not feel afraid ; but so
long as Mrs. Sinclair insists on coming to
the office that is hopeless, since people at
once inquire why she is here, and so of
course hear of Mr. Sinclair's illness. As it
is, creditors are pressing on all sides, and I
have been compelled to pay accounts which
really are scarcely due, in order to avoid pro-

Mr, McLean to Mr. Varham. 253

ceedings ; so that when Allington is paid lii&
last draft, I shall be even less prepared
than the last time for that coming due on
the fifth of October.

^^I trust you will pardon the liberty I
have taken in troubling you with all these
details, but I felt I could not stand by and
see a good business going to the dogs, if
any act of mine could avert it.
'' Hoping soon to hear from you,
'' I am, dear Sir,

^^ Yours respectfully,

'' J. S. McLean."

From town to town this letter, which was
posted just three days too late to reach Mr.
Yarham at the address furnished by his
manager, followed that gentleman ; and
when at length he received it, he was in
Paris, where he intended to remain for
a week before returning to England,
after a prolonged and profitable business
journey.

2^4 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

When he had read Mr. McLean's com-
munication, however, twice over — the first
time hurriedly, the second slowly and care-
fully— he asked for his bill, packed his port-
manteau, and started for London within an
hour.

255

CHAPTER XIX.

SANE OR IXSAXE ?

^^PooE Sinclair!" thought Mr. Yarham ;
^4t is that discontented cat who has driven
him out of his mind. And they have a
tribe of children, too, I believe. Well,
there is something to be said on each
side of a question. Here have I often
murmured because I was left so soon a
widower, with never a son to come after me,
never a daughter to grow up and fill
her mother's place; but surely that is
better than to marry as Sinclair did, and
bring a lot of poor helpless creatures into
the world, and then to go mad and leave

256 Frank Sinclair'^s Wife.

them to shift for themselyes as best they
can.

^^ It is horrid to think of. And what a
pleasant, cheerful, happy fellow Frank was
once, to be sure — in the days when we were
careless bachelors together ! After all, there
are no friendships like those formed in youth.
I am sorry I ever let any woman come be-
tween us. He has had a struggle, and it
has not been all profit to me."

And so his thoughts ran on during the
whole of that return journey. Arriyed in
London, he went straight to Frank's office,
even before calling at his own.

There, perched on a high stool, sat
McLean disconsolate, his elbows resting
on the desk, and his chin supported by
his hands, looking the very picture of
despair.

When Mr. Yarham entered he got down
from his stool, and returned that gentlemen's
greeting sadly.

'-'- 1 did not receive your letter till yester-

Sane or Insane? 257

day," began Mr. Yarham. ^' I had left
Guernsey when it arrived there. Now,
what can I do to help you ? "

*^ I do not think you can do anything, sir,
unless it be to tell me whether I ought to
lock up the o£B.ce and go away."

"Why, what has happened? Is Mr.
Sinclair worse?"

^^ It appears there never was anything
the matter with him — at least, so Allington
says."

" Then why is he not here ? "

'^ He is not here now for a very sufficient
reason, because he is in Whitecross Street
Prison, and likely, so far as I can hear, to
remain there. Allington thinks he has only
been shamming illness ; but I feel sure he
must be hopelessly mad. I have had a
letter from him, in which he declares that all
questions must be referred to Mrs. Sinclair,
and he further states that he does not at all
dislike being in Whitecross Street. And
Mrs. Sinclair, when I went up there last

VOL. I. s

258 Frank Siiiclairh Wife,

niglit, ^as in hysterics ; and one of the
children, it seems, is dying ; and the land-
lord, hearing of Mr. Sinclair's arrest, has
put in a distress for the rent ; and there is
not a soul who can answer a question, or
give the slightest information on any subject,
except a lady — Mrs. Sinclair's sister, I
think — for whom Mr. Sinclair sent before
he left home.

^^ There, I cannot understand it. I can-
not make head or tail of the business. It is
beyond flesh and blood to stay here and be
bullied by Allington, who comes in two or
three times a-day to say we are all swin-
dlers together, and that he is not sure
he shall not prosecute us criminally for
conspiracy. A man from whom I ordered
some goods, a few days before this hap-
pened, is simply furious. If I had enough
money I would leave the country — that I
would."

^' Bless my heart ! " exclaimed Mr.
Yarham, who had not heard one word

SaTie or Insane? 259

of the latter part of McLean's harangue.
"To think it ever should have come
to this! and with Sinclaii% too. of all
men ! "

8 2

26o

CHAPTEK XX.
ME. sixclaik's diaey eesoied.

'^ Vlliitecross Street^ Oct, IS fh. — I am
very glad I commenced to keep a diary. It
seemed a foolish thing to attempt at first ;
but it has not only wiled away, many an
anxious quarter of an hour at home, but
suggested to me the idea of taking to
literatui'e as a profession.

"To be sure it is rather late in life for
me to turn author, but everything must have
a beginning; and, as it seems extremely
probable I shall have to remain here for the re-
mainder of my natural life, I may as well try to
earn a few pounds for my family as not.
My family — oh I Susie, my little daughter,

Mr. Sinclairh Diary Resumed, 261

I wonder how you are this morning. How
the hours lengthen out while I am waiting
for Patty's notes ! What a fool I have been
— what an obstinate, selfish, wicked idiot !
What did it matter whether my home were
comfortable or the reverse, what did it
signify whether Bella spent much money or
little, I should have stuck to my post and
earned money, I should have borne everything
she liked to thrust upon me, rather than
have courted ruin and poverty in this way.

^^ For my courtship of misfortune, which
I merely intended should be a passing
flirtation, has only proved too successful.
Euin and I have entered the matrimonial
estate together. She has grasped my hand
with a clutch strong and cruel as death, and
taken me and my fortunes for better for
worse. Further, she has agreed to provide
for me, and this is the lordly mansion I and
my grim bride inhabit. I cannot realise it
all yet. I cannot understand how it has
come about. Let me read McLean's letter

262 Frank Sinclair'' s Wife.

once again. I believe I was mad when it
arrived, lor I wrote some ridiculous reply,
that I now feel very much ashamed of having
penned. I must ask him to come here and
explain how matters stand. I ought also to
see a solicitor. What am I to say to any
sensible man, however, on the subject?
How can I ever confess the length and
breadth and depth of my stupid folly ? Not
even to Patty could I tell how criminally
weak I have been.

'^ The provocation appears so slight, the
insanity so incredible ; but yet, small
though the drop of water may have been,
it had gone on dripping for so long a time
that it had worn into my very brain. And
now Bella does not write to me. Patty
says she is ill, but still she is not confined
to her room. I told Patty she must neither
come here again nor allow Bella to come,
nevertheless I expected a letter.

^^ Were it not for Patty, I should not
know whether Susie were alive or dead.

Mr. Sinclair^ Diary Resumed. 263

*^ How did it all happen ? I must try to
make sense out of what seems to me little
more real than a dream. For days and days
I had noticed Bella was desponding, but as
she resolutely refused to take me into her
confidence, I arrived gradually at the con-
clusion that she was getting tired of City
life, only she had not sufficient moral cou-
rage to say so.

^^ Further, I was much concerned about
Susie. How those children have twined
themselves into every thought of my life !
I imagined I loved them, well six months
since, but the feeling I had then was by
comparison superficial to that I bear to-
wards them now.

^^ Susie is dangerously ill now; she was
sickening for that illness then, and the
doctor told me she must leave town, or that
a longer journey might be in store for her.
Will she set out on that without my seeing
her again — shall I never kiss my child —
never feel her soft hand in mine — never

264 Frank Sinclair^ Wife,

push the hair back from her forehead
more ?

'-'• Has it really come to this, that with my
little one in all probability dying, I am not
able to go and see her ? I deserved to drink
a bitter cup for my folly, but surely this
is draining it to the dregs !

*^ To resume my story. Susie was ill;
the doctor said she ought to have change of
air. Bella declared it was impossible she
could leave. It was equally impossible for
me to send the child to Mulford, under ex-
isting circumstances ; so I asked Bella
whether she did not think, as my remaining
in London seemed useless, that it might be
well for me to take the children away for a
fortnight or so to Margate.

'^ She, I suggested — and it was an ill-
natured suggestion for which I am now
sorry — could come down once a week by the
* Husbands' Boat.'

" To this Bella assented — not to the
coming down by that special conveyance,

Mr. Sinclair's Diary Resumed, 265

but to the scheme generally. Looking back^
I believe she felt my absence would be a
relief, but of course I could not know this
by intuition.

"Ah! my dear, times have changed
since I read poetry and you darned stockings
in the Eectory arbour. Perhaps we were
both hypocrites then, and that poetry was
as foreign to my nature as darning stockings
to yours.

"It is a strange thing that when people
are married, and no means of escape possible,
they should take such pains to make one
another uncomfortable, whilst before the
knot is tied they lure each other on and on,
by all manner of sweet devices, to the fatal
plunge, just as though lovers turned de-
ceivers for the express purpose of making
themselves and others wretched. Suppos-
ing, for instance, I had not read poetry, or
Eella mended stockings — but what is the
use of supposing anything about it? My
poetry has found its realisation in White-

266 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

cross Street, and Bella's prosaism has en-
abled her to take a flight out of her own do-
main, as daring as it has proved disastrous.

". But to pick up the dropped thread of
my reminiscences. To Margate I went, in
order to look out suitable lodgings, and
having secured these, I started on my re-
turn to town, via Thames Haven.

'-^ After I had been on board for a little
while, I beheld amongst the passengers a
man whose face I recognised. We had
done business together for years ; and, un-
aware that any cause existed for dissatisfac-
tion, I made my way to him, and, stretch-
ing out my hand, said cordially —

'^ ^ Good morning, Allington.' Where-
upon, to my intense surprise, he thrust both
his hands into the lowest depths of his
trousers-pockets, and looked me all over
without uttering a word.

" There was a little circle about us in a
moment. The slight had been too palpable
to escape attention, and I was too much

Mr, Sinclair's Diary Resumed, 267

astonished and dismayed even to make an
effort to cover my discomfiture.

"After a second's pause, which seemed
to me long as eternity, Mr. Allington began
with an ironical ring in his voice that
maddened me —

" ' I am glad to see you looking so well,
sir.'

^' ' Thank you,' I said, '- 1 am very well.'

'' ^ Then, sir, if you are very well, sir, all
I have to remark is, you are an unprincipled
vagabond and a liar — and a cheat — a cheat,
sir ! '

" Without any more ado I knocked him
down ; that is to say, I sent him into the
arms of an admiring audience, some of whom
succumbed under his weight, and went
sprawling on the deck instead. It could
not be considered a prudent action, but it
was the only one which occurred to me, and
I struck straight out as I have said, whilst
some of the bystanders applauded and others
cried ^ Shame ! ' "

268

. CHAPTEE XXI.

" A GENTLEMAN TO SEE YOU, SIR ! "

^^ Foaming with rage, Mr. Allington, so soon
as he recovered his feet, rushed at me, and
what the result might have proved had not
a couple of gentlemen dragged him back, I
cannot tell ; for my blood was up, and I
should not have stood nice about the degree
of punishment I inflicted.

" However, the gentlemen did interfere,
for which reason, perhaps, I am now in
Whitecross Street instead of x^ewgate.

'' ^ Never mind,' Mr. Allington sputtered,
almost black in the face from the tight hold
one man had laid on his high, old-fashioned

"A Gentleman to See You, Sir P"^ 269

satin stock — ' ^N'ever mind, yon will live to
rue this morning's work, Mr. Sinclair. It is
a fine thing first to rob a creditor and then
assanlt him. It is brave to sit smoking at
home and to take yonr pleasure abroad, and
leave a woman to bear the brunt of a battle
you have not courage to fight out yourself.'

" ' If you bring my wife's name into this
discussion I will kill you,' I answered; and
I suppose I looked like a murderer, for one
sailor seized my right arm, and another my
left.

^^^ Let me go,' I said; ^the man is safe
enough for me now, if he will only do as I
tell him. Mr. AILington,' I went on, ^ it
seems you have some ground of complaint
against me, real or fancied. I should like
to know what that ground is. Am I in your
debt?'

^^ ^ As you are well aware.'

" 'Will you believe me if I declare, on my
word of honour, that I was not aware of it
until this moment V

ayo Frank Si7iclair^s Wife.

" ' 1^0. A man who has acted as you
have done, can have no sense of honour left.
It may be all very well for you to try to
produce an effect on these gentlemen, but
you can produce none on me.'

'' ' I^ot after all the years we have done
business together ? '

" ' Not after all the money I have honestly
and regularly paid you ?'

" * No. It is of no use your trying to
humbug me. I would not believe you now
on your oath.'

^'I did not strike him this time. I did
not answer him. My arms dropped power-
less by my side, and I walked away to a
quiet part of the vessel, where I stood for
the remainder of the journey, looking at the
Thames.

" If ever I contemplated self-destruction,
it was then. If ever death and the river
tempted me, it was then. If ever I felt
that the burthen of life could be endured no
longer, it was then.

'' A Gentleman to See You^ Sir I ''^ 271

^^I despised myself — I cursed the folly
which had brought me into such a predica-
ment. I felt I could never again hold up
my head amongst my fellows. By my own
act I had placed myself outside the pale,
and all for what ? Ay, there was the rub :
what had I proposed to myself as the re-
ward for such madness ?

^'Now the crisis had come, I could not
tell what real benefit I ever expected to
arise from the course adopted. Did I once
believe circumstances and experience could
alter Bella's nature ? I now felt how delu-
sive had been such a hope ; and as I stood
there writhing under the humiliation I had
received, smarting because of words which
had lashed me like scorpions, I determined
that not for another day should this state of
things continue. I would go home, have
my wife's clothes packed up, and then, on
her return, tell her I had decided she and
the children must leave town, whilst I re-
mained behind to strive and save my busi-
ness from utter shipwreck.

272 Frank Sinclair's Wife,

*^ Looking back at it now, I wonder any
man on board the steamer felt the smallest
sympathy with me ; but some did. Two or
three came round after a time, and talked
kindly and wisely about the disturbance.
They wanted me to explain matters fully ;
to justify myself and disprove the words —
so one of them said — ^ of that over-fed bully;'
to make peace, another advised, with my
creditor, if it were possible.

"Explanation, however, was impossible
— as impossible as making peace. I could
not tell any rational human being that all
the trouble had been brought about by my
own folly and obstinacy ; that I had actually
stayed at home and played with the chil-
dren, and interested myself in the pecula-
tions of drunken servants, the while ruin
was coming as fast as it could come — and all
this because I failed to get a cup of tea on
my return from business, and entertained a
rooted dislike to the society of that, no
doubt, most estimable lady. Miss Myrton.

'^ A Gentle77ia7i to See You^ Sir!'''' 273

'^ Wliat an endless journey that seemed !
— though it came to an end at last. What
a contrast the dead calm of Briant View
Terrace appeared to the scene on the deck
of the steamer ! I sat down for a time in
the dining-room, alone, sending even Susie
away, for the child's fretful restlessness
worried me beyond measure, and tried to
brace up my nerves — unstrung as they were
by the bitter humiliation undergone — but
the more I thought of the matter, the worse
I thought of it.

^^ How was it possible to retrieve my
position ? I could not even go through the
Bankruptcy Court and begin the world over
again.

*' What was I to do ? With credit de-
stroyed, with my connection broken up,
with the memory of unutterable folly weigh-
ing me down, how could the future ever be
faced?

'^ I felt then as, no doubt, many a poor
wretch has felt when in the grey morning

VOL. I. T

274 Frank Sinclair^ Wife,

light he awoke to the consciousness that a
ghastly end was at hand — that, incapable of
altering his doom, he must meet the worst,
and wait for Calcraft, and the chaplain, and
the sea of upturned countenances, that had
all to be faced before he might be permitted
to slip from the sight and memory of his
fellows into the presence of his Creator.

" Elizabeth brought me something to eat,
but the food remained untouched. Hour
after hour went by, and the silence seemed
to deepen — the calm to lengthen itself out,
a desert of inaction. Presently Bella would
be home, and I should then have to talk to
her — ah, Bella! I felt very sorry for you
that afternoon ; much more so than I do
now, for you have never written a line to
me since this trouble came, and I thought
how it would be best to speak so that I
might win your confidence, and, if it pleased
God, win together with it your affection back
once more. Surely you cared for me once,
my dear. It could not have been all acting

"^ Gentleman to See You, Sir!^^ 275

while you seemed so happy and so loving,
wliile we strolled side by side together along
the winding lanes, and across the pleasant
fields lying all around Mulford.

" Elizabeth brought in candles, made up
the fire, for the evening was chilly, and drew
the curtains. The room looked cheerful and
warm and homelike, and reminded me of how
much a man who has gathered household
gods about him has to lose. Well, I did not
mean to lose if I could help it. Through
the open door I heard the voices of my chil-
dren, subdued, for Elizabeth had told them she
thought their papa was ill. For their sakes
I would go back to the City and boldly face
the sneers of creditors, and the contempt
of friends. I would acknowledge my sin,
though not its cause. I would say I meant
to pay every one, but that I must have time
given me to see exactly how I stood. The
first day, I said to myself, would be the
worst; after that the thing must grow
easier.

276 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

'^ I waited anxiously for my wife's return.
After dinner, sitting before that cheerful
fire, I meant to commence my story ; and
like all people who have something unplea-
sant to do, though I dreaded the approach of
the moment of explanation, still I wished it
over.

'' ' There ! surely that must be she,' I
thought, and then I marvelled because,
while the sound of steps came up the garden,
I had not heard the omnibus stop before the
house.

'^ 1^0 ! it was not Bella. My beloved
availed herself of the doubtful luxury of a
latch-key, whilst this latter visitor knocked
imposingly.

^^ ' Is Mr. Sinclair within ? ' I heard some
one ask, and Elizabeth answered, ' Yes.'

" ^ Is he engaged ? ' was the next question,
and Elizabeth answered, ' Xo ' — adding,
^ What name please, sir ? '

" ^ He would not know my name,' was the
reply, ' I shall not detain him two minutes.'

''A Ge7itleman to See Ybuj Sir / ^^ 277

" Whereupon Elizabeth, opened the door,
and merely announcing, ^A gentleman to
see you, sir,' admitted my visitor.

" I may as well say at once I did not like
the look of him, although that might have
been prejudice on my part.

" There was something about the man's
face, dress, expression, walk, and manner,
which filled me, unsuspicious as I was of
that form of comiDg evil, with a vague fore-
boding.

^' The dinner-table was laid, the fire burn-
ed cheerfully, the furniture was good, the
apartments respectable. I saw the man
taking in every detail, and without knowing
why or wherefore, by some curious instinct,
I felt as one might do who beholds some
shrine holy to him profaned — some hitherto
sacred place rendered ' unclean.'

'' ^I have come upon rather unpleasant busi-
ness,' said the stranger, after an awkward bow.

** ^ Then the sooner we go into it, the
sooner it will be over,' I replied.

278 Frank Sinclair's Wife.

" ^ It is really very disagreeable,' he
fenced.

'^ ' Come to tlie point, sir, if you please,'
was my answer. ^ I am neither a child nor
a woman, and can bear, I have no doubt,
whatever it may be you have come to say.'

^^ ^ It is such an awkward time,' he went
on, glancing over again at the fire and the
dinner-table, at the pictures hanging on the
wall, at the substantial furniture.

'^ ^ In a word, what is your business ? ' I
demanded.

" ^ I have a writ here, at the suit of
Allington,' he answered, producing it.
doubt you will be able to arrange the matter
at once, but still, till it is arranged, I must
ask you to accompany me.'

^^^ Where?' I asked.

'-^ '' Oh ! we will make it as comfortable
for you as we can. Mr. Sloman will be
very glad to find you a room.'

"^Possibly,' I replied, 'but I am not
going to Mr. Sloman' s. Since Mr. Allington

'^ A Gentleman to See You^ Sir / ^^ 279

has elected to take this course, I shall choose
Whitecross Street. I have not the remotest
idea how my affairs stand, but Mr. Allington
shall have no preference out of my estate.
May I write a couple of notes ? '

^^ ' Certainly, sir.'

^^ ^ Will you take a glass of wine ? '

*^ ' Much obliged, sir.'

" ' Port or sherry ? '

^^ 'Whichever is most convenient.'

'' ' They are both on the table.'

'^ ' Port, then, if you please, sir.'

" I poured him out a glassful, which he
drank off at a gulp. It was inhospitable,
but I sincerely wished it had choked him.

'^'Pray help yourself,' I said after a
pause, looking up from my writing.

''He coughed and then kindly said he
would — and he did, first at my invitation
and then at his own.

" ' That is very good wine,' he was kind
enough to remark ; ' if you do not mind, I
will take another half a glass.'

28o Frank Sinclair's Wife,

'^ ^ By all means,' I replied, and he finish-
ed the decanter. Should it eyer be my lot
to receive that gentleman in my house again,
he would, I doubt not, be discreetly civil ;
but my politeness at that time could scarcely
be called disinterested."

END OP VOL. I.

i

PBIJfTED BY TATLOB AND CO.,
LITTIB QUEEN" STEEET, LINCOLN'S IBTT PIBLBS,

^