The Yellow Holly

"How good you are-how good you are!"

"A little selfish also," said Miss Bull, kissing the girl. "I do not wish to leave this place or lose you. I am growing old, and a change would break my heart."

She said this as though she really believed that she possessed such an organ. Mrs. Jersey always said that a heart was lacking in Miss Bull's maiden breast: but certainly the way in which the old woman was treating the helpless girl showed that she was better than she looked. And perhaps-as Mr. James considered-Miss Bull had an ax to grind on her own account.

However this might be, from that moment Miss Bull was in charge of the Amelia Square establishment. Whatever means she used to induce Lord Derrington to consent, she certainly managed to get the lease renewed in Margery's name. Some of the boarders went; but others came in their place, and these being younger added to the gayety of the house. So all was settled, and Miss Bull became a person of importance. She was the power behind the throne, and ruled judiciously. In this way did she do away with the reputation of the house as a place where a crime had been committed. In a year all was forgotten.

CHAPTER V

A LOVERS' MEETING

Every one who was any one knew the Honorable Mrs. Ward. She was a fluffy-haired kitten of a woman, more like a Dresden china shepherdess than a mere human being. Nothing could be prettier than her face and figure, and nothing more engaging than her manners. With her yellow hair, her charming face, and her melting blue eyes, she managed to hold her own against younger women. The late Mr. Ward, Lord Ransome's son, had been a fast young man, devoted to the turf and to his pretty wife. But he was killed when riding in a steeplechase two years after his marriage, and left his widow alone in the world with one daughter for consolation in her affliction. Mrs. Ward being in want of money-for her deceased father had been a general with nothing but his pay-played her cards so well with regard to her father-in-law, that he allowed her a good income and thought she was the most perfect of women. But Lord Ransome was the only one of the family who thought so, for the other relatives fought rather shy of the pretty, pleading widow.

Not that Mrs. Ward minded. She characterized the women as frumps and the men as fools, and, having enough to live on comfortably, set up a house in Curzon Street. It was thought that she would marry again; and probably she would have done so had a sufficiently rich husband with a title been forthcoming. But somehow no one worth capturing ever came Mrs. Ward's way, and as time went on she chose to assume the role of a devoted mother, and-as she phrased it-to live again in her daughter. This was quite wrong, as Dorothy Ward was a slim, serious-minded girl of nineteen, not given to gayety, and was one who was anxious to marry a husband with mind rather than with money. How frivolous little Mrs. Ward came to have such a Puritan daughter no one ever could make out. She resembled her mother neither in face, nor in manner, nor in tastes. Mrs. Ward openly lamented that Dorothy was such a difficult girl to manage, which meant that Dorothy had refused several good matches, and had declined to be guided entirely by her mother's opinion. When the Earl of Summerslea proposed and was not accepted, Mrs. Ward was furious, but Dorothy said steadily that she would never marry a brute with a title.

"You'll marry any one I choose," said Mrs. Ward when the two were discussing the matter.

"Certainly not Lord Summerslea," rejoined Dorothy, steadily.

"And certainly not that penniless George Brendon," retorted her mother. "You shall not throw yourself away on him."

"He is a good man and a clever man, and a man whom any woman might be proud of winning, mother."

"And a man with no money and no position. Who is he? What is his family? No one ever heard of him."

"They will one day, when he becomes famous."

"Oh, as a writing-person. As though any one cared two pins about that sort of thing. I want to see you a countess."

"You shall never see me the Countess of Summerslea. I know all about that man. He is bad and dissipated."

"O Lord! as if that mattered," cried Mrs. Ward with supreme contempt. "Your father was the same, yet we got on all right."

"I am sure you did," said Dorothy, with bitter meaning, upon which Mrs. Ward showed her claws. Her friends called her a kitten, but she was a cat in reality and could scratch on occasions. But all her scratching could not make Dorothy Lady Summerslea.

Hating Brendon, and knowing that her daughter liked him, it was supposed by Mrs. Ward's friends that the young man would be sent to the right-about, and that Dorothy would be kept out of his way. But Mrs. Ward knew her daughter too well to take such a disastrous course.

"My dear," she said to an intimate friend, "if I did that, Dorothy is just the kind of annoying girl to run away with him and live in a garret. If I let them meet they will not think of marriage, and I dare say Dorothy will get tired of Brendon. He is so shabby in his dress, and so poor, that after a time she will cease to like him. No! No! I'll let him follow her wherever he likes, and meet her on all occasions. They will grow sick of one another."

In an ordinary case this recipe might have answered. But Dorothy respected as well as loved George Brendon, and, every time she met him, grew to admire and love him more. Mrs. Ward became quite exasperated, and redoubled her efforts to sicken Dorothy of the "creature," as she called Brendon. She took to praising him on all occasions, and sometimes asked him to dinner. At the same time she constantly abused young Walter Vane, who was Lord Derrington's grandson and heir. He was the man she wished Dorothy to marry, as one day he would have a title and fifteen thousand a year. But in spite of this Machiavellian policy Dorothy still continued to love George, and expressed a hearty dislike for Walter Vane, whom she characterized as a "weakling."

"If he had only the grit of his grandfather I might respect him."

Mrs. Ward turned pale under her rouge when she heard this. "Oh, no, no! Lord Derrington is a terrible old man. Were Walter such as he is, I should not ask you to marry him."

"You would marry me to the Prince of Darkness himself if it suited your purpose," said her daughter, calmly, from which speech it will be seen that Miss Ward had small respect for her fascinating mother.

The two did not assimilate, as their dispositions were so different. Mrs. Ward complained that Dorothy was too religious, and Dorothy found the frivolous world in which her mother moved dull beyond words. It so happened that Dorothy stayed mostly at home or went out with one of her aunts, who was something of her type, while Mrs. Ward enjoyed herself at Hurlingham and Monte Carlo. The little woman always managed to keep on the right side, as she had no notion of losing her position in society, or the income which Lord Ransome allowed her; but within limits she was extremely fast. She generally had a number of young men at her heels, and made use of them in betting and in getting boxes for the theaters, for suppers at the Cecil, and gloves, when nothing else was to be had. But she managed all these things so discreetly that no one had a word to say, and the general impression was that she was a dear little woman with a stiff daughter-quite a trial. And if some old frumps did praise up Dorothy and condemn the mother, they were in the minority.

Things were in this position when the murder of Mrs. Jersey took place. Dorothy read about it in the papers, and knowing that George had gone to stop in the house with Train, was extremely anxious to hear particulars. She wrote to his Kensington address asking him to call, but received no reply. Then she saw that he gave evidence at the inquest, and two days later George made his appearance at the Curzon Street house. Mrs. Ward, who had been voluble in her expressions regarding Brendon's "love for low company," so she put it, sailed toward him with open hands. She always welcomed Brendon in this bright, girlish, kittenish way, as it was part of her scheme. She thought so serious a man would never relish a frivolous mother-in-law, and hoped to get rid of him in this way. But Brendon was too much in love with Dorothy to mind the vagaries of her fashionable parent.

"My dear Mr. Brendon," cried Mrs. Ward in her usual gushing manner, "I am so glad to see you. The murder, you know. I saw your name in the papers. How exciting! how romantic! Tell us all about it."

"There is nothing to tell, Mrs. Ward," said George, glancing round the room and seeing that Dorothy was absent. "All I know is set forth in the papers."

Mrs. Ward arranged herself on the sofa and laughed joyously. "Quite exciting it is," she said. "I wonder who killed the poor woman, and how did you come to be there on the very night she died?"

This last question was asked sharply, and with a keen glance. George was rather taken aback, but not thinking she had any intention in what she said, answered, soberly enough: "I went to see a friend, Mrs. Ward. It was unfortunate that I chose that night."

"Well, of course you didn't know," said Mrs. Ward, artlessly. "But fancy knowing any one living in an out-of-the-way place like that. But you do know such queer people."

George thought he knew none queerer than Mrs. Ward herself, but he suppressed this speech as impolite. "My friend is Mr. Leonard Train."

"Really! I think I have met him. His father made a fortune out of mustard, or coke, or something horrid. What was he doing there?"

"Looking for characters for a book."

"Oh!" Mrs. Ward opened her eyes. "Did he find any?"

"I believe so. But he has left the house now."

"I should think every one would leave it after the murder," said Mrs. Ward. "Dorothy will be down soon, but meantime tell me the whole thing from your own clever point of view."

She was so pertinacious that Brendon had reluctantly to yield. He detailed events as they had been reported by the press, but concerning the confidence of Leonard he kept silent. Mrs. Ward expressed her disappointment when he finished. "You tell me nothing new."

"I warned you that I would not," replied Brendon, wondering at her petulant speech.

"But surely you can throw some light on the matter?" said Mrs. Ward.

Brendon shook his head. "I fear not. I went to bed at eleven and slept soundly until I was awakened by the clamor."

Mrs. Ward thought for a moment. "Does Mr. Train know anything?"

"Nothing more than I have told you," declared Brendon, uncomfortably. He disliked deviating from the truth even in the smallest particular, but he dare not risk the story of his birth becoming public property. It was strange, he thought, that Mrs. Ward should take such a profound interest in this case. He had never before heard her talk on such a subject. To add to his perplexity, he saw that, in spite of her rouge, in spite of the shaded windows, she looked haggard. Yet it was impossible that she could be connected with the matter in any way. He ventured a leading question. "Why are you so anxious to know about this case?"

Mrs. Ward's reply rather astonished him. "I am not blind," she said quietly, "and I know well enough that you admire my daughter. You are poor, you are unknown, and should Dorothy marry you she would make a very bad match."

"I am aware of that," began George, "but-"

"Wait," cried Mrs. Ward, raising her hand, "I have not yet done. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, I made up my mind to place no bar to your union with my daughter, as she seems to like you-"

"She loves me, Mrs. Ward."

"Nonsense. Dorothy is too young to know the meaning of the word. I say she likes you, so we can let it stand at that. But in spite of your poverty and obscurity-" Brendon winced, for Mrs. Ward's tone was insolent in the extreme-"I am not willing that you should marry Dorothy, unless-" She hesitated.

"Unless?" queried George, looking steadily at her. "Now we come to the point. Unless your character is above suspicion."

"What do you mean?"