The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement

"Lily! I am surprised at you!"

"Surprised at me, aunty! Why? Because you have broken Pompey's leg? I didn't do it, it was you. Supposing he should die? You know what a delicate constitution he always had."

"It is quite possible the injury is less serious than we suppose"; this the gentleman suggested in a consoling kind of way, "though" – here some one gave the dog a pinch, and the dog gave expression to his feelings in a howl-"though decidedly he seems in pain. I think that I had better go on with him straight to the house."

"Lily! I insist upon your coming here."

Miss Truscott did as she was told. With meek face and downcast eyes she fell in decorously by the old lady's side. Mr. Summers, ignored and snubbed, but still triumphant, bore Pompey away in front.

"Lily, what is the meaning of all this?"

"I think you must have let Pompey fall, and then have kicked him when he fell. I cannot see how you can have done it; you are so careful as a rule."

"I am not speaking about the dog; you know that very well. I am speaking of the-the extraordinary scene I interrupted."

"Willy was telling me that he loved me."

"Willy was telling you what! And who is Willy, pray?"

"Willy is Mr. Summers's Christian name."

"Lily, are you stark, raving mad? Have you forgotten what happened yesterday? Are you aware that it is not four-and-twenty hours since you promised Mr. Frederic Ely to be his wife?"

"Yes, auntie; but I have changed my mind."

"You have-what?"

"I have changed my mind."

Mrs. Clive was so overcome that she sank down on a grassy bank which they were passing. It was a thing she had not done for years. She was always under the impression that the grass was damp-even when it burned you as you touched it with the palm of your hand.

"Lily, either you are mad or I must be. Changed your mind! Do you think that in such a matter it is possible for a woman to change her mind?"

"It would seem to be, wouldn't it? Especially when you look at me."

"You treat it as a jest! The most astounding behaviour I ever heard of! I don't wish to forget myself if you have done so; I simply call it the most astounding behaviour I ever heard of! A niece of mine!"

"Perhaps that's it. I-I have such a remarkable aunt."

The temptation was irresistible, but the effect was serious. For some moments Mrs. Clive sat speechless with indignation. Then she rose from the mossy bank and walked away without a word. Left behind, Miss Truscott covered her face with her hands and laughed-a little guiltily, it seemed. Then she went after. So the march to the house resolved itself into a procession of three.

CHAPTER VIII

MR. ROSENBAUM'S SIX DAUGHTERS

In the meantime Mr. Ely was dreaming of his love. It sounds contradictory at first, bearing in mind that he was not a man of sentiment; but the fact was that in his case absence made the heart grow distinctly fonder. By the time he reached Ryde Miss Truscott occupied his thoughts to the exclusion of all else; he never even troubled himself about the purchase of a paper-which was fortunate, for at that hour none had yet arrived from town, and to him the local prints were loathsome. All the way on the boat he dreamed-yes, literally dreamed-of the girl he left behind him. More than once, incredible though it may appear, he sighed.

"She don't care for me a snap, not a single rap, by Jove she don't!"

He sighed when he said this, for, for some occult reason, the idea did not seem to amuse him so much as it had done last night.

"I don't know why she shouldn't, though. Perhaps she thought I didn't want her. More I didn't then, though I don't see why she shouldn't if I did. I know how to make a girl like me as well as any man-look at the Rosenbaums!"

He sighed again. It was "look at the Rosenbaums," indeed! When he thought of those six young women, with their well-developed noses and the fringe of hair upon their upper lips, and of their twice-hammered father, and then of Miss Truscott, that vision of a fair woman, with her noble bearing, her lovely face, and her wondrous eyes, the contrast went deeply home. He felt that he was a lucky-and yet not altogether a lucky-man.

"She's going to be my wife, that's one thing, anyhow."

The Isle of Wight is a great place for honeymoons. It lends itself naturally to couples in a certain phase of their existence. Such a couple were on board the boat with Mr. Ely. Their demeanour was tender towards each other.

"Couple of idiots!" said Mr. Ely to himself as he observed this pair; "it makes a man feel ill to look at them!"

She was a pretty girl, and he was not an ugly man; she hung upon his arm and looked into his eyes. It was plain the honeymoon was not yet done for them. In spite of his disgust, Mr. Ely found himself thinking, almost unconsciously, of another figure and of another pair of eyes-of that other figure hanging upon his arm, and of that other pair of eyes looking into his. He sighed again.

"She doesn't care for me a snap, by Jove!"

Instead of amusing him, it seemed that this reflection began to give him pain. The little man looked quite disconsolate.

"I'll make her, though! I will! If-if it costs me a thousand pounds!"

He had been on the point of stating the cost he was willing to incur at a much higher sum than this. He had been on the very verge of saying that he would make her care for him if it cost him every penny he had. But prudence stepped in, and he limited the amount to be squandered to a thousand pounds, which was not so bad for a man who did not believe in sentiment. But a singular change had come over him between Shanklin and Stokes Bay.

The change was emphasised by a little encounter which he had with a friend in the train. He had taken his seat in the corner of a carriage, when the door was darkened by a big, stout man, who was all hair and whiskers and gorgeous apparel.

"What, Ely! My boy, is it bossible it is you!

"Rosenbaum! What the devil brings you here?"

"Ah! what the teffel is it brings you?"

Mr. Rosenbaum spoke with a decidedly German accent. He settled himself in the seat in front of Mr. Ely, and beamed at him, all jewellery and smiles. It was as though some one had applied a cold douche to the small of Mr. Ely's back. He was dreaming of the sweetest eyes, and his too-friendly six-daughtered friend-the man who had been hammered twice! – appeared upon the scene. It was a shock. But Mr. Rosenbaum seemed beamingly unconscious of anything of the kind. The train started, and he began a conversation-which rather hung fire, by the way.

"It is some time since we have seen you in Queen's Gate."

Queen's Gate was where Mr. Rosenbaum resided. After each "hammering" – mysterious process! – he had moved into a larger house. It had been first Earl's Court, then Cromwell Road, and now Queen's Gate.

"Been so much engaged."

Mr. Rosenbaum was smoking a huge cigar, and kept puffing out great clouds of smoke. Mr. Ely was engaged on a smaller article, which scarcely produced any smoke at all. They had the compartment to themselves; Mr. Ely would rather have seen it full. He knew his friend.

"Miriam has missed you."

Miriam was the eldest of the six: the one whose nose and moustache were most developed; a sprightly maiden of thirty or thirty-one. "So has Leah."

Leah was a year or so younger than her sister, and quite as keen.

Mr. Ely drew in his lips. He had once played cards with Miss Leah Rosenbaum, and detected her in the act of cheating. He admired the woman of business, but regretted his eighteenpence.

"I've no doubt she has."