Chapter X

CHAPTER X

VANE'S AUNT

"I should have been killed to a certainty but for the way in which he got me out of the way," said Gwen to Mrs. Perage, when recounting her adventure, and speaking rather incoherently, for the same had shaken her nerves.

Mrs. Perage growled. She was a gaunt, dark-brewed old lady, with a formidable frown and a very determined character. "All's well that ends well," she said in a deep contralto voice, which suggested that of a man. "It might have been worse but for this hero of yours. Did you take the number of the car?"

"My goodness!" cried the girl pettishly. "How could I, when I was lying on my back in the ditch under the churchyard hedge? The car passed like a flash."

"Daresay," sniffed Mrs. Perage aggressively. "Having done wrong, the chauffeur got out of the way. We'll make inquiries and prosecute. I'd hang every one of those road-hogs if I had my way."

"Oh, I don't think it is worth making a fuss about," said Gwen quickly. "I am all right, and his ankle will soon be quite well. I fetched the doctor as soon as I got him to Mrs. Bell's, and there are no bones broken. He will be out and about in a few days."

"His--him--he," said Mrs. Perage sharply. "How indefinite you are. What's the name of your Achilles?"

"Hench. Mr. Hench. So Mrs. Bell told me, and he's been with her for nearly a whole week."

"Hench!" Mrs. Perage rubbed her beaky nose and reflected. "Why, that's the name of Jim's friend he wrote me about. There was a letter of introduction given. Hum! And he's been a week in Cookley without calling. That doesn't look as if he wished to make my acquaintance, Gwen."

"Perhaps he's down here on business," suggested the girl, "and did not wish to call on any one until he was free."

"Well, if he doesn't call on me, I'll call on him," said the old dame grimly; "if only to thank him for saving your life. Hum! Quite romantic the way in which the man's come into your little world, my dear. Quite romantic, I call it." Then, being very much the woman, in spite of her masculine appearance, Mrs. Perage asked a leading question. "Good-looking?"

"Oh!" Gwen clasped her hands. "He's a Greek god."

"So was Vulcan. Anything like that heavenly blacksmith?"

"No. He's tall and splendidly built, with brown hair and brown eyes; clean-shaven with clearly-cut features."

"Hum!" Mrs. Perage brought out the ejaculation with a boom. "You examined him pretty closely, young lady."

"Well, I had plenty of time to do so," retorted Miss Evans pertly. "I helped him to hobble to Mrs. Bell's house, and saw him again to thank him after the doctor had examined his poor ankle. I'm sure you will like him."

"That has yet to be seen. I don't like many people. However, Jim says that Mr. Hench is a thoroughly good fellow, and----"

"I'm sure he is. He saved my life."

"Consequently you intend to tumble head over heels in love with him?"

Gwen grew red. "I certainly don't. All the same he's very nice, and I'm sorry he's suffering pain."

"Pity is akin to love," quoted Mrs. Perage, apparently to the ceiling. The girl laughed and shook her head. "In spite of your matter-of-fact ways and the common-sense you pride yourself upon, you have an imaginative vein, Mrs. Perage. I am sure you see in this accident the beginning of a romance."

"If the young man is handsome, as you say, and a good sort as Jim Vane says, why not?" asked the old lady, smiling. "Besides, I don't believe in chance, as everything is ordained by Providence. I shouldn't be at all surprised if, in the long run, it was proved that Mr. Hench tumbled out of the clouds to be your husband. However, it's early days yet to talk. Wait and see!"

As the result of long experience, dating from the time when she was a small child in short frocks, Gwen knew that it was useless to argue with Mrs. Perage, so she left the room and went upstairs to change her dress. And as a matter of fact, she had been extremely struck with Hench's good looks, as a woman naturally would be. Also, he seemed to be excessively agreeable, and likewise she owed him her life, not forgetting that she was just at that age when girls begin to dream of marriage. Poor Gwen had not passed a very happy time with her cantankerous father, and was not averse to having a pleasant home and an aggressively devoted lover. So she looked at herself in the glass, pondering over Mrs. Perage's remarks, and blushed crimson to find that Hench was taking up much more of her thoughts than she considered altogether proper. That it was a case of love at first sight she would not admit, but on the whole her feelings had a great deal to do with the oft-quoted proverb.

On his side, Owain had no doubts whatever on the subject, strange as it may seem, considering that hitherto he had never been in love. His cousin's lovely face, her sympathetic kindness, together with the undeniable fact that he had saved her life, created in him a number of tumultuous feelings, which he spent the night in analysing. To be sure, he told himself that he did so because the pain of his ankle kept him wide awake, and because thoughts in this direction took his mind off his aching bones. But when the dawn came, he was tolerably certain that he was in love. The feeling he now experienced was wholly different to that with which he had regarded Zara. He had admired the dancer in a cool, reflective, judicious way, seeing that she had faults as well as virtues. But in Gwen he could see no faults, and never paused to consider that he could scarcely know her character from the little he had seen of her.

Sensible as Hench usually was, some power--he presumed it was the power of love---swept him off his feet, and he credited the girl with all the virtues of the angels, and with their beauty also. He was glad that he had saved her, as she would be grateful; he was glad that he had hurt himself, as she would pity him; and he was decidedly glad that he had concealed the relationship. Now, at least, there was every chance that he would be able to make a friend of her. Not that he wanted to halt at friendship. He was now firmly bent upon making her his wife, and thus would be able to fulfil Mr. Gilberry's prophecy and end the family feud in quite an agreeable and romantic way. All the night Owain was building castles in the air, and when the dawn came they were still firm. Only on the arrival of the doctor to examine his ankle did the young man descend from these Olympian heights. Then, with a sudden and very natural reaction, he began to think that he had been too premature in his building.

The result of this was disastrous to Gwen. She called at mid-day to see how he was getting on, and he received her coldly, while lying on the slippery horse-hair sofa in Mrs. Bell's tiny sitting-room. The girl, flushed with the romance of the whole adventure and struck anew with the splendid looks of her preserver, felt chilled by his calm politeness. The two talked in a more or less formal way and parted very soon. Gwen went back to tell Mrs. Perage that her hero was horrid, and her hero remained on his sofa trying to assure himself that he had rescued only an ordinary girl. But it was all of no use, for Nature would have her way. During the next few days the two met under the chaperonage of the widow Bell, and gradually became aware that the feelings they entertained towards one another were more than those of mere friendship. Of course this knowledge made them more stiff and formal than ever in their intercourse, as their conversation was confined to commonplace subjects, not likely to awaken emotion. Hench was anxious to ask his cousin about her father, but as she said nothing, he did not venture to broach the matter. Still, remembering that she had been clothed in white on the day of the accident, and seeing that her frocks since, beyond black ribbons, did not suggest mourning in any great degree, he came to the conclusion that she had not been particularly attached to her father, although he could not be quite sure. But all doubts on this question were set aside by Mrs. Perage, who placed matters very plainly before him, according to her somewhat grim custom.

The old lady did not call for a few days, although she sent creams and jellies, books and flowers, by the hands of Gwen. Owain was very grateful for these kind attentions, and asked Miss Evans to take back his letter of introduction, which she did. Etiquette thus having been complied with, one day, instead of the fairy vision of Gwen, the patient beheld a tall and lean old dame stalk into his room. By this time he was able to get about with a crutch, and rose to greet her, upon which she thrust him back into his armchair with a pair of very capable hands.

"Not so," said Mrs. Perage, when he was again seated and taking a chair opposite, where she kilted her black stuff dress to show a pair of large boots. "Stay where you are, young man. Hum! You look better than I expected."

"I'm quite well now, thank you, Mrs. Perage. And I must apologise for not having presented Jim's letter before."

"Jim sent another letter, and I know all about you," said the old lady sharply.

"Oh, I don't think you do," said Hench, rather alarmed, as he feared that Vane might have been indiscreet.

"Why not?" Mrs. Perage bent her sharp old eyes on his perturbed face, the good looks of which she secretly approved of. "There's nothing wrong about you, I hope and trust?"

"Not what you would call wrong," said Hench evasively.

"Pooh, young man. How do you know anything about my standard of morality. I don't suppose it's what you'd call a high one," added Mrs. Perage, rubbing her nose. "I always make allowance for fools, and most of those who dwell in this world, which is much too good for them, are fools."

Hench laughed. He liked Mrs. Perage, who was quite a character. In her young days she had been a great beauty, although she was now old and weather-beaten, careless of her attire, and quite manly in her manner. Since the death of her husband, some thirty years ago, she had managed her estates herself, for being childless she had little else to do, and had long since outgrown the toys which amuse Society. For a woman she was uncommonly tall, and with her aquiline nose, her swart complexion and dark eyes, she resembled a gipsy. In spite of her coarse dress so carelessly worn, there was an air of good-breeding about her, and also a shrewd look on her fierce face. Owain stared hard at her Amazonian looks, considering that here was a woman who should have been the mother of heroes to gird armour on them and send them forth to the fray. She was quite out of place in a peaceful community.

"Well, young man," said Mrs. Perage roughly, "you'll know me again, I daresay, if staring goes for anything. What are your thoughts?"

Hench told them and suggested how unfit she was for a peaceful world where a policeman stands at every corner. "I can't see you anywhere, Mrs. Perage, but in some Norse hall, worshipping Odin and urging men to battle."

"Perhaps going to battle myself," said the old dame grimly, yet very pleased with the strange compliment. "Hum! You are right, the world is tame now-a-day, and a long life has bored me with the petty concerns of baby folk. You seem to have ideas in your head, Master Owain." Hench stared and fear clutched at his heart. If she knew this much, she might know more. "Who told you my Christian name?" he faltered.

"My own common sense, man alive! I have lived here all my life and knew your grandfather, Mynydd Evans, aye and your father, and Madoc also. Hench was the name Owain took when he was outlawed. See, my boy, how naturally I use the Norse word, after your suggestions of my being a modern Valkyrie."

"Does my cousin know who I am?" asked the young man anxiously. "No. I wanted to see you first before I told her."

"Don't tell her, Mrs. Perage."

"Why not. Hum!"--her eyes were as piercing as spears--"there is some reason for you masquerading as Hench."

"Hench was the name adopted by my father, and until a few days ago I quite believed that it was my true name. But certain papers which he left with our family lawyers explained matters."

"Did they explain that you inherit Cookley Grange and ten thousand a year?"

"Yes."

"Hum!"--Mrs. Perage rubbed her nose again and looked puzzled. "Then, knowing that you were the heir, why did you not come and see your uncle after the death of your father? I know he died in Paris five years ago, as Madoc told me."

"I did not know that I was the heir until my twenty-fifth birthday on the tenth day of this month. My father left instructions with Gilberry & Gilberry that they were not to give the papers to me until then. I have already told you, Mrs. Perage, that only lately did I learn my true name."

The old dame nodded absently, thinking deeply for a few minutes. "I think your father was wise to keep you thus in ignorance until you were older and had some experience of the world. A man of twenty-five could have managed Madoc better than a boy of twenty. Yes, Owain was wise, knowing Madoc's character."

"The late Squire does not appear to have had a very good one," remarked Hench dryly. "He was unpopular, I am told by Mrs. Bell."

"He was a wicked, selfish, greedy, miserly old scoundrel," retorted Mrs. Perage, aggressively blunt. "And if that's speaking evil of the dead, I don't care. I am quite sure that Madoc fed your grandfather's anger when it was directed towards Owain, who, after all, was not so very evil, although selfish enough. Still, your father would never have been cut out of the will but for Madoc. And if Madoc had met you, young man, he would have tried to settle your hash in some way, you may be certain."

"Oh!" Hench started, and was on the point of revealing the story of the advertisement and his adventure, when he checked himself prudently and made quite a different remark. "But if Uncle Madoc was such a rotter, why is Gwen such a nice girl, and I am sure a good girl?"

"She is all that," endorsed Mrs. Perage heartily. "And if your father was such a selfish profligate--I don't wish to hurt your filial feelings, but he was--why are you such a nice young man?"

Hench coloured at the compliment. "I may be a profligate also."

"Pooh!" said Mrs. Perage with supreme contempt, "don't you think that I am able to read faces? Yours is a good one and so is Gwen's. The decency of you both comes in each case from the mother's side, I expect, for both your fathers were--what they were. Children of Old Nick, I call them. You had a bad time with that father of yours, I'll be bound?"

"Well"--Hench winced--"he was not a very amiable parent, I must admit, although I wouldn't say that to any one save you."

Mrs. Perage bent her keen old eyes on him, read between the lines, and laughed in a short rasping manner after the style of a fox barking. "Just as I thought, young man. Owain was a selfish, cruel animal, and so was Madoc. He gave you as bad a time as Madoc did Gwen."

"I rather gathered from Gwen's absence of mourning that she had no great love for her father," remarked Hench musingly. "Your powers of observation are great, Owain. Gwen and her father got on about as well together as a ferret and a rabbit; she being the last and he the first. But for me I don't know what the poor girl would have done. She would have run away from home, I expect. However, she always came to me when her father was particularly trying, and now she has come to me altogether. With me she will stay, until you take her away."

Hench raised himself on his elbow and blushed in a delightfully youthful manner. "What makes you say that?" he asked confusedly.

"Am I a fool?" queried Mrs. Perage grimly. "Doesn't a cat love cream, and is not a young man likely to fall in love with one whose life he has saved, provided that one is charming and good. Go to, my boy." She spoke quite in the style of her nephew Jim. "I can see through a brick wall, I suppose. But all this doesn't explain why you are masquerading here under your father's false name. Come now, tell me all about it."

Hench did not do as she asked him, even though she was such a sensible old lady, for he thought that the time was not yet ripe for him to speak freely about his Gipsy Stile adventure. Therefore he told her the same story that he had told to Mr. Gilberry. "And you see I was right to meet my cousin under a feigned name," he concluded, "for had I come as Owain Evans she would have been prejudiced against me."

"Well, I don't know." Mrs. Perage again rubbed her nose thoughtfully. "As you may guess, Madoc always spoke ill of you, saying you were the true son of your wicked father, which was a case of the pot calling the kettle black, I rather think. But, you see, Madoc hated the idea of your getting the property."

"He wanted Gwen to get it?"

"Not a bit. So long as you didn't succeed he would have been content to let an hospital have it. He cared nothing for his daughter, and being such a bad father she naturally disbelieved anything he said. Far from thinking you the rascal Madoc said you were, Gwen fancied that you were quite a nice agreeable young man, which you are. I think she would have welcomed Owain Evans just as kindly as she has welcomed Owain Hench. All the same, if you win her heart as a disguised prince the romance of it will appeal to her when she learns the delightful truth."

Hench laughed, feeling greatly relieved. "Mrs. Perage, I don't believe you are a Norse goddess. You are much too romantic."

"Perhaps, young man. I am an old fool."

"You are one of the most charming people I have ever met," said Hench warmly.

"Pooh!" retorted Mrs. Perage, pleased with the compliment. "Don't make love to me, or you'll break Gwen's heart."

"Has she a heart to break--on my account, that is?"

"Young man,"--Mrs. Perage rose until her head nearly touched the low ceiling, and she assumed her grand manner,--"you don't expect one woman to tell the secrets of another woman. All the same, a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse. And you are blind, being in love."

"Am I in love?"

"Something tells me that you are--and with Gwen. But if you are already engaged, or if there is any other girl in the question, I tell you, young man, that I won't have it. Gwen is much too good a girl to be trifled with."

"Oh, I assure you, I am not going to trifle with her."

"Good. If you do, you'll have me to reckon with," said the old woman grimly. "I am quite Norse enough to twist your neck if you repeat in your own person the very objectionable character of your father. Tell me plump and plain, if you please: do you love Gwen?"

"I think so."

"Think so! Then you don't love her. No man worth a woman's affection can be in doubt on that point."

"Well, you see, I'm a bit of an ass as regards women," confessed Hench, flustered by her imperious insistence. "I have never been in love before."

"All the better!" cried Mrs. Perage sharply. "But I thought I was."

"Hum! Well, and why not; one must gain experience. How many times?"

"Once only. I admired this girl but she loved another man, so I went away."

"Hum!" said Mrs. Perage once more. "Is your heart broken?"

"Oh Lord, no. I soon got over it."

"Then you haven't been in love. But with regard to Gwen"--Mrs. Perage suddenly sat down and laughed heartily--"aren't we rather silly to talk in this way? We are only weaving ropes of sand, for I know nothing certain about the state of your affections or those of Gwen. I think I had better let you two manage things in your own way, and as Mother Nature--who has a large experience--dictates. All I say is, act honestly towards the girl, or you'll have me to deal with. Understand?"

"I understand." Hench laughed. "You can trust me."

Mrs. Perage went away very well satisfied with the state of affairs. At heart she was romantic like every woman, and like every woman she was quite a matchmaker. There was no young man in Cookley worthy of Gwen, so far as she knew, and this swain--so her thoughts ran--had been brought by Providence in the nick of time to save the girl from being an old maid. She longed to speak as freely to Miss Evans as she had spoken to her cousin, but did not dare to do so, lest she should frighten her into banishing the dawning feeling of love. Mrs. Perage had seen much harm come from meddling, so decided to refrain from throwing the young people too violently at one another's heads. But she certainly threw them gently, for when Hench was nearly all right a few days later, she sent him an invitation to dinner. This he accepted with great delight, and the more eagerly as Gwen had ceased her visits since he became convalescent. At the dinner he would have a chance of seeing her again, and perhaps an opportunity of hinting at his feelings. For by this time he had proved the truth of the saying that "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," and was very sure that he really and truly loved her with all the power that was in him. And this was the genuine passion of man for woman--not the counterfeit one which had led him to seek Zara Alpenny.

By this time, since the Hungarian lady was not making trouble, Hench began to think that she would leave him alone altogether. Surely, he thought, if she intended to scheme for her daughter's marriage with him, she would have made some advance before now. Her silence lifted a weight off his mind, and he arrayed himself in purple and fine linen for the dinner, feeling that the sun of prosperity was beaming on him. He went to Mrs. Perage's house, believing that the fine weather would continue, and quite forgot the adage about the treacherous calm before the storm. But when he got to the door, and the door was opened by a small smart page with a freckled face and red hair, he was reminded that it did not do to trust wholly to appearance. The sight of the boy gave him quite a shock, and an uncomfortable one, reminding him as he did of Bethnal Green.

"Bottles!" he said, stepping into the hall and staring at the lad.

"No, sir; no, Mr. Hench. I'm Peter!" grinned the boy, and began to help Hench off with his overcoat.

Then Owain remembered how Simon Jedd had told him he had a brother in service in the country--the same he had gone to see. But he never expected to find that brother in Cookley and in the service of Mrs. Perage. "You know my name?" he said hesitatingly, and wondering if the imp was to be trusted.

"Oh yes, sir. Simon has spoken heaps heaps of times to me about you, saying how kind you were to him. Knew your name, sir, the minute Miss Gwen said as you'd saved her life."

"Simon came down to see you some weeks ago?"

"Yes, sir!" Peter spoke eagerly, and was evidently about to say much, when he suddenly shut his wide mouth and said no more than the two words.

Hench settled his coat and his tie, pondering over the situation. The sight of the boy, who was connected with Bottles, revived his anxiety, and he feared lest the lad should write to London and say where he was. In that case Madame Alpenny might find him out, and then there would be trouble. But then Simon, if he did write, would do so to his brother, and Bottles was entirely to be trusted. Still, Hench would have liked to give this page a hint, yet could not do so, as it would be undignified. Peter noted his lingering and hesitation.

"Simon wants to see you, sir. It's all right."

"What's all right?" asked Hench sharply.

The page wriggled uneasily. "Simon will tell you, sir. I don't know nothing, I don't, Mr. Hench."

Owain felt uneasy at the implied mystery, but judged it wise to affect careless confidence. "Simon can come and see me when he likes," he said, and entered the drawing-room, considerably annoyed by the encounter.

XI

MACBETH'S BANQUET

The house of Mrs. Perage was quaint and old-fashioned, being so delightfully reminiscent of gracious antiquity that Hench was charmed with his surroundings. As a very modern young man, who had wandered largely in new lands where civilization was still raw, he was pleasantly impressed by the panelled room with the low ceiling. The furniture was Chippendale and Sheraton of the powder and puff epoch, while carpet and curtains were mellowed by age into restful colours, comfortable to the eye. An odour of dried rose leaves scented the air, mingling with the more living perfume of countless blossoms. Mrs. Perage had the happy taste to be extremely fond of flowers, it would seem, for the room was filled with colour and fragrance, even to the fireplace, which bloomed like a garden with white buds and green leaves. Even though the curtains were not yet drawn, and the luminous summer twilight stole in through the wide windows, the many lamps were lighted. And the radiance of these, diffused through rose-tinted shades, bathed the whole room in the delicate hues of dawn. This was a haven of rest, a bower of joy, a paradise of delight, and Hench drew a long breath of sheer pleasure on its threshold.

"What a charming room," he said, advancing to greet his hostess. "Charming!"

"Blunderer!" retorted that lady in her contralto voice, which boomed like the buzz of a bee in a fox glove bell. "You should say, what charming ladies."

"You would think me too bold if I put my thoughts into words."

"Very cleverly turned, young man. But women never think men are too bold when they pay compliments."

Hench laughed and smiled in a friendly way at Gwen, who was smiling in a friendly way at him. She looked wonderfully fresh, attractively delightful, as delicate as Titania and wholly as fascinating. Her dress of plain white silk adorned with black ribbons, hinting at mourning, became her well in its dainty simplicity, and Owain felt again that queer heart-throb which informed him very distinctly that this was the one girl in the world for him. No woman could be lovely unless she had golden hair and blue eyes and a complexion of cream and roses. He wondered how he ever could have admired Zara, who did not possess these necessary charms. But when he was attracted by the dancer he was a fool, now he intended to be a wise man and lay his heart at Gwen's feet. Whether she would pick it up had yet to be seen, for she gave no intimation of her feelings.

"When you two finish grinning at one another like a couple of Chinese dolls, perhaps you will remember that I am present. Sit down, young man. Are you very hungry? I have a very good dinner for you."

"Splendid! I'm not hungry, Mrs. Perage, but I am greedy."

"Pooh! That joke is as old as the hills. Be more original."

"That's difficult. How can I be original, Miss Evans?" Hench asked the question with ceremonious courtesy, which made Mrs. Perage smile, knowing what she did know.

"I think you are original," said Gwen brightly. "You saved my life!"

"Hum!" came the boom of Mrs. Perage, "and that's originality, is it?"

"Well, I don't make a practice of saving lives," laughed Hench lightly. "And I don't think I ever saved any one before. So I am_ original, you see."

The old dame smiled grimly, as she relished the young man's flippant conversation. "One grows so tired of common-sense," she murmured, following her own thoughts.

"Why, you are always commending common-sense," exclaimed Gwen, lifting her eyebrows and laughing.

"In its place, child, in its place. To-night you and Mr. Hench can talk nonsense, as it will make me feel young."

"You are young, Mrs. Perage," said Owain seriously. "Your heart is in its spring-time. You are one whom the gods love."

"Ta! Ta! Ta! young Chesterfield. Don't make me blush, as I have long since forgotten how to do so. You and your compliments, indeed! Not but what I wear tolerably well, although a trifle time-worn," which final sentence showed that Mrs. Perage had her little vanities.

And she was right in having them, for having stepped out of her rough day-clothes into sumptuous evening dress, she looked wonderfully stately. Amber satin, black lace and diamonds, oddly enough, seemed as natural to her as the more or less masculine dress which she affected during her business hours. Mrs. Perage always called looking after her farms and attending to her accounts business, which it assuredly was, and business moreover which required a clear head. In the day-time she was like one of her labourers in appearance, and her clothes might have graced a scarecrow, but when evening came she always appeared as a fine lady. This change, which reminded Hench somewhat of Miss Hardcastle in Goldsmith's comedy, amused the young man. He liked Mrs. Perage.

"I wrote and asked Jim Vane to come down to dinner," went on Mrs. Perage, after a pause. "As I thought that I could amuse myself with his wit while you attended to Gwen here. But he wrote saying that he could not come, as he was exploring Bethnal Green."

"Bethnal Green," echoed Hench with a start. "What the deuce--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Perage---but what is Jim doing there?"

"He did not explain. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing!"

"What an irrelevant reply."

"Well, I was only thinking that Jim usually prefers the West End to the quarters of the poor," said Hench guardedly. He was not quite certain if he had mentioned his sojourn at Bethnal Green to Mrs. Perage, and resolved to do so now, as--so far as he was able--he wished to be quite straight and above-board with the keen old lady. "I stayed there for six months."

"In Bethnal Green?" said Gwen, amazed. "And what were you doing in such a horrible place, Mr. Hench?"

"Well, as Jim would put it, I was doing a perish. I am a poor man, Miss Evans, and have lived for many years in Queer Street."

"Queer Street?" Gwen looked puzzled.

"It is the name given to the locality where those unsuccessful people who are trying for what they can't get live in penury."

Gwen looked at Hench's well-cut suit of evening clothes, at his well-bred face, and considered his general debonair appearance. "You don't look poor."

"There is poverty and poverty," said Mrs. Perage gruffly. "Mr. Hench is not yet in the workhouse, Gwen. For my part I think 'a perish,' as you say Jim calls it, is not a bad thing for a young man. It gives him experience of life----"

"Of the seamy side of life, Mrs. Perage," interpolated the young man.

"And what is more picturesque than that. Here we are all respectable and eminently dull. There's the gong." She rose with a well-managed sweep of her skirts. "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."

"Or diet," said Hench, holding the door open for the ladies. "Pooh! nonsense!" said the Amazon vigorously. "Young men shouldn't know the meaning of such a word. I'm sure I don't. I have a strong digestion and a hard heart."

"Not that last," said Gwen quickly; "as I know."

"What imagination you have, child," retorted Mrs. Perage, and took her position at the head of a small table, while Gwen and Hench sat on either side. "And I hope you don't mind our straggling into the dining-room in this free and easy way," she added to the young man; "but I couldn't take your arm as Gwen would have felt out of it, and I wasn't going to let you give Gwen your arm lest you should lack reverence for my age." And she laughed in her deep, hearty fashion, evidently desirous of making her guest feel quite at home.

The dining-room was a small apartment decorated and furnished in the Jacobean style. But Hench could not see much of it, as there were only candles in sconces here and there. The most powerful illumination was that thrown by a large lamp with a green shade, which hung low over the table. In its light the white napery, the old silver, the crystal glasses and the many flowers, looked peculiarly attractive. And the table not being over large, the three seated at it could converse with one another very much at their ease. A deft maid and Peter waited dexterously, and everything ran smoothly during the meal.

"This is my hour of relaxation," explained Mrs. Perage briskly. "I am ominously fond of my creature comforts and this is my favourite soup."

"Why ominously?"

"Silly questioner. Doesn't devotion to eating show that one is growing old?"

"Then I must have been born old," said Hench gaily, "for I have always had a good appetite since I was a boy, and have always liked nice things." His eyes rested, perhaps inadvertently, on Gwen as he spoke.

"Ah!" Mrs. Perage had noticed the look, and spoke significantly. "You are one of those lucky people who will always get the nice things."

"I haven't had much luck so far, Mrs. Perage."

"Ungrateful! What do you call this?"

"Paradise!" said Hench briefly.

"With you as Adam, Gwen as Eve, and myself as the Serpent."

"Aren't you talking dreadful nonsense?" observed the girl seriously.

"Not at all," retorted the old lady coolly. "It is common-sense to chatter amusingly. Enjoy yourself, child, and when trouble comes you will be able to remember at least one happy hour."

"Trouble has come, and severe trouble, too," replied Gwen softly, and with a gloomy air.

"Now, not another word!" Mrs. Perage spoke sharply. "We can talk of that afterwards in the drawing-room."

"Talk of what?" asked Hench innocently, for he was surprised by Gwen's gloom and Mrs. Perage's sharpness.

The old dame rubbed her nose in a vexed way. "Gwen has something to ask you this evening," she observed. "I think it is nonsense myself. No! I won't tell you what it is just now, neither will Gwen. Let us enjoy our meal without the discussion of horrors."

This was all very well, but how was Hench to enjoy his meal when Care stood like a waiter behind his chair? The presence of Peter reminded him of Bottles, and that memory brought to his recollection The Home of the Muses in Bethnal Green, where, for all he knew, Madame Alpenny might be plotting. Then he wondered what had taken Jim to the house, for there he must have gone, as it was unlikely he would journey to such a district for any other purpose. Perhaps the Hungarian lady was already weaving her nets to snare him--the thinker-either as a husband for Zara, or as a criminal. It was very uncomfortable thinking.

And being so alarmed, Hench did his best to talk brightly and amusingly. For the time being he was "fey," as the Scotch say, and roused his cousin out of her gloom by his sallies. Mrs. Perage seconded him admirably, as she quite enjoyed a contest of wits, which was rare to come by in Cookley. The food was good, the wine was excellent, the company interesting. All the same Hench felt that this meal was like Macbeth's banquet, and behind the revelry lurked the grim figure of Tragedy with her bowl and dagger. At any moment Banquo in the person of Madame Alpenny might appear. Of course such a supposition was nonsense, as the Hungarian lady did not know where he was. But the feeling became so real to Hench that he cast several uneasy looks behind his chair. Gwen noticed this and remarked on the same nervously.

"Why do you look over your shoulder?" she asked petulantly.

"For the Kill-joy," said Hench in a blunt way. "You know, Miss Evans, man is never permitted to be entirely happy. There is always the Kill-joy."

"Gwen will provide you with all the Kill-joy you are needing," said Mrs. Perage significantly. "Wait until we go to the drawing-room. Meantime go on scintillating, young man. Talk your heart out."

"To whom?" asked Hench audaciously.

"To me, sir. You can flirt with Gwen to-morrow; to-night old age must have its turn. Here are some very excellent cigarettes. Light up and talk."

"You remind me of the lady who asked Sydney Smith when he was going to be funny," said Hench dryly. "It is not easy to talk when so ordered. As to Miss Evans, she never flirts."

"Ah, you don't know my capabilities," retorted Gwen, with a mischievous gleam in her blue eyes. "I have many sides to my character."

"And all charming, I am sure," answered the young man courteously.

And so the conversation went on, all frothy, all about nothings--mere spume and spindrift of the mind. And the lighter it became the more certain did Hench become sure that Banquo's ghost was haunting the room. He felt quite relieved when Mrs. Perage conducted himself and Gwen into the drawing-room, for there the psychic atmosphere was less oppressive. The girl, however, appeared to feel it otherwise, for after playing on the piano for a few minutes she began to wander restlessly round the room. Mrs. Perage attempted to frown her into sitting down, but as this proved to be an impossible task she accepted the situation with grim resignation.

"You may as well enlist Mr. Hench as your champion, child. You will never be quiet until you do."

"Enlist me as your champion!" echoed Hench, glancing at Gwen.

The girl grew flushed. "That is Mrs. Perage's pretty way of putting things," was her reply, as she sat down near the hostess. "But I do wish you to help me, Mr. Hench. I'm not quite sure if I am right in doing so, and perhaps you will think it is presumption on my part. But, somehow, your having saved my life has made you more than a friend."

"More than a friend?"

"I mean"--Gwen became even more crimson than she already was, as she became aware that she had spoken more freely than was necessary--"more familiar than most of my friends."

"Who are usually mere acquaintances," observed Mrs. Perage quietly. "Why beat about the bush, Gwen? You know that Mr. Hench is clever and kind-hearted, and you are anxious that he should do you a favour. That is the situation."

"Any favour I can do you, Miss Evans----" began the young man eagerly, when the girl stopped him.

"Don't say another word until you know what the favour is," she said in an abrupt manner; "to do what I want may be unpleasant. In a word I want you to try and find out who murdered my father."

"That's about a dozen words, more or less," sighed Mrs. Perage, but Hench took no notice of her flippant remark. He was too much taken aback to do so, and remained silent.

Gwen misunderstood his silence, and looked mortified "You won't help me?"

"I was thinking," said the young man gravely. "Of course I have read all about the death of your father in the newspapers, Miss Evans, and I can quite understand your desire to avenge him. Anything I can do shall be done with the very greatest pleasure. How do matters stand?"

"As they stood after the inquest," explained Gwen with a shrug. "The jury brought in an open verdict, but the general opinion is that my father was murdered by the man who spoke to the girl in the tap-room of the Bull Inn." Hench winced. Every one appeared to be agreed that the tramp was the culprit, and he guessed that if discovered the tramp would have little chance of escaping a most uncomfortable trial. Even if he proved his innocence the experience would be unpleasant. Wondering what Mrs. Perage and the girl would say if he were to acknowledge that he was the man referred to, he began to ask questions in a grave voice.

"Do you think that this tramp is the guilty person?"

"It looks like it," rejoined Gwen promptly. "The man asked the way to the Gipsy Stile and evidently went there. Afterwards my father was found dead near the stile."

"Had this tramp any motive to murder your father?"

"How can I tell that?" said the girl irritably. "I am only taking what evidence suggests his guilt. Why should he come to Cookley and ask the way to the very place where my father was afterwards found dead?"

"But the fact that the man asked the way to the stile shows that he was a stranger in Cookley. Would a stranger come here to murder your father?"

"Hum!" said Mrs. Perage suddenly. "Madoc Evans had many enemies!"

"Can you name any of them?"

"Every one in the neighbourhood, I should say," snapped the old lady cynically.

"Exactly. Every one in the neighbourhood. But this tramp was a stranger."

"He might have been hired by some one to murder the Squire," said Mrs. Perage vaguely.

"In that case the some one would have explained how this bravo was to get to the stile," said Hench coolly. And then he wondered if Gwen knew anything about the advertisement. "Also," he continued, "the some one must have known that Squire Evans would be at the stile at that particular time. Now, Miss Evans, can you tell me if your father made any appointment?"

Gwen shook her head. "I can't say. My father did many things about which he told me nothing. Often in summer he walked out after dinner, as he did on the night he was murdered, but where he went I can't say. We searched the park when we missed him, and afterwards the woods on chance."

"Was your father agitated on that night?"

"He was agitated from the time the woman came to see him," said Gwen quickly. Hench sat up, and a thrill passed through him.

"A woman?"

"Yes! Some time in June a woman called one afternoon and had an interview with my father in the library. She was with him for two hours, and when she went away he was very much upset. I asked him who she was and why the visit annoyed him--as it plainly did."

"And he told you to mind your own business, I'll be bound," said Mrs. Perage with a grim smile, for she knew Evans thoroughly.

"Yes, he did. But from the time this woman called my father was silent and morose and irritable. I hope you won't think that I am undutiful, Mr. Hench, when I say that my father was not a pleasant-tempered man. But after the interview he became unbearable."

"I never knew him when he was otherwise," cried the old lady, determined that Hench should know everything. "Madoc Evans was without doubt the most disagreeable person I have ever met. A bear would have had a more amiable temper."

"Well, my father is dead," said Gwen coldly, "so it's no use calling him names."

"Oh, I'll be a very tombstone for lying about the dead, if you like, my dear Gwen. But if Mr. Hench is to help he must know that your father was one of those uncomfortable men who never had a friend, and who never wanted one, so far as I know."

"My father was eccentric," said Gwen, her colour coming and going as she explained herself to the young man. "And certainly he did not get on well with people. He quarrelled with my grandfather and with his brother Owain."

"And with every one else," said Mrs. Perage. "After all Mynydd Evans would have done better to leave the money to Owain"--she stole a glance at Hench as she spoke. "He was a better man than Madoc."

"Madoc was my father," said Gwen impatiently, "so please say as little bad of him as possible. And, after all, the estate has gone to my cousin, Owain's son, though I don't know why he doesn't come and take possession. What do you think is the reason, Mr. Hench?"

"How can I tell the reason?" asked Hench awkwardly, and aware that Mrs. Perage was looking at him significantly. "Let us leave that fact alone for the present and talk of this woman who evidently upset your father. Who was she, Miss Evans?"

"I have told you that my father refused to say."

"Did you see her?"

"I caught a glimpse of her when she went away from the Grange, as I happened to be looking out of the drawing-room window."

"What was she like to look at?"

"I didn't see her face. Her back was turned towards me, as she was going down the avenue."

"Oh," said Hench disappointed, "that's a pity."

"But I remember how she was dressed."

"That's better. Well?"

"She looked an untidy old thing," said Gwen, after a pause to recollect the appearance of this important stranger. "Very fat and unshapely. She wore a black dress spotted with orange dots, a black velvet mantle trimmed with jet beads, and a hat much too large for her, and----" She broke off. "What's the matter, Mr. Hench?"

Owain's sudden change of colour and sudden start at this vivid description of Madame Alpenny betrayed him immediately, and he looked confused, not very well knowing how to excuse himself. For obvious reasons he did not wish to admit that he recognized the costume described. Therefore he took refuge in a white lie, and told the first one that occurred to him. "An idea struck me, Miss Evans, that your father might have been murdered by gipsies."

"Hum!" cried Mrs. Perage, quite taken in by this plausible untruth. "That isn't at all unlikely. Madoc was hard on gipsies, especially when they poached."

"But why do you suggest gipsies?" Gwen asked Owain, without attending to her hostess.

"Well," he said, with an affected shrug, "that queer dress of the untidy old woman hints at a gipsy. Perhaps it's only a fancy on my part."

"It's a very good fancy," said Mrs. Perage emphatically. "If this tramp is innocent, which he may be for all I know, the gipsies may have something to do with the crime. Why, Gwen, don't you remember how your father turned a whole gang of them off Parley Common a year ago because they were robbing the hen-roosts? And an orange spotted dress is just what a gipsy would wear."

"But you don't think, Mrs. Perage, that this woman murdered my father?"

"My dear, I don't suggest anything because I don't know anything. All I say is, that Mr. Hench's chance shot may have hit the bull's-eye."

Gwen looked down thoughtfully at the carpet. "My father certainly was very much worried after his interview with this woman, and his worry lasted up to the time of his death. Gipsies--if this woman was a gipsy--might have something to do with the matter."

"It's only my idea, of course," said Owain hastily, for he did not wish Madame Alpenny to be run to earth immediately. "Don't let us jump to conclusions. We must think. I shall be here for a few weeks, and during that time, Miss Evans, I am wholly at your disposal."

"You will help me to learn who murdered my father?"

"Yes. I'll do my best to find out," said Hench earnestly.

"Hum!" boomed Mrs. Perage. "Easier said than done. How do you intend to begin?"

"Well," remarked Hench, after a pause. "I think it will be a good start if Miss Evans takes me over Cookley Grange and into Parley Wood where the corpse was found. Then we can talk over the matter."

Gwen looked doubtful. "Do you think my cousin would mind if I went over the Grange and took Mr. Hench?" she asked her hostess.

Mrs. Perage stole a sly glance at Owain. "No, I don't think he would. Why should he, if you come to that?"

"Well, his father and my father didn't get on well together."

"That is no reason why their son and daughter shouldn't," retorted Mrs. Perage. "You can take Mr. Hench to the Grange to-morrow at noon. Now, young man,"--she rose to the full height of her lofty stature,----"you can depart. I keep early hours here, as it is necessary that I should have my beauty sleep."

"As if you needed it!" said Owain jestingly, and this agreeable visit ended as it had begun--with badinage and frivolity.