No. 392. NEW SERIES.

CHAPTER XXVIII. BATTLE ROYAL.

ABOUT noon the following day Mrs. Dawson made her way with difficulty to the scene of the last night's revel, which had the air as if a general "sack" had taken place. The contents of the supperrooms seemed to have become mixed up with those of the drawing-room; there were ladders, girandoles being taken down, green baize, glass on the floor, and vans at the door.

It was in this curious scene that Mrs. Dawson insisted on seeing the lady owner of the house, who was in a sort of dreamy rapture and good humour with all the world. Mrs. Dawson was in a very different vein-decided, stern, and business-like.

"I have only a few words to say," she said, coming to the point, "and I must ask a decided answer. I suppose we are to understand, from what took place last night, that your son does not accept my statement of his engagement to my daughter Phoebe ?

"I said it was a misunderstanding, recollect," replied Mrs. Pringle, with a kind of benevolent smile.

"That Phoebe had mistaken him: and his behaviour?

"I really think it must be something of the kind. That dear girl of yours was much admired last night. Lady St.

Maurice asked who she was."

"You were saying-?" interrupted Mrs. Dawson, impatiently.

"Well, I believe it is so. And Francis, I believe, thinks so also."

VOL. XVI.

PRICE TWOPENCE.

"Ah! how fortunate," cried Mrs. Dawson; "here he is, himself. Now we can hear it from his own lips."

The young man was crossing the hall with a smile upon his lips, fresh from a visit to his Baddeleys.

Mrs. Pringle was uncomfortable, for a moment only. After all, it would settle the matter decisively. He would have to repudiate in plain terms.

He himself was much confused. His mother, already showing signs of capacity for society and its devices, anticipated the others.

"I am glad, Francis, that you are here, as you will be able to convince Mrs. Dawson of her curious misapprehension. I know that you admired Miss Dawson, and that you may have used some expressions that may have been construed into a proposal; but I am sure you never contemplated a serious engagement ?"

"No, no," said the young man, eagerly; "I may have said a few hasty words after a dance, but I never intended

"I see," said Mrs. Dawson, deliberately; "nothing more than a sudden impulsenothing serious intended.”

"Yes, that was it," he said, still more eagerly; "and I did not think that Miss Dawson took it for more."

"Now, you see," said the happy mother with much satisfaction, we are arriving at an agreement."

"Let me read you this," said Mrs. Dawson, taking a letter from her pocket. Mr. Pringle turned pale. He recognised the document as being one of his letters to Phoebe, although, until he heard them declaimed in Mrs. Dawson's unrelenting voice, he had no recollection of having committed himself to such compromising sentiments.

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Mrs. Pringle darted an angry look at her son; then her whole manner changed. She became defiant, burning her ships at

once,

"It is no matter," she said; "the whole thing is unsuited, and can't be! We reject it altogether. There's an end of it."

Mrs. Dawson made a great effort to be calm.

"It is not to be so easily disposed of," she said. "Do you," she added, turning to young Pringle, "reject your solemn engagement in this way? Recollect, you will kill Phoebe-break her heart!"

"What am I to do?" he said. "It was very hasty, and we did not know our own

minds

"Phoebe knew hers. I merely wish for a simple answer-'yes' or 'no." Do you refuse to carry out your engagement ?" "There is no engagement. The proof is, that at this moment he is engaged to be married to another person."

Mrs. Dawson recoiled under this fresh blow. She was being beaten all along the line. She knew not what to do; how to save her poor, luckless Phoebe. Yet the first thought was the discredit, the mortification of being thrown over in this coarse, cruel, and unceremonious way. At once all her restraint gave way.

"You little know whom you have to deal with," went on Mrs. Dawson, "Because you have got money you think you can treat us in this fashion; but take care. And as for you, sir, only that my poor child would suffer, and has given her heart, I would think it the greatest misfortune to give her to you. Her heart will break under this; but that I suppose you will think a fresh triumph. You are a poor, unmanly fellow."

The young man coloured. He did feel some pangs of self-reproach as he thought of the poor child he had deserted.

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'Indeed," he began, "I do not wish to- But what am I to do? It is too late now."

His mother came to the rescue. "We cannot have this sort of language. You must see it is quite unbecoming. In fact, if this tone is to be taken, we had

better leave it to Messrs. Cooper, our family solicitors. They will arrange it all; but you must see that-really-we

cannot

And she smiled off the subject and the visitor without another word. Mrs. Dawson withdrew, and went home in a state almost approaching to despair. The wistful face of Phoebe met her, eagerly looking for good news. Still, the mother could not find it in her heart to tell her the worst. She forced her face into an encouraging expression, and told her that all was going on very well; that the family were, of course, rather against it for the present, but that in a short time, &c. "But he was he coming?" asked Phoebe. "She was not to be in a hurry," her mother said; and then went up to her room to take off her "things," but, in reality, to think.

What on earth were they to do? She felt at the end of her resources. It was too plain that nothing could be done. How was a wealthy, influential family to be compelled to do justice by a poor feeble widow and her daughter? There was Tom, indeed. But what could Toma wild, flighty fellow-do? They would only laugh at him.

Still, such as Tom was, it was proper that he should know how things were. So, getting into a cab, she drove off to his various haunts-to this queer club which was open all night, to those strange, out-ofthe-way lodgings where he was to be found occasionally. No one knew where he was, until at last she recollected an hotel where he stopped now and then, and where she was told he was at that present time at Monaco, shooting pigeons. He would not be back for a fortnight or three weeks. She wrote to him, but it was uncertain whether the letter would even find him; and, if it did, Tom had a fashion of leaving his family letters unopened.

Those three weeks were slow and painful ones for the widow and her daughter. In the Court Journal or Morning Post was to be read the announcement of the marriage "in high life" which had been arranged between Mr. Francis Pringle, only son of Samuel Turner Pringle, Esq., of Joliffe Court, Hants, and Lady Florence Croope, second daughter of the Earl of Baddeley. This with infinite difficulty was kept out of the way of Phoebe, who was a diligent reader of these elegant chronicles. A fortnight later, however, the house which the noble family occupied

"More power, Tom," said the eager mother. "God bless you! Five-ten if you like."

"Fiver be it," said Tom. "Not a word to Phib, mind. Hush! here she is. Just off, Phib, to the Grand National; will be back in a day or two; keep up, my pet, all will go well yet!"

And Tom leaped into his cab and clattered to the station. away

CHAPTER XXIX. IN PARIS.

We must now take a glimpse at the Baddeley family, as they are engaged with all their preparations for the coming event. Instead of the jubilee and excitement which reigned in the Pringle household, there was here uncertainty, with some disappointment, greed, and a host of minor passions. Lady Baddeley was a woman of the world, as it is indulgently called; that is to say, in all that regarded the advancing of her family, about as unscrupulous as a bookmaker on the turf. She only accepted the morality laid down by the code of fashion, just as the latter accepts the rules of the betting-ring, through the wholesome fear that, if he transgress them, he will not be allowed to pursue his calling. All her life, therefore, she had been looking out for husbands for her daughters, much as she looked out for a house when she came to town for the season. As for those views which more vulgar persons sometimes seek in marriages, such as "a suitable partner," "compatibility of tastes and tempers," such language, it might be said with perfect truth, was Hebrew to her."

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"What was the man talking about?" she was once heard to remark after a fashionable canon, who was in the habit of preaching at court, had made a remark of the kind, during a visit. "Isn't the young man Lord Bangington's eldest son? Surely nothing could be more suitable or compatible, as he calls it!"

being between-a sober, serious young man, who had an admiration for the stalwart proportions of the Lady Florence; and this promising and desirable gentleman Lady Baddeley had nearly secured. It was during this negotiation that the lady was betrayed into the most unfortunate false step of her life. Some friend had told the young man that the object of his attachment had been already engaged to another person. The incident had, indeed, occurred to her several times; but the news caused the lover a shock, as he was of a sensitive turn. Lady Baddeley, with an excessively candid manner, which she knew how to assume with all young men, laughed off the notion, and declared "that there was not a word of truth in it," a declaration which he repeated triumphantly to Lord Garterley. The latter, from a sort of fancy, took the trouble to investigate the matter, discovered the falsehood, peremptorily interposed and forbade the banns. The affair was talked about, and was excessively damaging to the family, who went abroad for a short time, to return in a couple of years, when the affair had "blown over." Everything blows over within that period.

Still, with the sanguineness that had been chastened by frequent defeat, the family had still clung to the hope of securing this prize, particularly as the young man still remained single. When the Pringle alliance was projected, it was firmly believed that one of its effects would be to stimulate the lagging affections of the young man; and it was prosecuted with a publicity and éclat that it was hoped would reach him. No result, however, followed, owing really to Lord Garterley, who took a pleasure in exposing these subterfuges. It was even conveyed to the lover that " darling Florence" was suffering cruelly, and that her inclinations were being in a manner

forced," and her heart was still fondly turned back to its old love. This, too, was of no avail; and, in sheer desperation, the family had to set out for Paris, still clinging to the hope that, even at fiftyfive minutes past the eleventh hour-the time at which matters now had reached— something would turn up.

did some business on "the Guineas," the race that was then at hand. It was about three o'clock when he found himself free, and, perhaps, in condition, as he would consider it, to attend to Phib's affair. He was strolling down the Italian Boulevard that gay and glittering promenade-looking in at the shop-windows, when he actually saw the person he was in search of coming towards him, with a friend, whom he knew also, the young lord, Mr. Pringle's future brother-in-law. Mr. Pringle was in high spirits, and with his face all smiles and good humour, but it became blank as Tom presented himself. Never was there so awkward a position: he felt in a second that Tom had been sent for pursuit or recapture.

But Tom greeted both with that warmth and freedom which such easy young fellows affect, and turned back with them. The young lord had a high respect for Phib's brother, and for his judgment in the matter of a horse, or shooting, and was, in fact, glad to see him, as he was bored with his expected connection. Being of the usual thoughtless pattern, he even did not associate Tom in any way with an opposition to his sister's pretensions, nor would it, had he thought of such a thing, have made much difference. Tom walked about with the pair for some hours, introduced the young lord to one of the French betting-rooms-it was the days of the Oller Agency and "Paris Mutuels "-where he "put him up" to a good thing or two, and introduced him to one of the French racing Counts. The French racing Count asked both to dinner that day, overlooking Mr. Pringle, to the latter's infinite mortification-an invitation which Tom declined, and the young lord accepted with delight. Then Tom went away with his friend Mr. Pringle, who, indeed, made some excuses, and talked of "having an engagement," to which his companion listened without taking notice of it.

"We will take a cab," he said abruptly; "I always find that as good as a private room when I have something to say to a man. Get in." Mr. Pringle made feeble protest; but there was something decided in Tom's manner which it was impossible to oppose. "Bois de Boulogne," Tom said, with a laugh; "only, of course, for a drive!" Mr. Pringle did not understand this allusion.

"Won't do," said Tom coolly. "Don't let me have to tell you what I think of you. But, you see, the time is running out, and I must act. The poor little thing will break her heart-will die, I really believe. She is in love with you."

"Oh, well, I am not accountable; that is, Ican't help that," said the badgered Pringle. "Why, you" said Tom, fiercely.

Then added gently, "Now, don't talk in that way if you want me to keep my handswell, my temper, old boy. "You had better not try that," said Mr. Pringle, desperately.

"Now, listen to me," said Tom, interrupting him; "I want to settle this quietly between you and me, and without any fuss or scandal. Recollect, I am only speaking as a matter of business-not by way of threatening, or anything of the sort. You must hold by your bargain, that's the first thing; then you must break off with these people. I'll show you how to do it cleverly. I'll make it easy," he went on. "The son shall back you up. You'll get into no scrape, that I promise you. Come, I say, you're an honourable fellow, and want to be thought so; you don't wish to worry and torture that poor little soul at home, do you?"

The other was beginning to think of the awkwardness of his position, and saw that he could not give way in either direction without disgrace. But he had, as it were, his back to the wall, and must fight.

"It is too late now, Dawson, to think of all that. Quite out of the question."

"Well, then," said Tom, slowly, "you must be prepared for the consequences. You'll have me to deal with.” "What?"

"Oh yes. You know we are in a country where the police do not interfere between gentlemen of honour. When you get to England, I shall have to deal with you in rougher style. I am not threatening, but only stating what must happen. Take my word for it, you will have to get out of this marriage.'