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.
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Fever of
Life
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Title: The Fever of Life

Author: Fergus Hume

Release date: November 29, 2017 [eBook #56080]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FEVER OF

LIFE ***
Transcriber's Notes:
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THE FEVER OF LIFE

By FERGUS HUME, author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "The

Year of Miracle," "The Piccadilly Puzzle," "A Creature of the Night,"
"Monsieur Judas," "Madame Midas," Etc.

NEW YORK AND LONDON

STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
 Copyright, 1901,
By UNITED STATES BOOK CO.

Copyright 1902.
By STREET & SMITH

CONTENTS

CHAPTER.
I. PINCHLER'S DOCKYARD.
II. WANTED, A CHAPERON.
III. THE WOMAN WITH THE FIERCE EYES.
IV. WHAT MRS. BELSWIN HAD TO SAY.
V. THE PRODIGAL SON.
VI. THE DRAGON.
VII. THE GARDEN OF HESPERIDES.
VIII. MRS. BELSWIN'S CORRESPONDENCE.
IX. A RUSTIC APOLLO.
X. A BOUDOIR CONSULTATION.
XI. THE ART OF DINING.
XII. ARS AMORIS.
XIII. EXIT MRS. BELSWIN.
XIV. SIGNOR FERRARI DECLINES.
XV. THE RETURN OF THE WANDERER.
XVI. FOREWARNED IS FOREARMED.
XVII. BEFORE THE STORM.
XVIII. FACE TO FACE.
XIX. THE OUTER DARKNESS.
XX. A MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR.
XXI. ARCHIE MAKES HIS PLANS.
MRS. BELSWIN CONSIDERS WAYS AND
XXII.
MEANS.
XXIII. BETTER LEAVE WELL ALONE.
XXIV. A MEMORY OF THE PAST.
XXV. SILAS PLAYS HIS LITTLE GAME.
XXVI. VAE VICTIS.
XXVII. THE CASE.
XXVIII. WHAT MRS. BELK FOUND.
XXIX. DANGER.
XXX. CLEVER DEFENCE.
XXXI. A TRAGIC SITUATION.
XXXII. NEWS FROM AUSTRALIA.
XXXIII. MR. DOMBRAIN SHOWS HIS TEETH.
XXXIV. IN OPEN COURT.
XXXV. EXPIATION.
XXXVI. A MEMORY OF THE PAST.
 THE FEVER OF LIFE

CHAPTER I.

PINCHLER'S DOCKYARD.

"Fashion for the nonce surrenders

Giddy Mayfair's faded splendours,
And with all her sons and daughters
Hastens to health-giving waters;
Rests when curfew bells are ringing,
Rises when the lark is singing,
Plays lawn tennis, flirts and idles,
Laying snares for future bridals;
Thus forgetting pleasures evil,
In return to life primeval."

It was Toby Clendon who named it "Pinchler's Dockyard "--Toby

Clendon, young, handsome, and a trifle scampish, who wrote witty
essays for The Satirist, slashing criticisms for The Bookworm, and
dainty society verses for any journal which chose to pay for such
poetical effusions. A very cruel remark to make about Mrs. Pinchler's
respectable private hotel at Marsh-on-the-Sea; but then the truth is
always cruel, and Mr. Clendon proved the truth of his statement in
this wise--

"A dockyard is a place where broken-down ships are repaired. Man,

by poetical license, is a ship on the ocean of life. Some broken-down
human ships under stress of circumstance put in to Pinchler's private
hotel for repair in the matter of bodily ailments. Pinchler's harbours
these broken-down human ships, therefore Pinchler's is a human
dockyard. Strike out the word human as redundant, and there you
are, Pinchler's Dockyard."

A whimsical deduction, doubtless, yet by no means void of a certain

amount of truthful humour, as the guests at Pinchler's private hotel
were for the most part deficient as regards physical completeness. If
the lungs were healthy the liver was out of order. Granted that the
head was "all there," the legs were not, unless one leg counted as
two. Splendid physique, but something wrong with the internal
organs. Yes, certainly a good many human ships were undergoing
repair under the calculating eye of Mrs. Pinchler; and as her
establishment was not healthy enough for a hotel nor sickly enough
for an hospital, Toby Clendon's intermediate term "dockyard" fitted it
exactly; so Pinchler's Dockyard it was called throughout Marsh-on-
the-Sea.

It was a square red-brick house, built on a slight eminence, and

facing the salt sea breeze of the Channel. On the one side a pleasant
garden, on the other smooth green tennis lawns, and in front a
mixture of turf, of flower-beds, and of gravel, sloping down to the
road which divided it from the stony sea beach. A short distance
away to the right was Marsh-on-the-Sea, with its rows of gleaming
white houses set on the heights, while below was the red-roofed
quaint old town, built long before its rival above became famous as a
watering-place. To the left, undulating hills, clumps of trees, tall
white cliffs, and here and there pleasant country houses, showing
themselves above the green crests of their encircling woods. Add to
this charming prospect a brilliant blue sea, a soft wind filled with the
salt smell of the waters, and a sun tempered by intervening clouds,
and it will be easily seen that Marsh-on-the-Sea was a pleasantly
situated place, and Pinchler's Dockyard was one of the pleasantest
houses in it.
"And why," said Mr. Clendon, continuing an argument, "and why
English people want to go to the Riviera for beauty, when they have
all this side of the Channel to choose from is more than I can make
out."

It was just after luncheon, and the wrecks at present being repaired
in the dockyard were sunning themselves on the tennis lawn. Some
were reading novels, others were discussing their ailments, a few
ladies were working at some feminine embroidery, a few gentlemen
were smoking their after-dinner pipe, cigar, cigarette, as the case
might be, and all were enjoying themselves thoroughly in their
different ways.

Toby himself, arrayed in spotless white flannels, with a blue-ribboned

straw hat was lying ungracefully on the grass, smoking a cigarette,
and talking in an affectedly cynical vein to three ladies. There was
Mrs. Valpy, fat, ponderous and plethoric; Miss Thomasina Valpy, her
daughter, familiarly called Tommy, a charmingly pretty girl, small,
coquettish and very fascinating in manner. As a rule, men of
susceptible hearts fell in love with Tommy; but when they heard Mrs.
Valpy say that she was like Thomasina when young, generally
retreated in dismay, having a prophetic vision that this fragile,
biscuit-china damsel would resemble her mother when old, and as
Mrs. Valpy--well they never proposed, at all events.

There was a third lady present, Miss Kaituna Pethram, who was
staying at Pinchler's with the Valpys, and without doubt she was very
handsome; so handsome, indeed, that Tommy's brilliant beauty
paled before her sombre loveliness. She was dark, unusually dark,
with a pale, olive-coloured skin, coils of splendid dusky hair,
luminous dark eyes, and clearly-cut features, which were not exactly
European in their outline. Neither was her Christian name European,
and this being taken in conjunction with her un-English look, led
some people to think she had African blood in her veins. In this
supposition, however, they were decidedly wrong, as there was no
suggestion of the negro in her rich beauty. Indian? not delicate
enough, neither as regards features nor figure. Spanish? no; none of
the languor of the Creole; then no doubt Italian; but then she lacked
the lithe grace and restless vivacity of the Latin race. In fact Miss
Kaituna Pethram puzzled every one. They were unable to "fix her,"
as the Americans say, and consequently gave up the unguessable
riddle of her birth in despair.

As a matter of fact, however, she was the descendant, in the third

generation, of that magnificent New Zealand race, now rapidly dying
out--the Maories, and the blending of the dusky Polynesian with the
fair European had culminated in the production of this strange flower
of two diverse stocks--neither wholly of the one nor of the other, but
a unique blending of both. Her great grandparents had been full-
blooded Maories, with uncivilised instincts and an inborn preference
for a savage life. Their daughter, also a full-blooded Maori, being the
daughter of a chief, had married a European settler, and the
offspring of this mixed marriage was Kaituna's mother, a half-caste,
inheriting the civilised culture of her father, and the savage instincts
of her mother. Kaituna was born of this half-caste and an English
father, therefore the civilised heredity prevailed; but she still retained
the semblance, in a minor degree, of her primeval ancestry, and
without doubt, though ameliorated by two generations of European
progenitors on the male side, there lurked in her nature the
ineradicable instincts of the savage.

Of course, self-complacent Europeans, pure-blooded in themselves,

never argued out the matter in this wise, and were apt to look down
on this inheritor of Maori ancestry as "a nigger," but were decidedly
wrong in doing so, as the magnificent race that inhabits New
Zealand is widely removed from the African black. At all events,
whatever they might think, Kaituna Pethram was a uniquely beautiful
girl, attractive to a very great degree, and inspiring more admiration
than the undecided blondes and brunettes who moved in the same
circle cared to acknowledge. Toby Clendon was not in love with her,
as he preferred the saucy manner and delicate beauty of Miss Valpy,
but Archie Maxwell, who was the best looking young man at
Pinchler's, had quite lost his heart to this unique flower of
womanhood, and the damsels of Pinchler's resented this greatly. Mr.
Maxwell, however, was at present engaged in talking to some of
them at a distance, and if his eyes did wander now and then to
where Clendon was playing Shepherd Paris to goddesses three--Mrs.
Valpy being Minerva in her own opinion--they did their best to
enchain his attention and keep him to themselves. Kaituna herself
did not mind, as she was not particularly taken with Mr. Maxwell,
and was quite content to lie lazily back in her chair under the shelter
of a large red sunshade and listen to Toby Clendon's desultory
conversation.

It was a pleasant enough conversation in a frivolous fashion. Mr.

Clendon made startling statements regarding the world and its
inhabitants, Kaituna commented thereon. Tommy sparkled in an idle,
girlish way, and Mrs. Valpy, with sage maxims, culled from the
monotonous past of an uneventful life, supplied the busy element
requisite in all cases. Three of the party were young, the fourth was
gracefully old, so, juvenility predominating, the conversation rippled
along pleasantly enough.

After the patriotic Toby had made his remark concerning the
superiority of things English over all the rest of the world, Kaituna
waved the banner of Maoriland, and laughed softly.

"Ah! wait till you see New Zealand."

"Ultima Thule," said Clendon classically. "Eh I why should I go there,

Miss Pethram?"

"To see what nature can do in the way of beautiful landscape."

"I am a domestic being, Miss Pethram, and find the domestic

scenery of England sufficiently beautiful to satisfy my artistic
longings. New Zealand, I have been told, is an uncivilised country,
full of horrid woods and wild beasts."
"There are no wild beasts at all," replied Kaituna indignantly, "and
the bush is not horrid. As to it being uncivilised, that is the mistake
you English make."

"Oh, the contempt in the term 'you English,'" interjected Toby,

impudently.

"We have cities, railways, theatres, musical societies, shops, and

everything else necessary to make life pleasant. That is civilisation, I
suppose. We have also great plains, majestic mountains, splendid
rivers, undulating pasture lands and what not. This is uncivilised--if
you like to call it so. England is pretty--oh yes, very pretty, but tame
like a garden. One gets tired of always living in a garden. A garden is
nature's drawing-room. I don't say a word against England, for I like
it very much, but at times I feel stifled by the narrowness of the
place. England is very beautiful, yes; but New Zealand," concluded
Miss Pethram with conviction, "New Zealand is the most beautiful
place in the whole world."

"My dear," said Mrs. Valpy in a patronising manner, "are you not
going a little too far? I've no doubt the place you come from is very
nice, very nice indeed, but to compare it with England is ridiculous.
You have no city, I think, like London. No, no! London is
cosmopolitan, yes--quite so."

Having stated this plain truth, Mrs. Valpy looked round with a fat
smile of triumph and resumed her knitting, while Tommy dashed
into' the conversation with slangy vivacity.

"Oh, I say, you know, New Zealand's a place where you can have a
high old time, but London's the place for larks."

"Why not the country," said Clendon drily, "the morning lark."

"Oh, I don't mean that sort of lark," interrupted Tommy ingeniously,

"the evenin' lark; my style, you know. Waltzin', flirtin', talkin', jolly
rather."
"You move in the highest circles, Tommy," said Kaituna, who was a
somewhat satirical damsel. "You drop your 'g's.'"

"Better than dropping your 'h's'."

"Or your money," said Toby, lighting a fresh cigarette. "I don't know
what we're all talking about."

"I think," observed Mrs. Valpy in a geographical style, "we were

discussing the Islands of New Zealand."

"Rippin' place," said Tommy gaily.

"Thomasina, my dear," remarked her Johnsonian mamma, "I really

do not think that you are personally----"

"Acquainted with the place! No! I'm not. But Kaituna has told me a
lot. Archie Maxwell has told me more----"

"Mr. Maxwell?" interposed Kaituna, quickly. "Oh, yes! he said that he

had visited Auckland on his way to Sydney--but you can't tell New
Zealand from one city."

"Ex pede Herculem," said the classical Toby, "which, being translated
means--by the foot shall ye know the head."

"Auckland isn't the head of New Zealand. It was, but now Wellington
is the capital. The city of wooden match-boxes built in a draughty
situation."

"How unpatriotic."

"Oh, no, I'm not, Mr. Clendon. But I reserve my patriotism for
Dunedin?"

"You mean Edinburgh.

"I mean the new Edinburgh with the old name, not the old
Edinburgh with the new name."

"Epigrammatic, decidedly. This is instructive, Miss Pethram. Do they

teach epigram in the schools of Dunedin?"

"And why not? Do you think Oxford and Cambridge monopolise the
learning of nations? We also in Dunedin," concluded Kaituna proudly,
"have an university."

"To teach the young idea how to shoot--delightful."

"But I thought there was no game to shoot," said Tommy wickedly.

Mrs. Valpy reproved the trio for their frivolous conversation.

"You are all talking sad nonsense."

"On the contrary, gay nonsense," retorted Clendon lightly; "but I

foresee in this badinage the elements of an article for The Satirist.
Miss Pethram, I am going to use you as copy. Tell me all about
yourself."

"To be published as an essay, and ticketed 'The New Pocahontas.'"

"Perhaps," replied the essayist evasively, "for you are a kind of

nineteenth century Pocahontas. You belong to the children of
Nature."

"Yes, I do," said Kaituna, quickly; "and I'm proud of it. My father
went out to New Zealand a long time ago, and there married my
mother, who was the daughter of a Maori mother. My grandmother
was the child of a chief--a real Pocahontas."

"Not quite; Pocahontas was a chieftainess in her own right."

"And died at Wapping, didn't she?" said Mrs. Valpy, placidly. "Of
course the dark races always give way to the superiority of the
white."

Kaituna looked indignantly at this fat, flabby woman, who spoke so

contemptuously of her Maori ancestors, who were certainly superior
to Mrs. Valpy from a physical point of view, and very probably her
equal mentally in some ways. It was no use, however, arguing with
Mrs. Valpy over such a nice point, as she was firmly intrenched
behind her insular egotism, and would not have understood the drift
of the argument, with the exception that she was a white, and
therefore greatly superior to a black. Toby saw the indignant flash in
her eyes, and hastened to divert the chance of trouble by saying the
first thing that came into his mind.

"Is your mother in England, Miss Pethram?"

"My mother is dead."

"Oh! I beg--I beg your pardon," said Toby, flustering a little at his
awkwardness: "I mean your father."

"My father," replied Kaituna, cheerfully. "Oh, he is out in New

Zealand again. You know, we lived out there until a year ago. Then
my father, by the death of his elder brother, became Sir Rupert
Pethram, so he brought me home. We always call England home in
the Colonies. He had to go out again about business; so he left me
in Mrs. Valpy's charge."

"Delighted to have you, my dear," murmured the old lady, blinking

her eyes in the sunshine like an owl. "You see, Mr. Clendon, we are
near neighbours of Sir Rupert's down in Berkshire."

"Oh!" said Clendon, raising himself on his elbow with a look of

curiosity in his eyes, "that is my county. May I ask what particular
part you inhabit?"

"Near Henley."
"Why, I lived near there also."

"What," cried Tommy, with great surprise, "can it be that you are a
relative of Mr. Clendon, the Vicar of Deswarth?"

"Only his son."

"The young man who would not become a curate?"

"It didn't suit me," said Toby, apologetically; "I'm far too gay for a
curate. It's a mistake putting a square peg into a round hole, you
know; and I make a much better pressman than a preacher."

"It is a curious thing we never met you, Mr. Clendon," observed Mrs.
Valpy, heavily; "but we have only been at 'The Terraces' for two
years."

"Oh, and I've been away from the parental roof for five or six years.
I do not wonder at never meeting you, but how strange we should
meet here. Coincidences occur in real life as well as in novels, I see."

"Mr. Maxwell told me he met a man in London the other day whom
he had last seen in Japan," said Kaituna, smiling.

"Maxwell is a wandering Jew--an engineering Cain."

"Hush! hush!" said Mrs. Valpy, shocked like a good church-woman,

at any reference to the Bible in light conversation. "Mr. Maxwell is a
very estimable young man."

"I called him Cain in a figurative sense only," replied Toby, coolly;
"but if you object to that name, let us call him Ulysses."

"Among the sirens," finished Kaituna, mischievously.

Tommy caught the allusion, and laughed rudely. Confident in her

own superiority regarding beauty, she was scornful of the attempts
of the so-called sirens to secure the best-looking man in the place,
so took a great delight in drawing into her own net any masculine
fish that was likely to be angled for by any other girl. She called it
fun, the world called it flirtation, and her enemies called it coquetry;
and Toby Clendon, although not her enemy, possibly agreed with the
appropriateness of the term. But then he was her lover; and lovers
are discontented if they don't get the object of their affections all to
themselves.

"The sirens!" repeated Miss Valpy, scornfully. "What, with voices like
geese? What humbug! Let us take Archie Maxwell Ulysses away from
the sirens, Kaituna."

"No, no, don't do that!" said Kaituna with a sudden rush of colour;
"it's a shame."

"What! depriving them of their big fish? Not at all. It's greedy of
them to be so selfish. I'll call him. Mr. Maxwell!"

"It's very chilly here," said Kaituna, rising to her feet. "Mr. Clendon,
my shawl, please. Thank you I'm going inside."

"Because of Mr. Maxwell?" asked Miss Valpy, maliciously.

"No. I'm expecting some letters from Mr. Dombrain. Oh, here is Mr.
Maxwell. Au revoir," and Miss Pethram walked quickly away towards
the house.

Maxwell having extricated himself from the company of the sirens,

who looked after their late captive with vengeful eyes, saw Kaituna
depart, and hesitated between following her or obeying the
invitation of Miss Valpy. His heart said "Go there," the voice of
Tommy said "Come here," and the unfortunate young man hesitated
which to obey. The lady saw his hesitation, and, purposely to vex Mr.
Clendon, settled the question at once.

"Mr. Maxwell, come here. I want you to play lawn-tennis."

"Certainly, Miss Valpy," said Maxwell, with sulky civility.

"Why, I asked you to play twice this afternoon, and you refused,"
cried Clendon, in some anger.

"Well, I've changed my mind But you can play also, if you like."

"No, thank you. I've--I've got an engagement."

Tommy moved close to the young man and laughed.

"You've got a very cross face."

At this Clendon laughed also, and his cross face cleared.

"Oh, I'll be delighted to play."

"And what about Miss Pethram?" asked Maxwell, rather anxiously.

"Miss Pethram has gone inside to await the arrival of the post."

"Isn't she coming out again?"

"I think not."

"If you will excuse me, Miss Valpy, I won't play just at present."

"Oh, never mind."

So Maxwell stalked away in a very bad temper with himself, with

Miss Pethram, and with everything else. In any one but a lover it
would have been sulks, but in the ars amoris it is called despair.

Tommy held her racket like a guitar, and, strumming on it with her
fingers, hummed a little tune--a vulgar little tune which she had
picked up from a common street boy--

"Tho' I'm an earl,

 And she's a girl,
Far, far below my level,
Oh, Mary Jane,
You give me pain,
You wicked little----"

"Thomasina!" cried the scandalised Mrs. Valpy, and Thomasina

laughed.

CHAPTER II.

WANTED, A CHAPERON.

"We are told in stories olden

Dragons watched the apples golden,
Quick to send a thief to Hades.
Now no fruit the world-tree ladens,
Apples gold are dainty maidens,
And the dragons are old ladies."

After dinner--a meal cooked, conducted, and eaten on strictly

digestive principles--most of the inmates of Pinchler's retired to bed.
Sleep was necessary to the well-being of these wrecks of humanity,
so those who could sleep went to their repose with joyful hearts,
and those who could not, put off the evil hour precluding a restless
night by going to the drawing-room for a little music.

Here they sat in melancholy rows round the room, comparing notes
as to their physical sensations, and recommending each other patent
medicines. Some of the younger people sang songs and played
popular airs on the out-of-tune piano furnished by Pinchler's. During
the intervals between the songs scraps of curious conversation could
be heard somewhat after this fashion--

"There's nothing like a glass of hot water in the morning."

"Dry toast, mind; butter is rank poison."

"Rub the afflicted part gently and breathe slowly."

"Put a linseed poultice at the nape of the neck."

With such light and instructive conversation did the wrecks beguile
their leisure hours, keeping watchful eyes on the clock so as not to
miss taking their respective medicines at the right times. Mrs.
Pinchler, a dry, angular woman with a glassy eye and a fixed smile,
revolved round the drawing-room at intervals, asking every one how
they felt.

"Better, Mrs. Tandle? Yes, I thought that syrup would do you good--it
soothes the coats of the stomach. Miss Pols, you do look yellow. Let
me recommend a glass of hot water in the morning. Mr. Spons, if
you lie down on the sofa I'm sure it will do you good. Oh, are you
going to play, Miss Valpy? Something quiet, please. Music is such a
good digestive."

Tommy, however, was not a young lady who could play quiet tunes,
her performance on the piano being of the muscular order. She
therefore favoured the company with a noisy piece of the most
advanced school, which had no melody, although full of contrapuntal
devices. Having shaken every one's nerves with this trying
performance, she glided off into a series of popular waltzes, mostly
of the scrappy order, in which she sandwiched hymn tunes between
music-hall melodies. The wrecks liked this style of thing, as they
could all beat time with their feet, and when it was finished said
waltzes were charming, but not so fine as "Batch's" passion music,
of which they knew nothing, not even how to pronounce his name
correctly.
"Bach!" echoed Tommy contemptuously. "Oh, he's an old fossil!
Offenbach's more in my line. Oui! You bet! Sapristi! Vive la
bagatelle!"

The company did not understand French, so suffered this

observation to pass in discreet silence, but Kaituna laughed. She was
sitting in a corner by herself, with a look of impatience on her face,
for she was expecting a letter and the post was late.

"Kaituna," cried Tommy, attracted by the laugh, "why are you sitting
in the corner like a graven image? Come out and sing."

"No, I don't want to. I'm waiting for my letter."

"Hasn't it arrived yet?" said Miss Valpy, skipping across the room.
"I'd give it to that Dombrain thing if I were you. Dombrain! What a
name! Who is he?"

"My father's solicitor."

"Oh, in the law and the profits? I don't mean biblically, but
commercially. But, I say, don't keep thinking of your letter, or it won't
come. The watched postman never boils."

"What nonsense you talk!"

"I can't help it, dear. My brains leave me when there are no male
things in the room."

"There's Mr. Spons."

"Oh, I don't bother about him. He's not a man; he's a medicine
bottle. Hark! I hear footmarks approaching on horseback. It is the
man. Now, will you take Mr. Clendon and I Mr. Maxwell, or will you
take Mr. Maxwell and I Mr. Clendon?"

"I don't want either," said Kaituna hastily.

"Now that's ungrateful, especially when Mr. Maxwell is such a dear.
'Oh, that heaven would send me such a man!'--Shakespeare,
Kaituna, so don't look indignant. You can take Archie, and I'll satisfy
myself with Toby."

"You shouldn't call men by their Christian names, Thomasina."

"Don't say that; it sounds like 'ma. I only call them by their Christian
names to you. I wouldn't do it to their faces."

"I hope not."

"How proper you are! Behold the male sex are at the door! I can
smell the tobacco on their clothes."

The rattle of the lively damsel was put an end to by the entry of the
gentlemen, headed by Maxwell and Clendon, the latter of whom
Miss Valpy bore off at once to the piano to make him sing, turn over
her music, and make himself generally useful. Maxwell, however,
went straight across to Kaituna, and held out a newspaper.

"This is yours, Miss Pethram," he said, seating himself beside her, "I
knew you were anxious about the post, so I waited downstairs till it
came."

"Was there no letter?" said Kaituna, in some dismay.

"No; nothing but that Telegraph."

"Oh, there maybe something marked in it," she said quietly. "Excuse
me a moment while I look."

Maxwell bowed and sat watching her as she tore the cover off the
paper and opened the rustling leaves. He had only known this girl a
fortnight, yet within that time had contrived to fall deeply in love
with her. It was not her beauty, although, man-like, he naturally
admired a pretty woman. It was not her charming manner,