either way. Will you write to my father about Spencer or shall I tell him?'

Matthew said that both methods of announcing what must be announced had better, he thought, be adopted, and as soon as he was once more alone, he addressed himself by a good many uncomplimentary epithets. He had done the very thing that he had made up his mind not to do; he was sure that he had been understood, and he was by no means as sure as he would fain have been that his motives for saying so much and no more were appreciated. Supposing for mock modesty was altogether foreign to a temperament so honestly modest as his-that Anne Frere cared for him? Would she realise that he could not ask her to become the wife of a man whom her parents despised? Amongst many perplexing questions which suggested themselves to him as he sat ruefully cogitating in his library, there was but one to which he felt able to return a decisive reply. Whatever happened, he must not tempt her to make an avowal which she would assuredly see subsequent reason to regret. For the future he must keep out of her way. Friendship between them was out of the question; he could not trust himself to keep up that pretence, nor had he the right to expose her to risks which, after all, every man and woman on earth is liable to incur under certain conditions. He at once despatched a brief, unvarnished statement to Spencer's father, and in the course of the afternoon a mounted messenger brought him a heavily italicised reply from Mrs. Frere, who said she had been deputed to answer his letter and to thank him, in her husband's name as well as her own, for the interest which he had so kindly displayed in their unfortunate son.

'Both George and I think,' she wrote, 'that we ought to see poor Spencer; so we propose to drive over to-morrow afternoon. But pray, do not think of staying at home yourself, if you have other engagements, as no doubt you have. I suppose, if it is decided that Spencer is to go to Australia, he will sail at once. Otherwise, George would feel that he could not be left as a burden upon you any longer. I hope, if you do happen to be at home when we come, you will kindly make allowance for George's irritability. I am sure you will understand that all this has upset him a good deal, and really, with the gout flying all over him, as it is just now, he should not be held quite responsible for everything that he says.'

It was easy to read between the lines of this inartistic missive.

Evidently, the Freres did not relish the idea of being beholden to one whose acquaintance they wished to drop, while at the same time they hardly saw their way to spurn his good offices. Consequently, one of them was likely to relieve his feelings by saying very uncivil things and the other was anxious to avert unpleasantness, if possible. Under all the circumstances, Matthew would have been more than human if he had not determined to remain at home and face them. He had done nothing of which he was ashamed, he had no reason to dread anything that might be said to him, nor was he afraid of losing his temper. If Mr. Frere should see fit to be rude or insulting, that must be a matter between the old gentleman and his own conscience. To forgive him would be well within the capacity of a philosopher, but to run away from him was really out of the question.

It was, therefore, in a quietly combative mood that the old couple found their former friend, who welcomed them with much politeness, though with an unsmiling face. Mrs. Frere, as he helped her to descend from her carriage (for he had gone out to the front door to meet them) did not disguise her nervous apprehensions. She began at once to apologise profusely for the imaginary inconvenience to which they had put Mr. Austin, and hastened to say that George would rather like to see Spencer alone for a short time, if he didn't mind.

'Don't trouble about me; I can wait anywhere,' she added, as if it had been her intention to seat herself upon one of the wooden chairs in the hall.

As for Mr. Frere, he looked extremely grumpy and forgot to shake hands with his host, by whom he was suavely informed that he would find his son in the library.

'Perhaps,' continued Matthew, Mrs. Frere will allow me to offer her a cup of tea in the dining-room while you are having your talk.'

But Mrs. Frere, on being conducted into that temporary place of retreat, declared that she did not want any tea. She moved quickly about the room, admiring the etchings on the walls, the view from the windows, the flowers in the garden outside, talking incessantly and so obviously desirous of avoiding any allusion to the object of her visit that common charity forbade Matthew to make her more uncomfortable than she was. Moreover, he really did not wish for explanations which could not, in the nature of things, be satisfactory. He had a grievance, and a very legitimate

one, against the Freres; but it was impossible to prove to them that he was guiltless of the offence for which they had chosen to visit him with their displeasure, and, for the time being, at all events, their situation was a considerably more embarrassing one than his own. So he good-humouredly talked commonplaces with the pretty old lady whose appeals to his magnanimity were so thinly veiled, until her husband stumped into the room and said gruffly:

'Now, my dear, you had better go and see Spencer. Mr. Austin, if you can spare me five minutes, we will take a turn round the garden. There are one or two matters which must be talked over before this business can be regarded as settled.'

Matthew noticed the unaccustomed prefix to his name and saw that Mrs. Frere had noticed it also. She threw an imploring glance at him, as she moved away to obey orders, and he said to himself that he would keep cool. Why, indeed, quarrel with those who are manifestly in the wrong? He could afford to be generous, although Mr. Frere probably did not think so.

What Mr. Frere actually was thinking at that moment was that generosity is all very fine, but that-confound it all!—a man doesn't care to have it inflicted upon him until his leave has been asked. He, too, was trying to keep cool; he did not want to be rude or ungracious; still it did go very much against the grain with him to accept benefits from Matthew Austin, while there were certain benefits which neither he nor his son could possibly accept from anybody. When, therefore, he had said what had to be said in the way of thanks, he proceeded to remark:

'But there is one point, Mr. Austin, which seems to me to require clearing up. Spencer says he knows nothing about it, but I can hardly believe that your Australian friend is willing to be burdened with a totally inexperienced man who brings him nothing in the shape of capital or premium.'

'Oh, that will be all right,' said Matthew.

'How all right? I don't know what you mean. Am I to understand that you have paid, or propose to pay, money out of your own pocket on behalf of my son ?'

'My pocket is almost inconveniently full at the present time,' answered Matthew, smiling.

'So I believe. Whether it has been filled in a manner particularly creditable to yourself is another question. Not that that is any business of mine.'

'Really I don't think it is,' said Matthew.

'Well, I tell you that it is not my business; I acknowledge that it is not my business; I don't know what more you can expect me to say. But you will allow, perhaps, that I am the proper person to make any provision that may have to be made for my son's maintenance.'

It was upon the tip of Matthew's tongue to retort that Mr. Frere had not hitherto seemed to be of that opinion; but he restrained himself and only answered, 'Oh, certainly.'

'Very well, then; the sum, whatever it may be, will be raised -paid, I mean, by me. You meant kindly, I have no doubt but I am surprised at your having thought that, under the circumstances--however, I won't go into that. I promised my wife that I wouldn't, and I won't. We're very much obliged to you for all you have done very much obliged indeed. At the same time, you know, it's-well, to speak plainly, Austin, for once-it's damned unpleasant!'

Hurt though he was, and badly as he felt that he had been used, Matthew could not help laughing. 'I assure you, Mr. Frere,' said he, 'that there is no occasion for you to consider yourself under the slightest obligation to me. Upon my word of honour, any little trouble that I may have taken has not been taken for your sake.'

'My good man, I know that well enough: that's just the worst part of it! Well, I said I wouldn't allude to the subject, if I could avoid it; but how the deuce am I to avoid it? I tell you candidly, Austin-I know I ought not to say this, but I must say it-that I don't myself believe in the stories which have been circulated about you; still there they are, and you have made no attempt to clear yourself. We can't fairly be asked to consent to a marriage between our daughter and a man with a tarnished reputation. That's what my wife thinks, and I'm bound to say that I agree with her.'

'A marriage between your daughter and me! My dear Mr. Frere, you must be under some extraordinary misapprehension. I have never for one single moment contemplated asking your consent to anything of the sort.'

'Well, well, well!-But we know how things are; my wife has had suspicions ever since that stupid Baxendale business, and Anne herself

'Do you mean to tell me that Anne herself——’

'Confound it all, sir! don't speak of my daughter by her

Christian name, if you please. There! I beg your pardon, Austin; I have no business to talk to you like that; but I must ask you to give me your word that this shall go no farther. I'm not saying anything, mind you, about the match not being a good enough one and all that-I leave such nonsense to the women. Your birth is as good as our own, and if only you had kept your hands clean!

'I understood you to say that you did not believe in the stories which have been told about me.'

'Did I say so? At all events, other people believe in them; and you're ostracised, you know; I can't let my daughter marry a man who has been ostracised. Surely I'm entitled to say that much-and I can't think why the devil I should feel ashamed of saying it!'

'Shame or no shame, you may be quite sure that your daughter will not be asked to marry me, Mr. Frere,' answered Matthew quietly. The old gentleman was greatly relieved. He said, 'Then let us drop the subject,' and proceeded to talk for a short time about his son, in whose future good behaviour he professed himself unable to feel any confidence. Ashamed of himself he undoubtedly was, and had perhaps some reason to be; still, after his departure, Matthew could not feel very unkindly towards him. What Matthew longed to know-but could not, of course, have askedwas the nature of the admission which Anne was said to have made to her parents.

'But, after all, why should I wish to know?' he concluded by demanding of himself. Even if she cared for me enough to marry me and I am almost certain that she doesn't-I could not possibly offer myself to her. And life doesn't consist solely of marrying and giving in marriage. Anyhow, my duty is clear enough: I must leave this place as soon as I can, and be forgotten. Perhaps I myself shall forget in time and be tolerably happy, as happiness goes. Only I must have work.'

CHAPTER XLVI.

BAD LUCK.

THE arrangements for the banishment of Spencer Frere were carried out expeditiously and without any hitch. Everybody (including Mrs. Spencer, who wrote to express her personal wishes