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Then they started up, put on their coats, exchanged a few words at the
door with their hostess, and walked down the street together. Presently a
hansom came rattling along the quiet street.

"Keb, sir?" came the inevitable question, in a tone sharp as a whip-
crack, as the driver pulled up near the kerb.

"Yes, two cabs," said Captain Horton. "I'll toss you for the first,
Chance"; and pulling out a florin he sent it spinning up and deftly
caught it as it fell. "Heads or tails?"

"Oh, take it yourself, and I'll find another."

"No, no, fair play," insisted the Captain.

"Very well then, heads."

"Tails!" cried the other, opening his hand. "Goodnight, old man, you're
sure to find one in another minute. Oxford Terrace," he cried to the
driver, jumping in. And the cabman, who had watched the proceedings with
the deep interest and approval of a true sporting man, shook the reins,
flicked the horse's ears with his whip, clicked with his tongue, and
drove rapidly away.

Left to himself, Mr. Chance sauntered on in no hurry to get home, and
finally stood still at a street corner, evidently pondering some matter
of considerable import to him. "By heaven, I'm more than half resolved to
try it!" he exclaimed at last. And after a little further reflection, he
added, "And I shall--

"He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch
To win or lose it all."

Then he turned and walked deliberately back to Dawson Place: coming to
the house which he had lately quitted, he peered anxiously at windows and
doors, and presently caught sight of a faint reflection from burning gas
or candle within on the fanlight over the street door, which, he
conjectured, came from the open dining-room.

"Fortune favours me," he said to himself. "'Faint heart never won fair
lady.' A happy inspiration, I am beginning to think. Losing that toss
will perhaps result in my winning a higher stake. There's a good deal of
dash and devilry in that infernal blackguard Horton, and doubtless that
is why he has made some progress here. Well then, she ought to appreciate
my spirit in coming to her at this time of night, or morning, rather.
There's a wild, primitive strain in her; she's not to be wooed and won in
the usual silly mawkish way. More like one of the old Sabine women, who
liked nothing better than being knocked down and dragged off by their
future lords. I suppose that a female of that antique type of mind can be
knocked down and taken captive, as it were, with good vigorous words,
just as formerly they were knocked down with the fist or the butt end of
a spear."

His action was scarcely in keeping with the daring, resolute spirit of
his language: instead of seizing the knocker and demanding admittance
with thunderous racket, he went cautiously up the steps, rapped softly on
the door with his knuckles, and then anxiously waited the result of his
modest summons.

Miss Starbrow was in the dining-room, and heard the tapping. Her servants
had been in bed two hours; and after the departure of her late guests she
had turned off the gas at the chandelier, and was leaving the room, when
seeing a _Globe_, left by one of her visitors, she took it up to
glance at the evening's news. Something she found in the paper interested
her, and she continued reading until that subdued knocking attracted her
attention. Taking up her candle she went to the door and unfastened it,
but without letting down the chain. Her visitor hurriedly whispered his
name, and asked to be admitted for a few minutes, as he had something
very important to communicate.

She took down the chain and allowed him to come into the hall. "Why have
you come back?" she demanded in some alarm. "Where is Captain Horton?--
you left together."

"He went home in the first cab we found. We tossed for it, and he won,
for which I thank the gods. Then, acting on the impulse of the moment, I
came back to say something to you. A very unusual--very eccentric thing
to do, no doubt. But when something involving great issues has to be done
or said, I think the best plan is _not_ to wait for a favourable
opportunity. Don't you agree with me?"

"I don't understand you, Mr. Chance, and am therefore unable to agree
with you. I hope you are not going to keep me standing here much longer."

"Not for a moment! But will you not let me come inside to say the few
words I have to say?"

"Oh yes, you may come in," she returned not very graciously, and leading
the way to the dining-room, where decanters, tumblers, and cards
scattered about the table, seen by the dim light of one candle, gave it a
somewhat disreputable appearance. "What do you wish to say to me?" she
asked a little impatiently, and seating herself.

He took a chair near her. "You are a little unkind to hurry me in this
way," he said, trying to smile, "since you compel me to put my request in
very plain blunt language. However, that is perhaps the best plan. Twice
I have come to you intending to speak, and have been baffled by fate--"

"Then you might have written, or telegraphed," she interrupted, "if the
matter was so important."

"Not very well," he returned, growing very serious. "You know that as
well as I do. You must know, dear Miss Starbrow, that I have admired you
for a long time. Perhaps you also know that I love you. Miss Starbrow,
will you be my wife and make me happy?"

"No, Mr. Chance, I cannot be your wife and make you happy. I must decline
your offer."

Her cold, somewhat ironical tone from the first had prepared him for this
result, and he returned almost too quickly, "Oh, I see, you are offended
with me for coming to you at this hour. I must suffer the consequences of
my mistake, and study to be more cautious and proper in the future. I
have always regarded you as an unconventional woman. That, to my mind, is
one of your greatest charms; and when I say that I say a good deal. I
never imagined that my coming to you like this would have prejudiced you
against me."

She gave a little laugh, but there was an ominous cloud on her face as
she answered: "You imagined it was the right thing to do to come at half-
past one o'clock in the morning to offer me your hand! Your opinion of my
conduct is not a subject I am the least interested in; but whether I am
unconventional or not, I assure you, Mr. Chance, that I am not to be
pushed or driven one step further than I choose to go."

"I should never dream of attempting such a thing, Miss Starbrow. But it
would be useless to say much more; whatever line I take to-night only
makes matters worse for me. But allow me to say one thing before bidding
you good-night. The annoyance you feel at the present moment will not
last. You have too much generosity, too much intellect, to allow it to
rest long in your bosom; and deeply as I feel this rebuff, I am not going
to be so weak as to let it darken and spoil my whole life. No, my hope is
too strong and too reasonable to be killed so easily. I shall come to you
again, and again, and again. For I know that with you for a wife and
companion my life would be a happy one; and not happy only, for that is
not everything. An ambitious man looks to other greater and perhaps
better things."

The cloud was gone from her brows, and she sat regarding him as he spoke
with a slight smile on her lips and a curious critical expression in her
eyes. When he finished speaking she laughed and said, "But is _my_
happiness of such little account--do you not propose to make _me_
happy also, Mr. Chance?"

"No," he returned, his face clouding, and dropping his eyes before her
mocking gaze. "You shall not despise me. Single or married, you must make
your own happiness or misery. You know that; why do you wish to make me
repeat the wretched commonplaces that others use?"

"I'm glad you have so good an opinion of yourself, Mr. Chance," she
replied. "I was vexed with you at first, but am not so now. To watch the
changes of your chameleon mind, not always successful in getting the
right colour at the right moment, is just as good as a play. If you
really mean to come again and again I shall not object--it will amuse me.
Only do not come at two o'clock in the morning; it might compromise me,
and, unconventional as I am, I should not forgive you a second time. But
honestly, Mr. Chance, I don't believe you will come again. You know now
that I know you, and you are too wise to waste your energies on me. I
hope you will not give up visiting me--in the daytime. We admire each
other, and I have always had a friendly feeling for you. That is a real
feeling--not an artificial one like the love you spoke of."

He rose to go. "Time will show whether it is an artificial feeling or
not," he said; and after bidding good-night and hearing the door close
after him, he walked away towards Westbourne Grove. He had gone from her
presence with a smile on his lips, but in the street it quickly vanished
from his face, and breaking into a rapid walk and clenching his fists, he
exclaimed, between his set teeth, "Curse the jade!"

It was not a sufficient relief to his feelings, and yet he seemed unable
to think of any other expression more suitable to the occasion, for after
going a little further, he repeated, "Curse the jade!"

Then he walked on slower and slower, and finally stopped, and turning
towards Dawson Place, he repeated for the third time, "Curse the jade!"

CHAPTER VII

Fan saw no more company after that evening, for which she was not sorry;
but that had been a red-letter day to her--not soon, perhaps never, to be
forgotten.

Great as the human adaptiveness is at the age at which Fan then was, that
loving-kindness of her mistress--of one so proud and beautiful above all
women, and, to the girl's humble ideas, so rich "beyond the dreams of
avarice"--retained its mysterious, almost incredible, character to her
mind, and was a continual cause of wonder to her, and at times of ill-
defined but anxious thought. For what had she--a poor, simple, ignorant
useless girl--to keep the affection of such a one as Miss Starbrow? And
as the days and weeks went by, that vague anxiety did not leave her; for
the more she saw of her mistress, the less did she seem like one of a
steadfast mind, whose feelings would always remain the same. She was
touchy, passionate, variable in temper; and if her stormy periods were
short-lived, she also had cold and sullen moods, which lasted long, and
turned all her sweetness sour; and at such times Fan feared to approach
her, but sat apart distressed and sorrowful. And yet, whatever her mood
was, she never spoke sharply to Fan, or seemed to grow weary of her. And
once, during one of those precious half-hours, when they sat together at
the bedroom fire before dinner, when Miss Starbrow in a tender mood again
drew the girl to her side and kissed her, Fan, even while her heart was
overflowing with happiness, allowed something of the fear that was mixed
with it to appear in her words.

"Oh, Mary, if I could do something for you!" she murmured. "But I can do
nothing--I can only love you. I wish--I wish you would tell me what to do
to--to keep your love!"

Miss Starbrow's face clouded. "Perhaps your heart is a prophetic one,
Fan," she said; "but you must not have those dismal forebodings, or if
they will come, then pay as little heed to them as possible. Everything
changes about us, and we change too--I suppose we can't help it. Let us
try to believe that we will always love each other. Our food is not less
grateful to us because it is possible that at some future day we shall
have to go hungry. Oh, poor Fan, why should such thoughts trouble your
young heart? Take the goods the gods give you, and do not repine because
we are not angels in Heaven, with an eternity to enjoy ourselves in. I
love you now, and find it sweet to love you, as I have never loved anyone
of my own sex before. Women, as a rule, I detest. You can do, and are
doing, more than you know for me."

Fan did not understand it all; but something of it she did understand,
and it had a reassuring effect on her mind.

Her life at this period was a solitary one. After breakfast she would go
out for a walk, usually to Kensington Gardens, and returning by way of
Westbourne Grove, to execute some small commissions for her mistress.
Between dinner and tea the time was mostly spent in the back room on the
first floor, which nobody else used; and when the weather permitted she
sat with the window open, and read aloud to improve herself in the art,
and practised writing and drawing, or read in some book Miss Starbrow had
recommended to her. With all her time so agreeably filled she did not
feel her loneliness, and the life of ease and plenty soon began to tell
on her appearance. Her skin became more pure and transparent, although
naturally pale; her eyes grew brighter, and could look glad as well as
sorrowful; her face lost its painfully bony look, and was rounder and
softer, and the straight lines and sharp angles of her girlish form
changed to graceful curves from day to day. Miss Starbrow, regarding her
with a curious and not untroubled smile, remarked:

"You are improving in your looks every day, Fan; by-and-by you will be a
beautiful girl--and then!"

The attitude of the servants had not changed towards her, the cook
continuing to observe a kind of neutrality which was scarcely benevolent,
while the housemaid's animosity was still active; but it had ceased to
trouble her very much. Since the evening on which Fan had baffled her by
blowing out the candle, Rosie had not attempted to inflict corporal
punishment beyond an occasional pinch or slap, but contented herself by
mocking and jeering, and sometimes spitting at her.

Rosie is destined to disappear from the history of Fan's early life in
the first third of this volume; but before that time her malice bore very
bitter fruit, and for that and other reasons her character is deserving
of some description.

She was decidedly pretty, short but well-shaped, with a small English
slightly-upturned nose; small mouth with ripe red lips, which were never
still except when she held them pressed with her sharp white teeth to
make them look redder and riper than ever. Her brown fluffy hair was worn
short like a boy's, and she looked not unlike a handsome high-spirited
boy, with brown eyes, mirthful and daring. She was extremely vivacious in
disposition, and active--too active, in fact, for she got through her
housemaid's work so quickly that it left her many hours of each day in
which to listen to the promptings of the demon of mischief. It was only
because she did her work so rapidly and so well that her mistress kept
her on--"put up with her," as she expressed it--in spite of her faults of
temper and tongue. But Rosie's heart was not in her work. She was
romantic and ambitious, and her shallow little brain was filled with a
thousand dreams of wonderful things to be. She was a constant and
ravenous reader of _Bow Bells_, the _London Journal_, and one
or two penny weeklies besides; and not satisfied with the half-hundred
columns of microscopical letterpress they afforded her, she laid her busy
hands on all the light literature left about by her mistress, and thought
herself hardly treated because Miss Starbrow was a great reader of French
novels. It was exceedingly tantalising to know that those yellow-covered
books were so well suited to her taste, and not be able to read them. For
someone had told her what nice books they were--someone with a big red
moustache, who was as fond of pretty red lips as a greedy school-boy is
of ripe cherries.

Many were the stolen interviews between the daring little housemaid and
her gentleman lover; sometimes in the house itself, in a shaded part of
the hall, or in one of the reception-rooms when a happy opportunity
offered--and opportunities always come to those who watch for them;
sometimes out of doors in the shadow of convenient trees in the
neighbouring quiet street and squares after dark. But Rosie was not too
reckless. There was a considerable amount of cunning in that small brain
of hers, which prevented her from falling over the brink of the precipice
on the perilous edge of which she danced like a playful kid so airily. It
was very nice and not too naughty to be cuddled and kissed by a handsome
gentleman, with a big moustache, fine eyes, and baritone voice! but she
was not prepared to go further than that--just yet; only pretending that
by-and-by--perhaps; firing his heart with languishing sighs, the soft
unspoken "Ask me no more, for at a touch I yield"; and then she would
slip from his arms, and run away to put by the little present of sham
jewellery, and think it all very fine fun. They were amusing themselves.
His serious love-making was for her mistress. She--Rosie--had a future--a
great splendid future, to which she must advance by slow degrees, step by
step, sometimes even losing ground a little--and much had been lost since
that starved white kitten had come into the house.

When Miss Starbrow, in a fit of anger, had dismissed her maid some months
before, and then had accepted some little personal assistance in dressing
for the play, and at other times, from her housemaid, Rosie at once
imagined that she was winning her way to her mistress's heart, and her
silly dream was that she would eventually get promoted to the vacant and
desirable place of lady's-maid. The cast-off dresses, boots, pieces of
finery, and many other things which would be her perquisites would be a
little fortune to her, and greatly excited her cupidity. But there were
other more important considerations: she would occupy a much higher
position in the social scale, and dress well, her hands and skin would
grow soft and white, and her appearance and conversation would be that of
a lady; for to be a lady's-maid is, of course, the nearest thing to being
a lady. And with her native charms, ambitious intriguing brain, what
might she not rise to in time? and she had been so careful, and, she
imagined, had succeeded so well in ingratiating herself with her
mistress; and by means of a few well-constructed lies had so filled Miss
Starbrow with disgust at the ordinary lady's-maid taken ready-made out of
a registry-office, that she had begun to look on the place almost as her
own. She had quite overlooked the small fact that she was not qualified
to fill it, and never would be. If she had proposed such an arrangement,
Miss Starbrow would have laughed heartily, and sent the impudent minx
away with a flea in her ear; but she had not yet ventured to broach the
subject.

Fan's coming into the house had not only filled her with the indignation
natural to one of her class and in her position at being compelled to
wait on a girl picked up half-starved in the streets; but when it
appeared that her mistress meant to keep Fan and make much of her, then
her jealousy was aroused, and she displayed as much spite and malice as
she dared. She had not succeeded in frightening Fan into submission, and
she had not dared to invent lies about her; and unable to use her only
weapon, she felt herself for the time powerless. On the other hand, it
was evident that Fan had made no complaints.

"I'd like to catch the little beggar daring to tell tales of me!" she
exclaimed, clenching her vindictive little fists in a fury. But when her
mistress gave her any commands about Fan's meals, or other matters, her
tone was so sharp and peremptory, and her eyes so penetrating, that Rosie
knew that the hatred she cherished in her heart was no secret. The voice,
the look seemed to say plainly, as if it had been expressed in words,
"One word and you go; and when you send to me for a character, you shall
have justice but no mercy."

This was a terrible state of things for Rosie. There was nothing she
could do; and to sit still and wait was torture to one of her restless,
energetic mind. When her mistress was out of the house she could give
vent to her spite by getting into Fan's room and teasing her in every way
that her malice suggested. But Fan usually locked her out, and would not
even open the door to take in her dinner when it was brought; then Rosie
would wait until it was cold before leaving it on the landing.

When Miss Starbrow was in the house, and had Fan with her to comb her
hair or read to her, Rosie would hang about, listening at keyholes, to
find out how matters were progressing between "lady and lady's-maid." But
nothing to give her any comfort was discovered. On the contrary, Miss
Starbrow showed no signs of becoming disgusted at her own disgraceful
infatuation, and seemed more friendly towards the girl than ever. She
took her to the dressmaker at the West End, and had a very pretty, dark
green walking-dress made for her, in which Fan looked prettier than ever.
She also bought her a new stylish hat, a grey fur cape, and long gloves,
besides giving her small pieces of jewellery, and so many things besides
that poor Rosie was green with envy. Then, as a climax, she ordered in a
new pretty iron bed for the girl, and had it put in her own room.

"Fan will be so much warmer and more comfortable here than at the top of
the house," she remarked to Rosie, as if she too had a little malice in
her disposition, and was able to take pleasure in sprinkling powder on a
raw sore.

CHAPTER VIII

Not until the end of November did anything important occur to make a
break in Fan's happy, and on the whole peaceful, life in Dawson Place;
then came an eventful day, which rudely reminded her that she was living,
if not on, at any rate in the neighbourhood of a volcano. One morning
that was not wet nor foggy Miss Starbrow made up her mind to visit the
West End to do a little shopping, and, to the maid's unbounded disgust,
she took Fan with her. An hour after breakfast they started in a hansom
and drove to the Marble Arch, where they dismissed the cab.

"Now," said Miss Starbrow, who was in high spirits, "we'll walk to Peter
Robinson's and afterwards to Piccadilly Circus, looking at all the shops,
and then have lunch at the St. James's Restaurant; and walk home along
the parks. It is so beautifully dry underfoot to-day."

Fan was delighted with the prospect, and they proceeded along Oxford
Street. The thoroughfares about the Marble Arch had been familiar to her
in the old days, and yet they seemed now to have a novel and infinitely
more attractive appearance--she did not know why. But the reason was very
simple. She was no longer a beggar, hungry, in rags, ashamed, and feeling
that she had no right to be there, but was herself a part of that
pleasant world of men and women and children. An old Moon Street
neighbour, seeing her now in her beautiful dress and with her sweet
peaceful face, would not have recognised her.

At Peter Robinson's they spent about half an hour, Miss Starbrow making
some purchases for herself, and, being in a generous mood, she also
ordered a few things for Fan. As they came out at the door they met a Mr.
Mortimer, an old friend of Miss Starbrow's, elderly, but dandified in his
dress, and got up to look as youthful as possible. After warmly shaking
hands with Miss Starbrow, and bowing to Fan, he accompanied them for some
distance up Regent Street. Fan walked a little ahead. Mr. Mortimer seemed
very much taken with her, and was most anxious to find out all about her,
and to know how she came to be in Miss Starbrow's company. The answers he
got were short and not explicit; and whether he resented this, or merely
took a malicious pleasure in irritating his companion, whose character he
well knew, he continued speaking of Fan, protesting that he had not seen
a lovelier girl for a long time, and begging Miss Starbrow to note how
everyone--or every _man_, rather, since man only has eyes to see so
exquisite a face--looked keenly at the girl in passing.

"My dear Miss Starbrow," he said, "I must congratulate you on your--ahem
--late repentance. You know you were always a great woman-hater--a kind of
she-misogynist, if such a form of expression is allowable. You must have
changed indeed before bringing that fresh charming young girl out with
you." He angered her and she did not conceal it, because she could not,
though knowing that he was studying to annoy her from motives of revenge.
For this man, who was old enough to be her father, and had spent the last
decade trying to pick up a woman with money to mend his broken fortunes--
this watery-eyed, smirking old beau, who wrote himself down young, going
about Regent Street on a cold November day without overcoat or
spectacles--this man had had the audacity to propose marriage to her! She
had sent him about his business with a burst of scorn, which shook his
old, battered moral constitution like a tempest of wind and thunder, and
he had not forgotten it. He chuckled at the successful result of his
attack, not caring to conceal his glee; but this meeting proved very
unfortunate for poor Fan. After dismissing her old lover with scant
courtesy, Miss Starbrow caught up with the girl, and they walked on in
silence, looking at no shop-windows now. One glance at the dark angry
face was enough to spoil Fan's pleasure for the day and to make her
shrink within herself, wondering much as to what had caused so great and
sudden a change.

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