Whither Thou Goest. Le Queux William

used to luxury from their cradle. Yet she was not sure that she enjoyed these visits very greatly. The profusion of wealth contrasted too sharply with their own daily mode of life.

      If her father by some miracle should come into a fortune, and she smiled at the absurd thought, no doubt she would bear herself as bravely as these other girls she met.

      But that last visit, that delicious last visit, she had thoroughly enjoyed. Guy Rossett had taken her into dinner, and danced attendance on her for the best part of a delightful week. At last she had met a man who seemed to stand a head and shoulders above his fellows.

      But for a little time much sadness was mingled with her joy.

      On more than one night, when Guy’s glance had thrilled her, when Guy’s gentle pressure of the hand, as he bade her good night, had set her heart fluttering, she had cried herself to sleep.

      She had heard all about him from her hostess, a kind-hearted, gossiping soul. He was the second son of a wealthy peer of ancient lineage. With his father’s influence, he would be sure to obtain eminence in the diplomatic field. And he would inherit a big fortune from his grand-aunt, the Lady Henrietta.

      Poor Isobel felt a very lonely maiden as she listened to this splendid recital. As a mere man, with his good looks and charm, he could choose where he liked. With these advantages in addition, he could pick from the noblest in the land.

      Of course, she was a little fool, and the sooner she said good-bye to her vain dreams the better. Guy Rossett was attracted by her for the moment, no doubt. But it was impossible a man in his position, with his prospects, could mean anything serious. Could a man, in whose veins ran the blood of a dozen earls, choose for his wife the descendant of paltry squires?

      And then had come that wonderful day, a day in her life ever to be marked with a white stone, when Guy had overtaken her as she was indulging in a solitary ramble in the now leafless park.

      In impassioned words he had told her how he loved her, how she was the one woman in the world he wanted for his wife. He loved her. Did she care for him? Dazed, and overjoyed with her happiness, her lovely dark eyes half suffused with tears, she faltered forth a trembling yes.

      He took her in his arms, and gave her her first lover’s kiss.

      Then, when her brain had ceased to whirl, when she could recover from the great shock of her newly-found joy, she began to think.

      “But it is all a dream,” she murmured. “It is impossible.”

      “Impossible!” repeated Guy. “Why do you use the word?”

      “But, of course, you can see. You are the son of an aristocrat, big even amongst aristocrats. I am a nobody. Lady Glanville tells me you are going to be an ambassador, or something dreadfully big and awe-inspiring.”

      Guy laughed genially. “Oh, you sweet little soul. Has that dear old woman been filling you with all that sort of stuff? Haven’t brains enough, my darling. And, if it should turn out true, and I do become an ambassador, you will grow up with me, and you’ll find the part of ambassador’s wife fit you like a glove.”

      But, presently, after the first rhapsodies had passed, they began to talk soberly.

      Guy had to state that his father, splendid old fellow as he was, none better, was very prejudiced and, as his son put it with more than filial frankness, “as obstinate as a mule.”

      Isobel nodded her pretty dark head. “I understand quite. He will want you to marry in your own station of life, choose a girl who has been brought up in the same world.”

      Guy nodded. “You’ve hit it. A sort of girl who would know, by inherited instinct, all the sort of tricks that are expected from an ambassador’s wife. You see, I take it for granted I am going to be an ambassador.”

      Isobel looked at him fondly. In her present rapturous mood, she thought he could be anything he liked, if he gave his mind to it.

      Then Guy spoke quite gravely and seriously.

      “Now, we have got to consider the two fathers, yours and mine. We will take yours first, because I think he’ll do whatever you tell him.”

      “He generally does,” replied Isobel, with a smile that showed all her dimples.

      “Good. I leave to-morrow, you are off the day after. Don’t tell him anything till you get back to Eastbourne. Then let him know exactly what has passed between us to-day, that I have admitted frankly I shall have a hard job on my part. I want to get my father’s consent, because I wish you to be welcomed by the family. Dear old Aunt Henrietta will never interfere with me, she’s too good a sort.”

      “Yes,” answered Isobel happily. “I will tell him all that.”

      “And please add that I should wish to come down to Eastbourne, as soon as convenient to him, and put all the facts before him. I want first to get his consent, and I know I am asking it under peculiar circumstances.”

      A slight cloud gathered over the girl’s lovely face. “I am quite sure of my darling old dad,” she said. “I’m a little afraid of yours.”

      “There’s nothing to be frightened of, sweetheart,” said her lover confidently. “Whether he gives his consent or not, you are going to be my wife. I’m quite independent of him. But, as I said just now, I would prefer to bring him round before, instead of after.”

      “But do you think that possible?” inquired Isobel anxiously.

      Guy reflected. “It’s a pretty even chance,” he said presently. “And, you see. I’ve got Mary on my side.”

      Isobel lifted questioning eyes. “You have never spoken of Mary before. Who is she? I suppose your sister?”

      “Yes, my sister, and the sweetest, dearest girl in the wide world. Just an angel without the wings, and they are growing, I believe. Not that she is meek and mild, and all that sort of thing. She can hit out as straight from the shoulder as a man when she chooses. But tell her a tale of two true lovers, and she will never be happy till she brings them together.”

      “What a darling!” cried Isobel, in deep admiration. “How I should love to meet her.”

      “No difficulty about that,” answered Guy easily. “As soon as I have arranged matters with the General, we will fix up a little lunch in London. You bring your father up; I’ll bring Mary up.”

      “How lovely!” sighed Isobel. Truly, a new world, a delightful world, was opening to her.

      The Clandons returned to their modest little nest at Eastbourne. On the first evening of their return, Isobel, sitting on a low footstool close to the General’s chair, told him the wonderful story of Guy Rossett’s love for her, of her love for Guy.

      Her father listened sympathetically. He was intensely proud that his beloved daughter had chanced upon a wooer worthy of her. He had never dared to hope for such an alliance. Isobel was deserving of any Fairy Prince, but where was the Fairy Prince to come from?

      But he was wise and experienced. It would not be all fair sailing, there were rocks ahead. Guy had himself admitted that the Earl of Saxham would prove a formidable obstacle. The General agreed that, were he in Lord Saxham’s place, he would not give his consent too readily.

      He kissed his daughter tenderly, half pleased, half regretful to see the intense lovelight in her eyes as she spoke of her adored lover.

      “Yes, tell Guy to come and see me as soon as he likes, and we will talk over the difficulties,” he said kindly. “I liked the young fellow very much, from the little I saw of him. I am sure he is a gentleman, and I believe him to be straight.”

      Isobel looked up a little reproachfully. Her father’s guarded words seemed to convey very faint praise of her peerless lover.

      “Oh, dad,” she cried reproachfully. “Guy is the soul of honour.”

      Rossett came down, and had a long interview with General Clandon. He was quite frank and manly. He would marry Isobel whether his father consented or not; so far as financial matters stood, he was perfectly independent. Still, for many reasons,