A Terrible Temptation. Charles Reade Reade

has; and you will do the right thing too, will you not?”

      “I don't know. I am just beginning to fall in love with him myself.”

      “Jealousy, madam, not love,” said the old lawyer. “Come, now! I see you are a young lady of rare good sense; look the thing in the face: Sir Charles is a landed gentleman; he must marry, and, have heirs. He is over thirty, and his time has come. He has shown himself your friend; why not be his? He has given you the means to marry a gentleman of moderate income, or to marry beneath you, if you prefer it—”

      “And most of us do—”

      “Then why not make his path smooth? Why distress him with your tears and remonstrances?”

      He continued in this strain for some time, appealing to her good sense and her better feelings.

      When he had done she said, very quietly, “How about the ponies and my brown mare? Are they down in the deed?”

      “I think not; but if you will do your part handsomely I'll guarantee you shall have them.”

      “You are a good soul.” Then, after a pause, “Now just you tell me exactly what you want me to do for all this.”

      Oldfield was pleased with this question. He said, “I wish you to abstain from writing to Sir Charles, and him to visit you only once more before his marriage, just to shake hands and part, with mutual friendship and good wishes.”

      “You are right,” said she, softly; “best for us both, and only fair to the girl.” Then, with sudden and eager curiosity, “Is she very pretty?”

      “I don't know.”

      “What, hasn't he told you?”

      “He says she is lovely, and every way adorable; but then he is in love. The chances are she is not half so handsome as yourself.”

      “And yet he is in love with her?”

      “Over head and ears.”

      “I don't believe it. If he was really in love with one woman he couldn't be just to another. I couldn't. He'll be coming back to me in a few months.”

      “God forbid!”

      “Thank you, old gentleman.”

      Mr. Oldfield began to stammer excuses. She interrupted him: “Oh, bother all that; I like you none the worse for speaking your mind.” Then, after a pause, “Now excuse me; but suppose Sir Charles should change his mind, and never sign this paper?”

      “I pledge my professional credit.”

      “That is enough, sir; I see I can trust you. Well, then, I consent to break off with Sir Charles, and only see him once more—as a friend. Poor Sir Charles! I hope he will be happy” (she squeezed out a tear for him)—“happier than I am. And when he does come he can sign the deed, you know.”

      Mr. Oldfield left her, and joined Sir Charles at Long's, as had been previously agreed.

      “It is all right, Sir Charles; she is a sensible girl, and will give you no further trouble.”

      “How did you get over the hysterics?”

      “We dispensed with them. She saw at once it was to be business, not sentiment. You are to pay her one more visit, to sign, and part friends. If you please, I'll make that appointment with both parties, as soon as the deed is engrossed. Oh, by-the-by, she did shed a tear or two, but she dried them to ask me for the ponies and the brown mare.”

      Sir Charles's vanity was mortified. But he laughed it off, and said she should have them, of course.

      So now his mind was at ease, his conscience was at rest, and he could give his whole time where he had given his heart.

      Richard Bassett learned, through his servant, that the wedding-dresses were ordered. He called on Miss Somerset. She was out.

      Polly opened the door and gave him a look of admiration—due to his fresh color—that encouraged him to try and enlist her in his service.

      He questioned her, and she told him in a general way how matters were going. “But,” said she, “why not come and talk to her yourself? Ten to one but she tells you. She is pretty outspoken.”

      “My pretty dear,” said Richard, “she never will receive me.”

      “Oh, but I'll make her!” said Polly.

      And she did exert her influence as follows:

      “Lookee here, the cousin's a-coming to-morrow and I've been and promised he should see you.”

      “What did you do that for?”

      “Why, he's a well-looking chap, and a beautiful color, fresh from the country, like me. And he's a gentleman, and got an estate belike; and why not put yourn to hisn, and so marry him and be a lady? You might have me about ye all the same, till my turn comes.”

      “No, no,” said Rhoda; “that's not the man for me. If ever I marry, it must be one of my own sort, or else a fool, like Marsh, that I can make a slave of.”

      “Well, any way, you must see him, not to make a fool of me, for I did promise him; which, now I think on't, 'twas very good of me, for I could find in my heart to ask him down into the kitchen, instead of bringing him upstairs to you.”

      All this ended, somehow, in Mr. Bassett's being admitted.

      To his anxious inquiry how matters stood, she replied coolly that Sir Charles and herself were parted by mutual consent.

      “What! after all your protestations?” said Bassett, bitterly.

      But Miss Somerset was not in an irascible humor just then. She shrugged her shoulders, and said:

      “Yes, I remember I put myself in a passion, and said some ridiculous things. But one can't be always a fool. I have come to my senses. This sort of thing always does end, you know. Most of them part enemies, but he and I part friends and well-wishers.”

      “And you throw me over as if I was nobody,” said Richard, white with anger.

      “Why, what are you to me?” said the Somerset. “Oh, I see. You thought to make a cat's-paw of me. Well, you won't, then.”

      “In other words, you have been bought off.”

      “No, I have not. I am not to be bought by anybody—and I am not to be insulted by you, you ruffian! How dare you come here and affront a lady in her own house—a lady whose shoestrings your betters are ready to tie, you brute? If you want to be a landed proprietor, go and marry some ugly old hag that's got it, and no eyesight left to see you're no gentleman. Sir Charles's land you'll never have; a better man has got it, and means to keep it for him and his. Here, Polly! Polly! Polly! take this man down to the kitchen, and teach him manners if you can: he is not fit for my drawing-room, by a long chalk.”

      Polly arrived in time to see the flashing eyes, the swelling veins, and to hear the fair orator's peroration.

      “What, you are in your tantrums again!” said she. “Come along, sir. Needs must when the devil drives. You'll break a blood-vessel some day, my lady, like your father afore ye.”

      And with this homely suggestion, which always sobered Miss Somerset, and, indeed, frightened her out of her wits, she withdrew the offender. She did not take him into the kitchen, but into the dining-room, and there he had a long talk with her, and gave her a sovereign.

      She promised to inform him if anything important should occur.

      He went away, pondering and scowling deeply.

CHAPTER IV.

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