It is now eighteen months since Frank Maynard's marriage, and has been a very quiet happy time to him. Not many incidents have occurred; the most important by far having been the birth of a son about a month back. Katie is of course very proud of it, and is a little disappointed that her husband does not consider it the finest boy in the world. Frank, however, pleads that he has no doubt that if she says so she is correct, but that for his part he can really see no difference between one baby and another—they are all queer little animals, till they begin to look about and know people. Frank has entered at the bar, and is reading to a greater extent than either he or Prescott, who had advised the step, had expected. But, indeed, Frank had found that he was only in Katie's way staying at [264] home all day, and that the long days with nothing to do really hung heavy upon his hands. Complaining of this to Prescott, the latter had renewed his former suggestion, that his friend should enter at the bar, and Frank had willingly accepted the idea, and had established himself in a room adjoining his friend's. Unfortunately it had happened that Prescott had been away on circuit at the time of the Maynards' return from their wedding-tour, and Frank had not therefore had the benefit of his advice as to the best course of action to be pursued in reference to Captain Bradshaw's extraordinary conduct. Upon Prescott's hearing of this, he had been as much puzzled as Frank himself. He, like Katie, had at first suspected that Fred Bingham must have had some hand in it; but Frank pointed out that he had seen his uncle only the day before he had gone down into Staffordshire to be married, and that he was then friendly enough. Fred Bingham was then out of town, and had not returned from his wedding-tour until after Captain Bradshaw's letter would have been written, he could therefore in no way have influenced his uncle's proceedings. This [265] was so evident, that Prescott had abandoned his idea, and had been obliged to fall back upon Frank's notion that the old man's head must have turned a little at the failure of his favourite plan. He said, that had he been in town, he should have advised Frank, upon the receipt of his uncle's unaccountable letter, to have called upon him in person. He could not, however, but acknowledge that the fact of Captain Bradshaw's returning the letter unopened, was evident proof that he would not have seen his nephew, and that even had he done so, a quarrel might have taken place, which would have rendered any future reconciliation impossible. To Prescott, as well as to Frank, this breach in the friendly relations was a trial. Prescott had never even hoped to win Alice Heathcote as long as Frank had remained unmarried, but he had a faint hope that after Frank's marriage he might some day succeed in gaining her love. Now this hope was lost; for, unless this inexplicable quarrel was made up, Prescott felt that he as Frank's friend could no longer visit at Lowndes Square. Both had hoped that Captain Bradshaw would return in an altered state of mind from his long [266] tour. He had now, however, been back in England nearly a month, and Frank had received no communication from him. This hope then was lost, for it was evident that the old man was as determined as ever that the estrangement should be final. During these eighteen months the cousins had seen but little of each other. Their respective wives had called upon each other, and each had dined at the other's home; but Fred was a good deal away from town, and Mrs. Frank, having in no way altered her first conceived opinion of him, the intercourse between Thurloe Square and Harley Street was not of a very cordial nature.
Captain Bradshaw had returned very little altered by his long ramble abroad. He was as hearty and as cheery as of old, before his dearest wishes about his ward's marriage had been thwarted. His journey had altogether done him good. It had been a complete change of life to him, and he had greatly enjoyed it. Of course he had grumbled, and had sworn terribly at Italians, Egyptians, Arabs, and many other people; but he had enjoyed it, and had confessed as much to Alice. At the same time he was very glad to be back again in Lowndes Square, [267] and to go off as of old to his club. For Alice's sake, too, he had determined to go out more into society. They had made a great many friends and acquaintances abroad, and the Captain inaugurated his return by a series of dinner-parties. Alice, too, had benefited greatly by the change of scene. She was essentially a girl of a healthy organization, and had resolutely exerted herself to shake off the depression which had weighed upon her when she started. The constant change of scene and the desire to amuse her uncle had aided her efforts, and in a few months from the time of her leaving England, the tone of her mind was completely restored. Very much was Alice Heathcote admired in the English circle at Rome. She was very quiet, very unaffected, and somewhat stately. Several of her countrymen had tried their best to win the prize of the season, but Alice gave no encouragement to any of them, and went away quite heartwhole in the Spring with her uncle. Another year's wandering had quite completed her cure, and she could now think sadly, but without deep pain, of the forfeiture by Frank Maynard of her esteem as well as of her love.
[268]
For now that she could think calmly over it, she could not but allow that there was no doubt of his unworthiness.
Once only in the month which had passed since their return to London had she seen him; for Frank had from the first gradually dropped the acquaintance of those few friends at whose houses he would be likely to meet his uncle on his return.
Alice was walking down Knightsbridge with her uncle, when they came upon a tall gentleman with a lady on his arm. Alice and her uncle recognised them at the same moment, and each could feel the other start slightly. Alice grew very pale, but looked straight forward, as did her uncle. Frank coloured with indignation, but he, too, gave no sign of recognition. Katie felt her husband draw himself up stiffly, and looked up in his face. Then she glanced at the passers. Their faces, as well as her husband's, told her who they were.
“Is that your uncle, Frank?”
“Yes, Katie,” Frank said. “Those are my uncle and Alice Heathcote. Is it not too bad, Katie? He must be as much out of his mind as [269] ever. And I suppose Alice dared not notice me.”
“I don't quite think that she wished to speak any more than he did, Frank. She looked very cold and proud. Never mind, dear. We can do very well without them.”
“Very well, Katie, I don't absolutely care a bit, only the utter injustice and absurdity of the thing make me angry. No, dear, I am perfectly happy as I am.”
Katie was rather pleased, too, and comparing the stately Miss Heathcote to herself, she said, “After all, I do think I can make Frank happier than she would ever have done.” A thought when they were alone she confided to her husband, who said he had never doubted the fact for a moment.