THE COUNTESS RADNA.

BY W. E. NORRIS,

AUTHOR OF 'MATRIMONY,' 'HEAPS OF MONEY,' ETC.

CHAPTER XIII.

CE QUE FEMME VEUT.

LOVERS' quarrels, as all the world knows, have from time immemorial discharged the beneficent task of moral thunderstorms, and it was probably as desirable as it was inevitable that some few further struggles for mastery should take place between Douglas Colborne and his wife-if not upon the question of Phyllis's dowry, upon some other which would answer the purpose equally well. But, setting aside his natural masculine horror of rows and his political preoccupations, he had a very good reason for being reluctant to cross her at this time, if he could possibly help doing So. The doctor said that, in view of an event which was not so very far distant, the Countess ought not to be crossed; he also said that she ought not to be overfatigued; and how to carry out the latter injunction without disobeying the former became a problem of more pressing importance to Douglas than that of reconciling his sister's acceptance of a little fortune with his own notions of what may and what may not be accepted from a wealthy sister-in-law.

For the Countess, unfortunately, liked London society, while she hated the idea of being sent down to Stoke Leighton before the end of the session. Nor was this prospect made at all more attractive for her by Mrs. Colborne's kind offer to accompany her thither and take care of her until Douglas should obtain release from his Parliamentary labours. She ended, however, after a great deal of discussion and persuasion, by assenting to the proposed arrangement-partly because she really felt too ill and weary to keep up her present manner of life, and partly, it is to be feared, because, like most mortals who are out of health and out of spirits, she was not unwilling to be furnished with the luxury of a grievance. To Stoke Leighton, therefore, she went, attended by Mrs. Colborne and the girls, while Douglas continued for the

time being to inhabit a corner of the mansion in Carlton House Terrace.

Now, it may be conceded that if separation from her husband was a very fair sort of grievance, as grievances go, the company of her mother-in-law and her sisters-in-law was an even more substantial one. She did not dislike any of them personally, but she did not care much about them individually or collectively, and they bored her not a little with their kindness, their exaggerated precautions for her comfort and their unending flow of conversation upon topics which had not the faintest interest for her. She wished them all well, only she wished them out of sight and hearing; and she looked forward with some apprehension to the probability of their spending the entire summer in their former home. They certainly talked as though such were their intention. They had no country-house of their own, and the chances were that Mr. Colborne's resources did not admit of their hiring one; added to which, their present quarters suited them admirably, being within easy reach of Windsor, where Colonel Percy was quartered. Although nothing had been said about it, there seemed to be a tacit understanding that the wedding, which was to take place in the autumn, would be solemnised at the parish church and that the bride would be married from her brother's house. That sort of thing, the Countess sometimes reflected in moments of ill-temper, is scarcely the reward that one is entitled to expect for having shown oneself amiable as well as generous.

Colonel Percy, who was always coming over to luncheon, was a rather dull man; Phyllis, though grateful and affectionate, was reserved; the pair did not, after all, seem to be passionately in love with one another. It was impossible to feel any great interest in them, and not easy even to participate in the excitement which attended the purchase of the trousseau. The Countess was, perhaps, too rich to care as much as women generally do about chiffons; at any rate, she did not care about them, preferring to leave such matters to her dressmakers, her tailors and her maids. More than once she had vague thoughts of decamping at a moment's notice-so as to avoid argument—and telegraphing to her husband to join her somewhere on the Continent. More than once, too, she caught herself sighing for Bickenbach, who at least understood her and her moods, though she was such an old goose.

Matters mended a little, but only a little, when worn-out legislators were dismissed for their holidays and when Douglas arrived, rejoicing at the prospect of once more donning his cricketing-flannels. It is true that the Countess altogether failed to understand the fun of cricket, even after she had witnessed a match and after all its details had been fully and laboriously explained to her; it is true that to hear cricket, and scarcely anything else, talked about from morning to night is a little trying to anybody who does not play the game; still she was glad to have her husband back, and glad also that he had brought Frank Innes with him. Frank Innes was the one of Douglas's relations whom she liked by far the best; Frank was not wholly given up to sports and pastimes; he could talk, for instance, about music, and was just now very willing to do so, having recently discovered, to his great delight, that he possessed a pure tenor voice, which he was cultivating with great assiduity. Frank was one of those young men who are always ready to bestow immense pains upon any kind of work which is not compulsory.

'I'll tell you what it is,' he said one day to the Countess, with whom he was now upon terms of the most confidential intimacy; 'I shouldn't wonder a bit if I were to turn out a second Sims Reeves some fine morning. I was talking last week to a professional chap, and he told me that the quality of my voice was pretty nearly perfect. To sing a couple of songs at a hundred pounds apiece on Tuesdays and Thursdays during the season, and to have the rest of one's time free for innocent diversions, would be about good enough, wouldn't it?'

'I am not sure that it would be good for you to have too much free time, or that all your diversions would be innocent,' she answered, laughing; but if Heaven has blessed you with a talent or a faculty of any kind, you certainly ought to utilise it. Unhappily for me, Heaven has seen fit to deny me exceptional talents and faculties.'

'That's quite as it should be. Having granted you exceptional beauty and an exceptionally big fortune and the very best husband in the world, Heaven has done more than enough for you, in my humble opinion. I used to think Miss Rowley the luckiest woman of my acquaintance; but you can walk right away from her. Of course she isn't in the same class with you as far as beauty goes, and I don't suppose she is a quarter as rich; moreover, she hasn't had the good fortune to marry Douglas,’

'Well, no, she hasn't married him, but she doesn't allow that trifling omission to deter her from treating him as if he belonged to her. She was here the other day, and she couldn't have given him more orders or instructions if she had been his sole constituent. I suppose, living where I do, it would be an abominable heresy to say openly that I don't like Miss Rowley; but, as I am sure you won't betray me, I may confess in strict confidence to you that she is rather too well pleased with herself to please

me.'

'Oh, you would like her if you knew her better,' answered Frank. I daresay she may seem to you to be a bit dictatorial, but she doesn't mean to be, and she can't very well help seeming so; because, after all, she does rule the roast hereabouts, you know. Besides, all things considered, I should think you could afford to be generous to her.'

That was just what the Countess was not so certain about. No doubt, other things being equal, she could (as Frank Innes might have expressed it) have given Peggy Rowley points and a beating in respect to beauty and fortune; but the inequality of other things was more manifest to her than it was to her juvenile confidant. She was convinced, and perhaps rightly convinced, that nothing but the accident of having spent an Easter holiday in Paris had prevented Douglas from espousing his well-to-do neighbour; she could not but be aware that Peggy would have proved a more suitable helpmeet for him than she herself could ever be; and, although her trust in him was not shaken, she did not absolutely trust Miss Rowley. It stood to reason that Miss Rowley must be a disappointed woman, and one does not need to be a sorceress in order to divine what course a disappointed woman is likely to pursue under certain circumstances.

Now, it came to pass that, in accordance with custom and precedent, Miss Rowley gave a garden-party at this time, and that the Countess Radna, amongst others, honoured the Swinford Manor festivities with her presence. The honour was duly appreciated and the Countess was duly admired; but English people when in the country are apt to be too shy or too lazy to conduct themselves exactly as they would do in London drawing-rooms, and thus it often happens that strangers find their welcome a somewhat chilling one. The Countess, after the first few minutes, was disagreeably conscious of being left out in the cold. Two or three dowagers sat down beside her and, with an obvious effort, pumped

up commonplaces from the recesses of their minds for her benefit; but these ladies were so silly and so tedious that she ruthlessly scared them away, and her hostess's middle-aged duenna, who hovered near her, looking anxious and apprehensive, was a poor substitute for the knot of young people who had congregated round Douglas and were chattering and laughing together like so many happy children. The Countess would have liked to join the group, but did not choose to do so uninvited, and she appeared to have been forgotten both by her husband and by Peggy Rowley, who at that moment was impressing emphatically upon him the paramount importance of his making a big score at the approaching county cricket-match.

'I don't grumble at you for not having electrified the House by your eloquence yet,' the Countess heard her say; 'you are right to bide your time. But it is as clear as daylight that you must do something to win popular esteem; and if you were to get bowled first ball, I should tremble for your chances at the general election-which may come any day, mind you.'

The listener overheard several more speeches of this halfserious, half-jocular description, and was not best pleased with any of them. It must be acknowledged that if she had been pleased, or even if she had not been slightly provoked, she would have been a rather abnormal sort of wife. The absurd part of it (that, at least, was what she felt) was that all these good people who were turning their backs upon her were so essentially her inferiors. Anywhere on earth, except in England, they would have been bowing down before her, while she would have been exerting herself with her accustomed graciousness and affability to set them at their ease. The experience through which she was passing had the advantage of novelty; but it had the disadvantage of being novel in quite the wrong direction. To be tired of being a spoilt child is probably the destiny of all Fortune's spoilt children; but it does not follow that their longing for a little change is at all likely to be gratified by neglect, and the half-hour of undisturbed meditation which was accorded to the Countess Radna convinced her that change of another kind was what she requiced.

'Do you know what I am going to do?' she said abruptly to her husband, as he was driving her along the road towards Stoke Leighton in a mail-phaeton, his mother and sisters following in the family barouche. I am going home to Hungary. Hungary isn't so very much home, you may say. Well, I grant you that;