Frank Maynard had by no means forgotten what his friend Prescott had said to him upon the subject of Alice Heathcote. He had thought it over constantly and with increasing annoyance, Frank could have been easily led to do almost anything, but he was one of the worst men in the world to drive, and this he considered to be an attempt to force him into a marriage for which he had not the least desire. He was the more annoyed because he was really very fond of Alice in a cousinly sort of way, and he felt that he could never again be upon the same pleasant footing with her as before. Had he believed for an instant that Alice regarded him in any other light than that in which he thought of her, he might have acted differently: but Frank had not the least personal vanity, and it never entered his mind 265that Alice ever thought of him except as a sort of brother. Altogether it was very unpleasant, and he consequently stayed several days away from Lowndes Square, instead of paying his almost daily visit. At last he felt that it would seem strange if he did not go, and so started with an uncomfortable feeling, and a dogged resolution that if he had the least opportunity he would enlighten his uncle as to what his own views upon the subject were; knowing Captain Bradshaw’s peppery disposition, however, he had no doubt that he would be exceedingly irritated at finding his wishes thwarted in a matter so very near his heart. On arriving at Lowndes Square he found his uncle alone in the drawing-room. It was a large room, with folding-doors. These on ordinary occasions stood open, but in cold weather were kept closed, as Captain Bradshaw said the large room made him cold. Alice, on her part, liked the arrangement, as the back drawing-room made a sort of snuggery, where she could work or paint undisturbed by visitors. In the front room Frank found his uncle.  
“Well, Frank, I thought you were lost. Where 266have you been all this time? It is nearly a week since you were here.”
 
Frank said, rather confusedly, that he had been a good deal engaged.
 
“Nonsense, engaged! You may be out of an evening, but you could surely manage to run down some time in the day to see us.”
 
Frank knew that this was one of Captain Bradshaw’s weak points; that he liked attention, and could bear anything better than being neglected; so he said that he was sorry he had let so many days pass without calling, but would come oftener in future.
 
“That is right, Frank,” Captain Bradshaw said, mollified. “You know we don’t see many visitors here, and you brighten us up. It is not for myself, but for Alice’s sake, that I like you to come down often. You ought to be more attentive there.”
 
Frank thought that this was a good opportunity to express his opinion upon that point, and he said, rather coldly;—
 
“I really do not see, uncle, why I should be specially attentive to Alice. I do not think it 267likely that she interests herself in the slightest degree as to my comings and goings.”
 
Now Captain Bradshaw was just as anxious to have a talk with Frank upon this subject, as Frank was himself. For years this marriage between his nephew and niece had been his pet project. He had so thoroughly settled it in his own mind, that he believed they were equally agreed, and that although no actual love-making might have taken place, it was a sort of tacit engagement. He had often during Frank’s absence joked Alice about him, and the girl’s rising colour and evasive answers more than ever confirmed him in his opinion. Since Frank’s return, however, things had not gone quite as he had anticipated. It was not that he doubted in the least that all was right, for he was a good deal accustomed to have his own way, and had beside an old-fashioned idea that in these matters young people should do as their elders recommend. Still Frank was not so attentive as he ought to have been under the circumstances, and it was Captain Bradshaw’s opinion that now his nephew had had his fling, the sooner he settled down and married Alice Heathcote the better. He had 268therefore quite made up his mind to intimate his wishes to him upon the first opportunity.
 
“I hardly know what you mean, Frank. If I were a young man in your place, I should think that it would be only right and proper, under the circumstances, that she should take a good deal of interest in what I did.”
 
“What do you mean, uncle, by ‘under the circumstances?’” Frank asked, shortly.
 
“Mean, Frank? Damme, I mean, of course, in the relation in which you stand to each other.”
 
“I am your nephew, uncle Harry, and Alice is your niece; but I imagine that the relationship between us is something very slight.”
 
“Pooh! nonsense, man!” Captain Bradshaw said, irritably; “you know what I mean; but I will put it plainly for you, if you like. I think it natural that Alice should feel some interest in your goings-on, considering that you are some day going to be man and wife.”
 
“Man and wife, uncle? What are you thinking about? Alice and I have about as much idea of marrying each other as we have of flying.”
 
269“Damme, sir!” Captain Bradshaw commenced, fiercely; “but no, I will not get angry;” and then he continued, in a tone of concentrated rage, which showed far more than any gesticulation could have done, how angry he was: “Do you mean to tell me, seriously, Frank Maynard, that you do not intend to marry your cousin, Alice Heathcote?”
 
“Most distinctly and clearly, uncle, I do not. I like Alice exceedingly. I love her almost as a sister. She is a dear, good girl; but I have not, and never had, the slightest intention of marrying her.”
 
Captain Bradshaw sat down. He could not trust himself to speak for some time; he knew how passionate he was, and that he should be sure to say something which he would afterwards wish unsaid. At last, after a great struggle with himself, he said, quietly;—
 
“My dear Frank, you have upset me sadly. I always thought it was an understood thing between you, and I had set my mind on it. For years I have planned and hoped for this. What objection can you have? It would make me very happy. You are like a son to me, Alice like 270a daughter; why can you not come together?”
 
“My dear uncle,” Frank said, “there is hardly anything that I would not do to give you pleasure, but I can hardly change my present feeling for Alice into the love I should give to a wife. I am sorry, very sorry, that you are disappointed, but I never dreamed of such a thing. If you had spoken about it some years sooner, I might have got to look upon it in that way. But it is too late now.”
 
“But I always thought you did understand, Frank. I have watched you both closely, and I thought you loved Alice, and I was quite sure Alice——”
 
Captain Bradshaw did not finish his sentence, for the folding doors opened suddenly, and Alice Heathcote herself stood among them. Had not the light of the winter afternoon faded out,—the room being only lit by the deep red glow of the fire,—they would have seen that her face was very pale, and that her cheeks were still wet with tears. However, she gave them little time to notice this, for she moved hastily forward, and stood between them with her back to the fire, so that 271her face was in deep shadow. Then she said, trying to speak in a playful tone, but in a voice which shook and wavered a little as she began;—
 
“My dear uncle, if you gentlemen want to talk secrets you should not choose a room with folding doors, through which every word can be heard. Not that I am sorry I heard what you said, in the first place, because I have a right to have a voice in a matter in which I am so much interested; and in the second, because I am able to come in and join my voice to Frank’s in asking you to let us each go our own way. You see, uncle, we make very good cousins, but we have no inclination to exchange that relationship for a nearer one. Let us have our own way, uncle: you cannot make two people love each other who have no natural inclination that way, and we could not love you better if we were married than we do separately.”
 
Captain Bradshaw was silent for a moment in astonishment, and then broke out;—
 
“Damme, Alice, if I understand you at all. I always thought——”
 
Alice stepped forward, and laid her hands upon his shoulder, and murmured very low, so that 272only he could hear her, “Hush, uncle, for pity’s sake!” and then, more loudly, “you see, uncle, unfortunately, we have been playing at cross-purposes; Frank and I have been caring for each other in a brotherly and sisterly sort of way, and you, wanting it to be something else, have all along misinterpreted what you saw. Now, be a dear, kind uncle, as you always are, and let us have our own way.”
 
“Just so, uncle,” Frank put in; “you see it has all been a mistake, and I am very glad that Alice has overheard us, because she has been able to assure you that she agrees with me.”
 
Captain Bradshaw was silent for a moment, and then said softly to Alice as he kissed her cheek;—
 
“You are a darling, Alice; as for you, sir,” he said, turning fiercely upon Frank, “my opinion of you, sir, is, that you are a young fool. Yes, sir, damme, a thorough young fool,” and with this explosion of wrath, Captain Bradshaw strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
 
Frank gave a long whistle.
 
“Upon my word, Alice, this is too bad; Uncle 273Harry is turning a complete tyrant in his old age. The idea of getting into a passion because you and I, who have known each other for the last ten years, are not going to fall in love with each other all at once to please him. It is too absurd, upon my word.”
 
“Very absurd, Frank,” Alice said, quietly; “and now I think you had better go, and I will go down and pacify uncle.”
 
Frank took up his hat, but paused as he went towards the door, and said,—
 
“I hope I did not say anything rude about you, Alice? You know how much I like you as a sister; but I was obliged to protest against his making us man and wife, when I know that neither of us had such an idea in our heads. You are not vexed, Alice?”
 
“Not vexed at all, Frank,” she said, quietly; “now, please go.”
 
Frank went downstairs, and out into the chilly evening air, with a strong feeling of discontent at things in general. The whole thing was, he assured himself, too ridiculous; still, somehow or other, he did not feel as pleased as he had expected now that the affair was settled. By 274the time he reached the Temple, however, he had recovered his usual good temper; and going straight up into Prescott’s room, he sat down and gave his friend an exact account of what had passed. Prescott listened with great attention. When Frank came to the part where Alice appeared upon the scene, Prescott almost held his breath to catch every word, and murmured to himself,—
 
“Dear Alice; dear, brave girl.”
 
When Frank had done, he said,—
 
“Now, Prescott, just give me your opinion of it all; it is too bad, is it not?”
 
“Do you want my honest opinion, Frank?”
 
“Of course I do, Prescott.”
 
“Very well, Frank; then I will give it you. I agree entirely with your uncle. You are a fool, and a thorough fool.”
 
It would have been a very dangerous proceeding for anyone else than Prescott to have expressed this opinion of Frank to his face. As it was, Frank looked for a moment as if inclined to be exceedingly angry, but glancing at Prescott’s thoughtful face as he looked into the fire, his brow cleared again, and he said,—
 
275“At any rate, old man, I was a fool to ask your opinion, for I might have known beforehand what it would be. You had as good as said you were in the plot with uncle, and advised me to marry Alice, so you are put out by finding that you are ridiculously mistaken. I can only say, that as you would have doubtless acted so much more wisely in the matter than I have done, I wish you had been in my place.”
 
“I wish to heaven that I had been, Frank,” Prescott said, with an earnest sadness.
 
“Upon my word, I wish you had, Prescott, for I do believe that you love Alice; although why, if you do, you should have been urging me on to marry her, is more than I can make out.”
 
“I wished you to marry her, Frank, because, above all things, 1 should want to see her happy.”
 
“Then why in the name of fortune don’t you marry her, and make her happy yourself, Prescott?”
 
“Because she would not let me, Frank.”
 
“Pooh, nonsense, Prescott! we know very well that she does not care for me, thank goodness; 276and, therefore, it is all the more likely that she may for you.”
 
Prescott did not care to pursue the subject farther, for he did not wish his friend to see that he felt any serious interest in the matter.
 
When Frank Maynard had left the house in Lowndes Square, Alice Heathcote did not for some time carry out the intention she had expressed of going downstairs to pacify her uncle. As she sat in her low easy-chair before the fire, not leaning back, but with her figure bowed, her hands listlessly clasping each other, and a look of weary hopelessness upon her face, she needed comfort too much to be able to dispense it. Alice had suffered a severe shock; one of those shocks which cast a shade over the whole life. The pain of a rejection—or, perhaps, more properly speaking, the duration of that pain—is in almost exact proportion to the amount of hope which was previously entertained. Instances are not wanting, indeed, where a perfectly hopeless attachment has embittered a whole existence; but those who so suffered must have been endowed either with a peculiarly sensitive organisation, or an ill-regulated mind.
 
277It is the same thing in all relations of life. If a man hopes to attain a large fortune by the death of a relation, or by a fortunate speculation, or successful invention, he will form plans for the future, and build greatly upon his expectations. It will be a great shock, then, when he finds that the money is left to another, or the speculation or invention turns out a failure; but it will not rankle in his mind, will not permanently affect his whole career in life as it would do had a banker, with whom he had placed a similar sum of money, failed. It needs certainty, or that strong belief which is the same as certainty, to make the loss of a fortune, or the f............