I should not be at all surprised if the Baroness
were not at the bottom of all this.”

“At anyrate, it has ruined my life!” said Elinor, mournfully. “Nonsense! my dear girl, no such thing! It is only an unpleasant
episode which will soon be forgotten. But let it make you a little
more careful for the future, Elinor. Ralph is a very conceited man. He
has been spoilt by the women all his life, ‘_pour l’amour de ses beaux
yeux_.’ He has been used to flattery and attention, and when he doesn’t
get it he misses it, and goes where it is to be found. It is rather a
contemptible weakness, but he shares it in common with most of his sex,
and you have promised, remember, to take him for better or worse!”

“Not yet, thank goodness!” retorted Elinor, with something of her
usual spirit. “He and father got talking together about the marriage,
the other day, when he was down at Richmond, and fixed it, I believe,
for the spring, but they will have to unfix it again now, if I am not
mistaken.”

“No such thing,” replied Margaret, “and now you have consented--have
you not?--to leave the settlement of this other affair in my hands.”

“If you wish it, Margaret! But, remember, no compromise! If Ralph has
really promised this girl what she says, let him keep his promises, for
I will have none of him. And now I must go home or they will wonder
what has become of me!”

Margaret was not sorry to see her depart, for she was most anxious to
summon Anthony Pennell, her husband’s cousin, to her aid, and ask his
advice as to what was best to be done in the circumstances. She had great faith in Anthony Pennell, not only in his genius, which
was an accepted thing, but in his good sense, which is not usually
found associated with the higher quality. He was a man of about thirty,
with a grand intellect--a sound understanding--a liberal mind, and
a sympathetic disposition. He had been originally intended for the
Bar, but having “taken silk,” and made a most promising debut, he had
suddenly blossomed into an author, and his first novel had taken London
by storm. He had accomplished the rare feat of being lifted up at once on the
waves of public opinion and carried over the heads of all his fellows. Since his first success, he had continued writing--had given up the law
in consequence--and was now making a large and steady income. But Anthony Pennell’s great charm lay in his unassuming manner
and modest judgment of his own work. His triumphs were much more
astonishing to him than to his friends. In person, he was less handsome
than his cousin Ralph Pullen, but much more manly looking, having been
a distinguished athlete in his College days, and still finding his
best recreation on the cricket field and the golf ground. He was very
fair, with a white skin, embrowned here and there by sun and outdoor
exercise--short, curly hair--a fine figure, standing six foot high, and
the bluest of blue eyes. He was smoking in his own chambers late that
afternoon, when he received a telegram from Margaret Pullen, “Can you
come over this evening?” and as soon as he had changed his lounging
coat, he obeyed her summons. CHAPTER XII. Anthony Pennell was a very fresh, pleasant, and good-looking
presentment of a young English gentleman, as he entered the room where
Margaret was sitting with Doctor Phillips that evening. It had been
arranged between them beforehand, that as little as need be should
be confided to him of Harriet Brandt’s former history. All that was
necessary for him to know, was the danger that threatened to blast the
future happiness of Ralph Pullen and Elinor Leyton. “Well! Mrs. Pullen,” he said, as he shook hands cordially with Margaret
and the doctor, “and what important business is it, that you want to
consult me upon? I thought, at the very least, that I should meet my
cousin Arthur here!”

“If I had had Arthur, perhaps I should not have needed you,” replied
Margaret, with a faint smile. “But really, Mr. Pennell, I am in want of
advice sorely, and the Doctor agreed with me that you would be the best
person to whom I could apply!”

“I am at your service, Madam!” said the young man, gaily, as he seated
himself. Then she told him the story of Harriet Brandt--how Ralph had met her at
the Lion d’Or, and devoted his time to her--and how she was persecuting
him with letters, and had threatened to follow him to the Camp and
interview him there. “And it must be put a stop to, you know, Mr. Pennell,” she concluded,
“not only for Ralph’s sake and Elinor’s, but for the sake of the
Walthamstowes and my husband. I am sure that Arthur would be
exceedingly annoyed at any scandal of that sort, and especially as Lord
Walthamstowe is so old a friend of his family!”

Anthony Pennell had looked very grave during her recital. After a pause
he said,

“Are you sure that Ralph has not given this young lady good cause to
run after him?”

“I think not--I hope not! There was very little amusement in Heyst, and
this girl, and the people with whom she is now staying--a Baron and
Baroness Gobelli, they call themselves--were amongst the visitors to
the Lion d’Or. Miss Leyton is rather a stickler for the proprieties,
and used to refuse to walk out with Ralph alone in the evenings, and
I was too much occupied with my poor darling baby to accompany them,”
said Margaret, in a faltering voice, “so Ralph took to going to the
Baroness’s private rooms instead, and became intimate with Miss Brandt!”

“You acknowledge then, that he _was_ intimate with her!”

“I think he must have been--because it appears that he had agreed to
join their party at Brussels, when--when--my great trouble obliged him
to return to England with us instead.”

“Did you know this young lady, Mrs. Pullen?”

“I did, and at one time I was rather intimate with her, that is, before
the Baroness took her up, when she passed almost all her time with
them.”

“She is, I suppose, very attractive in person?”

“O! dear no, not at all!” cried Margaret, with a woman’s dull
appreciation of the charms of one of her own sex, “she has fine eyes,
and what men would, I suppose, call a good figure, but no complexion
and an enormous mouth. Not at all pretty, but nice-looking at
times,--that is all!”

“Clever?” said Pennell, interrogatively. “I do not think so! She had just come out of a Convent school and was
utterly unused to society. But she has a very good voice and plays well
on the mandoline!”

“Ladies are not always the best judges of their own sex,” remarked
Anthony, turning to Doctor Phillips, “what do _you_ say, Doctor? Had you an opportunity of appraising Miss Brandt’s beauties and
accomplishments for yourself?”

“I would rather say nothing, Mr. Pennell,” replied the Doctor. “The
fact is, I knew her parents in the West Indies, and could never believe
in anything good coming from such a stock. Whatever the girl may be,
she inherits terrible proclivities, added to black blood. She is in
point of fact a quadroon, and not fit to marry into any decent English
family!”

“O!