"If a man's eyes are not open naturally, my dear, they must be opened for him. I shall tell Geoffrey my opinion about his wife; and let him know it in pretty plain terms, I can tell you!"

CHAPTER XIII.

MR. STOMPFF'S DOUBTS.

IT is not to be supposed that because Geoffrey Ludlow's married life offered no very striking points for criticism it was left uncriticised by his friends. Those, be they married or single, quiet or boisterous, convivial or misanthropical, who do not receive discussion at the hands of their acquaintance, are very few in number. There can be nothing more charmingly delightful, nothing more characteristic of this chivalrous age, than the manner in which friends speak of each other behind, as the phrase goes, "each other's backs." To two sets of people, having a third for common acquaintance, this pastime affords almost inexpressible delight, more especially if the two sets present have been made acquainted with each other through the medium of the absent third. It is rather dangerous ground at first, because neither of the two sets present can tell whether the other may not have some absurd scruples as to the propriety of canvassing the merits or demerits of their absent friend; but a little tact, a little cautious dealing with the subject, a few advances made as tentatively as those of the elephant on the timber-bridge, soon show that the discussion will not be merely endured, but will be heartily welcome; and straightway it is plunged into with the deepest interest. How they manage to keep that carriage, that's what we've always wanted to know! Oh, you've noticed it too. Well, is it rouge or enamel, or what? That's what I've always said to George-how that poor man can go on slaving and slaving as he does, and all the money going in finery for her, is what I can't understand! What a compliment to our opinion of our powers of character-reading to find all our notions indorsed by others, more especially when those notions have been derogatory to those with whom we have for some time been living on terms of intimacy! To be sure there is another side to the medal, when we find that those who have known our dear absents a much shorter time than we claim credit for being far more sharpsighted than we. They marked at once, they say, all the shortcomings which we had taken so long to discover; and they lead the chorus of depreciation, in which we only take inferior parts.

It was not often that Mr. Stompff busied himself with the domestic concerns of the artists who formed his staff. It was generally quite enough for him provided they "came up to time," as he called it, did their work well, and did not want too much money in advance. But in Geoffrey Ludlow Mr. Stompff took a special interest, regarding him as a man out of whom, if properly worked, great profit and fame were to be made. He had paid several visits to Elm Lodge, ostensibly for

purpose of seeing how the Brighton-Esplanade picture was pro

gressing; but with this he combined the opportunity of inspecting the domestic arrangements, and noting whether they were such as were likely to "suit his book." No man more readily understood the dispiriting influence of a slattern wife or a disorderly home upon the work that was to be done.

"I've seen 'em," he used to say, "chock-full of promise, and all go to the bad just because of cold meat for dinner, or the house full of steam on washing-days. They'd rush away, and go off-public-house or any where-and then good-bye to my work and the money they've had of me! What I like best 's a regular expensive woman,-fond of her dress and going about, and all that,—who makes a man stick to it to keep her going. That's when you get the work out of a cove. So I'll just look-up Ludlow, and see how he's goin' on."

He did "look-up" Ludlow several times; and his sharp eyes soon discovered a great deal of what he did not approve, and what did not seem likely to coincide with his notions of business. He had taken a dislike to Margaret the first time he had seen her, and his dislike increased on each subsequent visit. There was something about her which he could scarcely explain to himself,-a "cold stand-offishness," he phrased it, which he hated. Margaret thought Mr. Stompff simply detestable, and spite of Geoff's half-hints, took no pains to disguise her feelings. Not that she was ever demonstrative-it was her calm quiet insouciance that roused Mr. Stompff's wrath. "I can't tell what to make of that woman," he would say; "she never gives Ludlow a word of encouragement, but sits there yea-nay, by G-, lookin' as though she didn't know he was grindin' his fingers off to earn money for her! She don't seem to take any notice of what's goin' on; but sits moonin' there, lookin' straight before her, and treatin' me and her husband as if we was dirt! Who's she, I should like to know, to give herself airs and graces like that? It was all very well when Ludlow wanted a model for that Skyllar picture; but there's no occasion for a man to marry his models, that I've heard of-leastways it ain't generally done. She don't seem to know that it's from me all the money comes, by the way she treats me. She don't seem to think that that pretty house and furniture, and all the nice things which she has, are paid for by my money. She's never a decent word to say to me. Damme, I hate her!"

And Mr. Stompff did not content himself by exploding in this manner. He let off this safety-valve of self-communion to keep himself from boiling over; but all the cause for his wrath still remained, and he referred to it, mentally, not unfrequently. He knew that Geoffrey Ludlow was one of his greatest cards; he knew that he had obtained a certain mastery over him at a very cheap rate; but he also knew that Ludlow was a man impressible to the highest degree, and that if he were preoccupied or annoyed, say by domestic trouble for instance-and there was nothing in a man of Geoffrey's temperament more thoroughly destructive to work than domestic trouble-he would be incapable of

earning his money properly. Why should there be domestic trouble in Elm Lodge? Mr. Stompff had his ears wider open than most men, and had heard a certain something which had been rumoured about at the time of Geoff's marriage; but he had not paid much attention to it. There were many ateliers which he was in the habit of frequenting, and the occupants of which turned out capital pictures for him,— where he saw ladies playing the hostess's part whose names had probably never appeared in a marriage-register; but that was nothing to him. Most of them accepted Mr. Stompff's compliments, and made themselves agreeable to the great entrepreneur, and accepted his coarse laugh and his full-flavoured joke, and were only too delighted to get them, in conjunction with his cheque. But this wife of Ludlow's was a woman of a totally different stamp; and her treatment of him so worried Mr. Stompff that he determined to find out more about her. Charley Potts was the most intimate friend of Ludlow's available to Mr. Stompff, and to Charley Potts Mr. Stompff determined to go.

It chanced that on the morning which the great picture-dealer decided on to pay his visit, Mr. Bowker had strolled into Charley Potts's rooms, and found their proprietor hard at work. Mr. Bowker's motives, though prompted by very different springs from those of Mr. Stompff, were identically the same. Old William had heard some of those irrepressible rumours which, originating no one knows how, gather force and strength from circulation, and had come to talk to Mr. Potts about them. "Down in the Cornfield" had progressed so admirably since Bowker's last visit, that after filling his pipe he stood motionless before it, with the unlighted lucifer in his hand.

"Pon my soul, I think you'll do something some day, young 'un!” were his cheering words. "That's the real thing! Wonderful improvement since I saw it; got rid of the hay-headed child and come out no end. Don't think the sunlight's quite that colour, is it? and perhaps no reason why those reaping-parties shouldn't have noses and mouths as well as eyes and chins. Don't try scamping, Charley,you're not big enough for that; wait till you're made an R.A., and then the critics will point out the beauties of your outline; at present you must copy nature. And now"-lighting his pipe-" how are you? Oh, I'm all right, William," responded Mr. Potts; "all right, and working like any number of steam-engines. Orson, sir-if I may so describe myself-Orson is endowed with reason. Orson has begun to find out that life is different from what he imagined, and has gone in for something different."

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"Ha!" said old Bowker, eyeing the young man kindly as he puffed at his pipe; "it's not very difficult to discover what's up now, then." "Oh, I don't want to make any mystery about it," said Charley. "The simple fact is, that having seen the folly of what is called a life of pleasure-"

"At six-and-twenty years of age!" interrupted Bowker.

Well, what then?—at six-and-twenty years of age! One does not want to be a Methusalah like you before one discovers the vanity, the emptiness, the heartlessness of life."

"Of course not, Charley!" said Bowker, greatly delighted. "Go on!" "And I intend to-to-to cut it, Bowker, and go in for something better. It's something, sir, to have something to work for. I have an end in view, to—”

"Well, but you've always had that. I thought that your ideas were concentrated on being President of the Academy, and returning thanks for your health, proposed by the Prime Minister."

"Bowker, you are a ribald. No, sir; there is a spur to my ambition far beyond the flabby presidentship of that collection of dreary old parties"

"Yes, I know; and the spur is marked with the initials M. L. That it, Master Charley?"

"It may be, Bowker, and it may be not. Meanwhile, my newlyformed but unalterable resolutions do not forbid the discussion of maltliquor, and Caroline yet understands the signal-code."

With these words, Mr. Potts proceeded to make his ordinary pantomimic demonstration at the window, and, when the beer arrived, condescended to give up work for a time; and, lighting a pipe and seating himself in his easy-chair, he entered into conversation with his friend.

"And suppose the spur were marked with M. L.," said he, reverting to the former topic, after a little desultory conversation,-" suppose the spur were marked with M. L., what would be the harm of that, Bowker?”

"Harm!" growled old Bowker; "you don't imagine when you begin to speak seriously of such a thing that I, of all people, should say there was any harm in it? I thought you were chaffing at first, and so I chaffed; but I'm about the last man in the world to dissuade a young fellow with the intention and the power to work from settling himself in life with a girl such as I know this one to be. So far as I have seen of her, she has all our Geoff's sweetness of disposition combined with an amount of common-sense and knowledge of the world which Geoff never had and never will have."

"She's A 1, old boy, and that's all about it; but we're going ahead rather too quickly. I've not said a word to her yet, and I scarcely know whether-"

"Nonsense, Charley! A man who is worth any thing knows thoroughly whether a woman cares for him or not; and knows in what way she cares for him too. On this point I go back to my old ground again, and say that Geoffrey Ludlow's sister could not be dishonest enough to flirt and flatter and play the deuce with a man. There's too much honesty about the family; and you would be in a very different state of mind, young fellow, if you thought there was any doubt as to how your remarks would be received in that quarter, when you chose to speak."

Mr. Potts smiled, and pulled his moustache, triumphantly now, not

doubtfully as was his wont. Then his face settled into seriousness, as he said:

"You're right, William, I think. I hope so, please God! I've never said so much as this to any one, as you may guess; but I love that girl with all my heart and soul, and if only the dealers will stick by me, I intend to tell her that same very shortly. But what you just said has turned my thoughts into another channel-our Geoff."

"Well, what about our Geoff?" asked Mr. Bowker, twisting round on his seat, and looking hard at his friend.

"You must have noticed, Bowker-probably much more than I have, for you're more accustomed to that sort of thing-that our Geoff's not right lately. There's something wrong up there at Elm Lodge, that I can't make out,-that I daren't think of. You remember our talks both before and after Geoff's marriage? Well, I must hark back upon them. He's not happy, William-there, you have the long and the short of it! I'm a bad hand at explaining these matters, but Geoff's not happy. He's made a mistake; and though I don't think he sees it himself or if he does, he would die sooner than own it-there can be no doubt about it. Mrs. Ludlow does not understand,-does not appreciate him; and our Geoff's no more like our crony of old days than I'm like Raffaelle. There, that's it as clear as I can put it!”

Bowker waited for an instant, and then he said:

"I've tried hard enough, God knows!-hard enough to prevent myself from thinking as you think, Charley; but all to no purpose. There is a cloud over Geoff's life, and I fear it springs from Some one knocking. Keep 'em out, if possible; we don't want any one boring in here just now."

But the knocker, whoever he was, seemed by no means inclined to be kept out. He not only obeyed the regular directions and "tugged the trotter," but he afterwards gave three distinct and loud raps with his fist on the door, which was the signal to the initiated; and when the door was opened and the knocker appeared in the person of Mr. Stompff, further resistance was useless.

light and airy address.

airy step and a Come to give

The great man entered the room with a light and "Well, Charley, how are you? you a look-up, you see. Hallo! who's this?-Mr. Bowker, how do you do, sir?" in a tone which meant, "What the devil do you do here ?”— "how are you, sir?-Well, Charley, what are you at? Going to the bad, you villain,-going to the bad!"

"Not quite that, I hope, Mr. Stompff—” 'Working for Caniche, eh?

That's the same thing, just the same thing! I've heard all about it. You've let that miserable Belgian get hold of you, eh? This is it, is it? Gal in a cornfield and mowers? what you call 'em-reapers? That's it! reapers, and a little child. Some story, eh? Oh, ah! Tennyson; I don't know him-not bad, by Jove! not half bad! 'tis Caniche's?"