The Northern Guardian. — 1894-12-05 (Hartlepool, Cleveland, England)

CHAPTER XXIII.  WILFULLY BLIND.  The case of poor Mrs. Soott-Muir attracted a great deal of attention in society, and gave rise to torrents of gossip and innuendoes. Sone people called in Piccadilly on the day following the ball (Tuebslay) and had certain dark stories to relate about both husband and wife. Certainly it was a suicide, and Scott-Muir was moving hesven and earth to avert an inqUest;. but he couldn't, the inquest was to be to-morrow. Egerton, entering the room when the tide of gossip was flowing. cut it short in his sarcastic, half-cynicil frlhinn, for he was annoyed at this sort of ..411: Licf&re aertie, especially as the affair seemed to have taken a curious hold on her imagination.  "De martins nil nisi bonum," he said; "it's odd, Lady Dalrymple "—to one of the speakers—" that your charming sex should find such pleasure in running each other down. I daresay there are worse sinners than Mrs. Scott-Muir, if she was one."  Lady Dalrymple coloured, and repudiated tile charge, but she was not angry; handsome Claude Egerton could say what he liked. Bertie was grateful to him; she had taken no part in condemning the dead woman.  And the inquest, as often happens in such cases, dispelled most of the sensation. There seemed to be no attempt to suppress evidence, and it came out that while Mr. Scott-Muir was a very dissolute mae his wife was not very likely to commit suicide on that account. She led her own life—an excitable and not always blameless life—and took the world easily. It was not shewn that she was in the habit. of taking chloral, but on that a-count was the more likely to have dosed herself ignorantly.' No line of writing had been found, there was really nothing to justify the rumour that her death was due to suicide, and the verdict was "Death by misadventure from an overdose of chloral." Some people shook their heads and said: "It's all very well—" but the matter was ended, and almost forgotten in a week. Bertie read the account of the inquest in the morning papers; but, she hardly alluded to it. Yet she did not forget it. The tragic episode haunted her with a gruesome persistency. She was arranging some flowers in her boudoir when her husband came in, to ask her if she would be at home to luncheon; he himself was on his way to Tattersall's.  "Yes," she answered. "Why?" "Only, if I come across Fane, I will bring him fat. He is very likely to be at Tattersall's."  "Do," said Bertie; "I wish I had not to go to that stupid At Home this afternoon. I think I shall throw it over."  "I wish I could take you somewhere," said Egerton, "but I am engaged too "—an engagement with Hilda Lockwood, as Bertie thought probable, but she bent over her flGwers.  "I think I shall keep some of these to wear in my dress to-night," she said, n?rvous of a silence, lest her husband should suppose she divined with whom his engagement was, and was vexed.  "To-night!" repeated Egerton. "I thought you would be at home."  "Yes," she answered, a little startled by hit tone—there was a touch of displeasure in it, al thought so, too—but Mr. Davenant asked me to lo with him to the Haymarket—"  ble stopped, seeing the sudden flash of anger if her husband's face; and her cheek flushed. What had she done wrong? Egerton had mastered himself in an instant, and came up to her, putting his two hands on her shoulders.  "Bertie," he said, quietly, "what does this mean? When did Davenant ask you to go with him? Don't shrink from me, child—answer me."  "He asked me the other night—at the ball," said Bertie, with a fleeting upward look. "And why didn't you tell me, pet?" still gently.  "Claude! you don't think I kept it back on purpose! Why should I?" the girl began, breathlessly. "My darling!" he put his arm about her, and drew her to him, "I only thought that perhaps you were a little reluctant to tell me—was that it, pet?" "No!" said the girl, wonderingly. "There did not seem anything to tell—and I should have told you this evening—in case you came in before I did. Why do you look so stern? Have I done wrong?" "You—no! you are truth and purity embodied. Come here, dearest." He sat down, and drew her to his feet, still keeping her within his arms. His conscience was flogging him sorely, for was not he— that very day—going to Hilda Lockwood's house? Yet he could not for that allow his young wife to be a subject for gossip, or drift, through sheer ignorance, into any compromising position. "Bertie," he said, after a moment's pause, "I am sorry you gave this promise, but of course you must keep it now; only don't go anywhere with Davenant again without first asking me. You see," gently caressing the bonnie head laid against him. "the same reason which made me speak about dancing with him toe often applies to going anywhere with him."  "Claude !" in startled underbreatti—she looked up at him almost wildly, "you don't mean—' ' "I mean, sweetheart, that I don.l want go3sip to talk about my wife. There is no harm done now; but there may be. lam a man of the world, pet, and you scarcely more than a child, and you have no thought of evil; but others have, and Davenant himself may get to think more of you than he should. If you are more with him than with other men, if you seem to prefer his society—the world will put a sinister construction on your innocence, and Davenant himself may be deceived." "I never thought of it!" she said quiveringly. "Oh Claude, I didn't know."  "My' darling! You must never think lam accusing you! You have Leen simply your spotless, Innocent self, not dreaming of evil, and so unprepared for it. Don't let all this spoil your pleasure to-night, pet. I wouldn't have spoken now, but I thought it best. Now kiss me, my child, I must leave you. I wish I could stay." She lifted her face, and he kissed her tenderly, then rose, putting her gently from him, and with a Parting "Good-bye, my pee," he went out. (To be continued).