From The Cornhill Magazine. NO NEW THING. CHAPTER XXVII. WALTER GOES TO A BALL. IT is probable that, for the first few months after Walter's departure from home, the whole city of London did not contain a more thoroughly disconsolate young man than he. He had known that he would dislike sitting upon a high stool, that he would find the persons with whom he would have to associate uncongenial in most respects; but the reality far outdid his expectations. More than once he was sorely tempted to look back like Lot's wife; especially as he was unable to detect any signs of a Zoar in the distance to compensate him for this toilsome march through a dreary waste of ciphers. Not only did he abominate his work; but it must be confessed that he did it badly. He had no head for figures, and indeed was not quick at acquiring any fresh branch of knowledge, nor did he receive the smallest assistance or encouragement from Mr. Boulger, a surly, burly old man with a red face, who seldom spoke to his subordinates, and when he did speak to them, did so in such a manner that they would willingly have dispensed with the attention. But if Walter Brune was not dowered with a large supply of brains, he possessed no bad substitute for them in the shape of plenty of perseverance and a strong will; and so, in process of time, he conquered the first difficulties of the business which he had set himself to learn, and was rewarded by a grunt or two of approval from his uncle, who now began to take a little more notice of him. Every Thursday he was invited to dine at the large, cold, and uninhabitedlooking house at Clapham where the old banker had resided for close upon half a century, and where Walter's young face made an odd contrast to those of the half-dozen or so of elderly gentlemen who usually completed the party. In private life Mr. Boulger was gruff, but not particularly ungracious. He seemed rather to like talking to his nephew, and Walter sometimes had a hope that mention might be made of him in his wealthy relative's will. As for the partnership of which he had once spoken so confidently, that appeared to be very far off indeed. Mr. Boulger never made the most remote allusion to the subject, and did not hesitate to give expression to the poor opinion that he had formed of his nephew's business capacities. "You will never make a banker," he said; "you will never make a man of business at all. It isn't in you. But it will do you no harm to work. Slave away, morning and night, summer and winterthat's what I did at your age, and you see I am none the worse for it, and a good deal the richer. I am an old man now I go with the century- and never had a day's illness in my life, sir, that I can recollect. It's your idle people who grow sickly; we busy men haven't the time. Why, I could walk from here to Lombard Street and back again now, and eat my dinner all the better for it afterwards." It was all very well for Mr. Boulger, who had been taken into partnership at the age of thirty, to boast of his health and wealth; but to a young man who had little prospect of the one to console him for the possible loss of the other the career thus described was scarcely fascinating. Walter, however, was not discouraged. He could but do his best, he thought to himself; and even if nothing came of it at all, hard labor at least prevented him from brooding over certain private sorrows of his own that we know of. Moreover, he was becoming accus. tomed to the life, as every one becomes accustomed at last to everything in this world; and from time to time he came across a college friend, and had a refreshing talk over old days, which, together with those Sunday dinners, during the winter, at Marescalchi's club, made him feel that he was not altogether an outcast from civilization. Had it not been for such occasional glimpses as these of his own world, he would have led an existence of complete solitude; for the Brunes were not people who had a large acquaintance, and Walter had abstained from calling upon the few friends whom he possessed in London, being, like most young men crossed in love, in a temporary condition of enmity against the whole of the other sex. was therefore with some surprise that, on returning to his rooms one evening in the beginning of June, he found upon his table a square envelope addressed in a lady's hand, which envelope, when opened, proved to contain a formal invitation to dinner from Lady Travers. It Walter's first impulse was to write a refusal. He was shy, and he was rather afraid of the magnificent people whom he supposed that he would meet at Travers House. Besides which, he did not wish a Cabinet minister and two foreign ambassadors. He was not introduced to Lord Travers, a fierce-looking old man who was wheeled into the drawing-room in a chair, but who did not appear at the dinner-table, his gout forbidding him to touch any of the delicacies set before his guests. At dinner Walter was placed next to a good-humored lady who knew all about him, having had a son in the Oxford eleven, and who talked quite knowingly on the subject of cricket; so that, upon the whole, our young friend spent a pleasant enough evening; though he could not quite understand why he should have been asked. to have anything to do with any one who | lost his self-consciousness in pleasure and had ever borne the name of Winnington. curiosity when he found himself close to So he sat down and wrote that Mr. Walter a knot of celebrities, amongst whom were Brune regretted that he would be unable to dine with Lord and Lady Travers on the day named. Then he frowned thoughtfully on this missive for five minutes, and ended by tearing it up. It was true that Edith had shown herself unworthy of an honest man's love; it was true also that he had himself got over a boyish affection so obviously misplaced. Still, he would rather like to know what had become of her. He had been too proud to mention Miss Winnington in his letters home; but the fact was that he did feel some curiosity upon this point, and no doubt Lady Travers would satisfy it without any questions being put to her. Accordingly, he took another sheet of paper, and wrote that Mr. Walter Brune would have much pleasure, etc.; and ten days later, exactly as the clocks were striking eight, Mr. | Walter Brune was mounting the great staircase of Travers House. If he had learned nothing else in the City, he had at least learned to be punctual; whence it resulted that he had to spend a quarter of an hour by himself in a vast drawingroom, feeling very hot and uncomfortable, before Lady Travers came in and apologized. "I am afraid," she began, "I have kept you waiting, Mr. Brune- or may I not say Walter? I have been so accustomed to hear you talked about as Walter, that I can hardly think of you by any other Walter said that he much preferred to be called by his Christian name; he, too, was much more accustomed to that mode of address than to a more formal one. He added, rather disingenuously, that he did not know by whom Lady Travers could have heard him spoken of at all. "By Margaret, of course," she answered laughing. "Who else should have talked to me about you?" And then she looked so hard at Walter that that bashful young man became very red, and said it was a hot day for the time of year. "What an ass she must think me!" he ejaculated inwardly. "Of course she knows all about it, and I believe she's laughing at me. I wish to goodness I hadn't come." But Lady Travers did not seem to notice his embarrassment, and gave him time to recover himself by talking without intermission until the arrival of other guests obliged her to leave him. The room was soon full of people; and Walter "Going away already?" said Lady Travers, when he went up to bid her good-night. "Why are you in such a hurry? I wanted to have a chat with you about dear old Crayminster; but you must come and see me again soon. You will be almost sure to find me any day between five and six, and I shall always be at home to you. It is so seldom that I meet any body who belongs to our part of the world now. I suppose you know that my mother and Edith are in London." Walter said no; he had not heard. "Oh, yes; they have taken a house in Park Street for the season. By the way, I have a little dance next Thursday, and I shall be so glad to see you, if you care to come." Walter was completely mystified. Why all this excessive cordiality? And what did Lady Travers mean by talking about her mother and sister? One thing was certain, she could not be aware of the circumstances under which he had seen them last, and in any case he was determined not to run the risk of meeting Edith at this dance. He began some unintelligible excuse, which Lady Travers cut short without ceremony. "I think you had much better come," she said. "I can't come," answered Walter in despair. "If you will allow me, I will call upon you some day, and tell you why. I can't explain with all these people in the room." would be afraid to go out anywhere, lest they should meet somebody whom they didn't want to meet." She added in a lower voice, "Don't be so faint-hearted." "What do you mean?" Walter began eagerly. But Lady Travers was already speaking to some one else, and only looked over her shoulder, as she shook hands with him to say, "I shall expect you on Thursday, then." Walter trudged homewards in a state of much wonder and excitement. If Lady Travers had meant anything at all, she must have meant that there was hope for him; and if there was hope for him, Edith must have mentioned him to her; and if Edith had mentioned him · But at this point Walter called common sense to his aid, and told himself that he was not going to believe anything of that sort. He had heard from the girl's own lips that she did not care enough about him to face any trial for his sake; that, surely, was conclusive enough to satisfy anybody. And then he recalled those fatal words, and went through the conclusion of that melancholy interview at Longbourne once more, as he had done many and many a time before, when he had been tempted to think that he had been too hasty, and that, after all, it might have been nothing but sheer terror of Mrs. Winnington that had induced Edith to dismiss him. Nevertheless, the more he thought of it—and he thought of very little else for the next few days and nights - -the more he be came convinced that Edith must have taken her sister into her confidence, and surely Lady Travers would not have been so cruel as to encourage him unless there were some real ground for encouragement. He made up his mind that he would speak to Edith-there could be no harm in his doing that; for Mrs. Winnington herself had admitted that they must speak, if they met and then he would very soon find out the truth. In the mean time, he could not help admitting a delightful suspicion into his mind that Edith had taken the very first possible means of communicating with him that had come within her reach since their severance. Even if she only wanted to tell him that she was sorry for having treated him with so much heartlessness, that would be something. He pictured her seizing an opportunity to whisper a few hurried words of penitence to him in the ball-room, her color coming and going as of old, and he could very easily imagine himself forgiving her. Walter was nothing if not practical; yet the thought of a romantic leave-taking and of two faithful hearts destined to beat forever apart was not without its charms for him. He nursed these pleasing illusions up to the supreme moment when he accosted Edith on the Thursday evening, and then was robbed of them all at a blow; for her start of surprise and her face of consternation sufficiently convinced him that this meeting had been entirely unforeseen by her. She was looking radiantly beautiful; she was exquisitely dressed; she wore about her neck the magnificent pearls which had come to Mrs. Winnington by inheritance, and which had enhanced the charms of each of her daughters in succession; half-a dozen men were pressing round her, begging for a dance, and Walter had time to say no more than "How do you do?" before he was jostled beyond speaking distance. For the "little dance" to which he had been invited was in reality a crowded ball. Five minutes afterwards, the good-natured lady who had sat beside Walter on the night of the dinner party said to Lady Travers, "Would you like to see a banker's clerk in a towering rage? If so, just cast a glance at poor Mr. Brune. Has the girl of his heart thrown him over, or is it only that somebody has trodden on his toe?" Lady Travers hastened to join her young friend, who indeed was leaning with his broad shoulders against the wall, looking as black as a thunder-cloud. "What is the matter?" she asked, trying hard not to laugh. 66 Why did you make me come here?" returned he. "You knew quite well what it was that induced me to accept your invitation, and I suppose you knew, too, what I should get for my pains. Well; it was a capital joke, and I hope you are satisfied. Your sister stared at me, as if she had seen a ghost, when I spoke to her; but the shock hasn't upset her much. You see she is enjoying herself immensely, dancing with that curly-headed fellow -whoever he may be." "My dear Walter, you must not speak so loud; and you are not to scold me in my own house, if you please. If you are so ungrateful and unreasonable, I shall send you about your business. Can't you understand that, if I had told certain people that you were to be here, certain people would probably have remained away? I have put your foot on the first step of the ladder; but I really cannot carry you up upon my shoulders. Now do, like a good, sensible fellow, watch your opportunity and take advantage of it, | and don't make me a rebuke to the foolish by standing sulking there till people ask me who you are and what is the matter with you.' "I'm afraid I was awfully rude," said Walter contritely; "you have been very kind to me - I'm sure I don't know why - and I beg your pardon for speaking as I did. But look here, Lady Travers, I'm the worst man in the world at understand ing hints. I wish you would tell me plainly whether there is any hope." "There is always hope for a man. If a man does not get what he wants, he has himself to blame; it is only women who are condemned to be hopeless. Women are very often obliged to say things that they don't mean, and to do things that they don't want to do; they have no choice. However, there is one thing that a woman can do; she can always throw over a partner in favor of some one else whom she likes better." Fortified by this hint, which, at all events, could not be complained of on the score of obscurity, Walter shouldered his way by degrees to the open window, where he could see Edith talking to the curly-headed youth whom he had mentioned so contemptuously, and hovered about within a few yards of her until the music struck up again, when he boldly advanced, and said, "I think this is our dance, Miss Winnington." Edith gave him a scared look, turned pink and white, and white and pink again, and at last answered hurriedly, "Oh, no; I think not. I think you must have made a mistake." "No mistake at all," returned Walter firmly; and he offered his arm, which she took after a moment of hesitation. "Oh, not into the room, please," she said, with a little nervous laugh, as he began to follow the crowd. "I can't dance with you under the eyes of my partner, and mamma would be so angry if she saw us. It was very wrong of you to claim me in this way, when you know you never asked me for a dance at all; but perhaps, just for once, as we are such old friends "Oh, I assure you I was asked. It is very extraordinary that I should have been, no doubt; but fashionable society is getting so dreadfully mixed nowadays, you know," answered Walter, for he had not quite expected to be greeted after this fashion, and it struck him that there was a shade too much of patronage in Edith's tone. "I don't think it is very kind of you to speak like that," she said, in a low voice. They were out upon the balcony now, and Edith, who had removed her hand from Walter's arm, was leaning over the cushioned balustrade, looking down upon the passing vehicles in Park Lane, and upon the dark trees beyond. "No; I "Kind?" returned Walter. dare say it is not particularly kind. Perhaps, if you were in my place, you wouldn't be very much disposed to be kind. No; I didn't mean that! Don't go, Edith - don't be angry with me. You know I would not be unkind to you for the whole world. Of course my being here is odd; I never go anywhere; I haven't been to a single ball all the time that I have been in London, and I suppose I was a great ass to come to this one. But when Lady Travers told me that I should meet you here, how could I help myself?" Edith, who had made a movement as if to return to the ball-room, had resumed her former attitude, and now stood silent, with her back turned to her companion. "Won't you at least say that you are a little bit glad to see me?" he pleaded, after waiting in vain for her to speak. "I am very glad to see you, Walter; I should always be glad to see you," she answered quickly, without looking at him. "And we are old friends, you know; though you don't seem to like my saying so. I thought you had forgotten me altogether. You never inquired whether I was dead or alive when you wrote to Nellie." "You did ask Nellie about me, then?" "I seem to be losing all my old friends," Edith went on, ignoring this interruption. "Nellie will hardly speak to me now; I suppose I must have offended her in some way. Are you pleased about her engagement? I never thought she cared so much for Philip - did you?" "It is not always easy to tell whom women care for. Nellie is a girl who knows her own mind, anyhow. She wouldn't have taken him unless she had cared for him; you may be quite sure of that." "Wouldn't she? She would have been | ago. Good-night, Mr. Brune. Are you very foolish if she had, certainly, consid- coming to lunch here on Sunday by any ering that she is perfectly free to do as chance? Oh, I thought perhaps you she likes. A great many girls are obliged might be." to accept men whom they don't care for, and "If you think that," interrupted Edith, "what is the use of alluding to the subject at all? We had much better not allude to it. I have not accepted anybody, and I think most likely I never shall; but that can be nothing to you. I did not expect that you would ever speak to me again. You have every reason to hate and despise me." "Ah, but I don't; I love you." "You must not say that, Walter. supposing that it were true Even "I certainly should not say it if it were false." "But you must not say it at all. If we are to meet sometimes now, we must never talk about that; we must talk about other things. What do you think of this extraordinary discovery of Philip's? Do you believe he is really your cousin?" "I don't know what to think. My father believes it. It is a bad look-out for us, I'm afraid. But I can't discuss Philip now. Edith "I don't want to discuss Philip either; I would much rather hear about you. Are you getting on well? and do you dislike your work very much?" can't say I like it; but it gives me something to do, and leaves me little leisure for thinking which is a blessing." "Do you ever play cricket now?" "No; I haven't the time. Edith, I don't want to take an unfair advantage of you; but you don't know what a difference it would make in my life if you could tell me that you still cared for me, ever so little." "You said I could not really care for you What a lovely night! is it not, Mr. Lovelace? I came out here to get a breath of fresh air; it is so stifling indoors. Our dance? - and nearly over? so sorry; but if you had been searching for me high and low, as you say, you could not have helped finding me. I only left the room a few minutes I am And so Edith was led away into the throng by her justly incensed partner, and Walter understood that he was dismissed for that evening. If he could have seen Lady Travers, he would have asked her boldly whether he might call upon her on Sunday; but Lady Travers was nowhere to be discovered, and the only familiar face that he came across in the course of his search was that of Mrs. Winnington, who stared very hard at him, and gave him an undecided sort of bow, as he brushed past her. It was only just past midnight when he emerged upon Park Lane; and as he felt quite certain that he would not be able to sleep if he went home, he thought he would walk down to the New University Club, of which he was a member, and think things over there with the help of a pipe. Turning the corner of St. James's Street, he met a tall pedestrian of military. bearing, who peered at him in the light of a gas-lamp, stopped short, and then said, "Is that Walter Brune?" And the next minute he was shaking hands with Colonel Kenyon. "It is rather a piece of good fortune, my meeting you," the colonel remarked. "I heard something to-day which I think you ought to know about. Could you spare me a quarter of an hour?" Walter said, "An hour, if you like," and proposed that they should walk on a few steps to his club, where Colonel Kenyon said what he had to say at greater length than need be reported. In fulfilment of the resolution which he had made. some time before, while at Longbourne, he had been to Conduit Street, and had heard from Philip's former landlady the whole history of Mrs. Marescalchi's illness and death. Thus the mystery was at last solved, and the only question was whether it would be right that he should make the matter known to Miss Brane, or not. It was upon this point, Hugh said, that he had been anxious to consult her brother. "The business is not quite so bad a one as I was afraid that it might be; but in all conscience it is bad enough. Why, at the very time when he proposed to your sister his wife can hardly have been dead a month! Can you imagine a man being such a heartless scoundrel? Walter shook his head. He had not spoken during Colonel Kenyon's recital, |