Chapter One

In the year before the Great War, when to all appearance there was not a cloud upon the horizon, when only a few statesmen felt “profoundly uneasy,” the secret of that uneasiness being carefully locked away in their own breasts, and hidden from the general public – in that year of 1913, in the month of March, the Twenty-fifth Lancers were quartered at the town of Blankfield, in Yorkshire.

The Twenty-fifth was a crack regiment. Most of the officers were members of the aristocracy, a few of the plutocracy, that portion of the plutocracy which on account of its wealth had been adopted into a superior world by marriage with its aristocratic daughters.

They were a fine set of clean-minded, healthy living, sporting young fellows. They rode to hounds, they played polo when there was any going, they shot over the coverts of their friends, they made love to all the pretty girls they came across in a gallant and desultory fashion, loving and riding away.

It cannot be said that they took their professional duties in too serious a fashion. But they were brave as lions, and when the time came to prove their mettle, none of their relatives had cause to blush for their record. The memories of most of them were enshrined deeply in the hearts of wailing mothers and weeping sweethearts, when the great holocaust came.

Foremost amongst this band of gay spirits and resolute sportsmen was a certain Captain Murchison, “Hughie,” as he was always called by his intimates.

“Hughie” was not a pure aristocrat. His father, a man of fabulous wealth, was the head of the great brewing firm of Murchison, Delaroyd and Co., the fourth in succession, for the big brewery had been founded over a hundred years ago.

It is supposed, in the case of self-made men, that it requires three generations to make a gentleman. Anyway, the present Sir Hugh had won his spurs by the fact of belonging to the fourth. And he had further firmly established his position by marrying Lady Gertrude Marchmont, a daughter of the Earl of Mounthaven. The Marchmonts had blue blood in profusion, they were one of the oldest families in the Kingdom, only just being beaten by such superior people as the Howards, the Talbots, and the Nevilles.

Captain Murchison was, therefore, plutocrat on the father’s side, aristocrat of aristocrat on the mother’s. But he did not owe his popularity to these adventitious circumstances. The fact that he was the most popular man in his regiment was due to his own sterling qualities.

In the first place, he was a man of the most unbounded generosity and the most serene good-humour. He had captained the Eleven at Eton, and he was one of the best shots, also one of the best polo-players, in England. Needless to say that he was a man’s man. The fact that he was also equally a Woman’s man can be easily explained. He boasted more than ordinary good looks, and he had a charming, deferential way with Women that captivated them at once.

The Twenty-fifth had a very good time at Blankfield, on the whole. The houses of the “county” were, of course, open to such a distinguished regiment, but perhaps they had a rather jollier time amongst the rather limited circle of rich townsfolk whom they condescended to visit: the people who, at the best, had only a nodding acquaintance with the “county.”

Murchison was a born sportsman. Hunting, polo, shooting, cricket, occupied nearly all his Waking thoughts, except those few that were claimed by his professional duties. Popular as he was with women, not a single member of the weaker and more charming sex had made any real impression on him up to the present.

He had had several flirtations with charming girls, of course: he might have indulged in a few sentimental passages with certain more or less detached, or semi-detached, married women. The latter very rarely, for although by no means a saint he was a very clean-minded young man, and held rather rigid notions as to what might be done, and what ought not to be done. Anyway at this particular moment he was quite heart-whole.

And then, one day, in this rather sleepy town of Blankfield, an adventure befell him. It was not strictly a common or garden adventure, for more than one reason.

The woman, or rather girl, who was concerned in it, for looking at her in a severe light she did not appeal to be more than twenty, bore upon her no marks of the shameless adventuress. It was easy to see that she was not a member of his own World, the World of plutocracy mingled into aristocracy by judicious intermarriage. The “county” would not, of course, open their doors to her. According to her own account, the respectable “villadom” of the sleepy old town had not called upon her, on account of the absence of convincing credentials.

The meeting happened in this way. Hugh found himself with a blank afternoon, an afternoon that had not been filled up. He could call at lots of houses and get tea. But, at this period, he was becoming a little fed-up with the Blankfield teas, the simpering girls, the astute mothers who Wanted to take the heir of the Murchison millions off his guard, and hook him for a son-in-law.

Coming from a long line of successful tradesmen, Hugh had rather less brains than he ought to have acquired by heredity. Still, he was no fool. As long as a proposition was not too complex, he could size it up pretty accurately. And he sized up the Blankfield hospitality at its true worth.

He walked down the High Street, and turned into the first tea-shop. It was a well-known establishment, and the dashing members of the Twenty-fifth were wont to invite hither for tea some of the Blankfield maidens who were not too particular as to chaperonage.

He expected to find here a good few of his brother officers. To his surprise, he did not see one. But the room was very full. To a casual observer, every table seemed occupied. He was about to turn away, when a waitress, who knew him well, touched him on the arm.

“It’s quite all right, Captain Murchison,” – Hugh had arrived at seniority very early: “there’s a table up there at the far end. There’s only a young lady there, and she has very nearly finished her tea.”

The young lady in question was quite young; Hugh decided from the first swift glance at her that she could not be more than twenty. She was exceedingly pretty, with wavy light hair and soft brown eyes. She wore an air of composure remarkable in one so youthful.

The young man knew her well by sight, as did his brother officers. She was frequently to be seen in the High Street, flitting in and out shops, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by a rather common-looking person, some ten years her senior. It was said they were brother and sister and their name was Burton.

They had arrived in Blankfield about a couple of months ago, and taken a moderate-sized house on the London Road, a little in the outskirts of the town. But though they had been here for these two months, they knew nobody. Not a soul had called upon them: for the villadom of Blankfield was very select, and had to know something about newcomers before it stretched out a Welcoming hand. About the Burtons nothing seemed to be known, and until some reliable information was forthcoming, they would be ostracised.

The shop was very crowded, and most girls of her age might have felt embarrassed by her loneliness. But, although many admiring glances were levelled at her from the few masculine occupants, she seemed quite unperturbed and unconscious, looking neither to the right nor the left, but taking in everything that was going on, under lowered eyelids veiling those pretty brown eyes.

She gave him one swift glance as he sat down, and then went on composedly with her tea. There was nothing in the glance that was either provocative or inviting. Of the two, Hugh felt much more embarrassed than she did. He wondered if she was as stand-offish as she looked. If he addressed a remark to her, would she snub him?

Anyway he determined to put it to the proof. “I do hope I am not intruding, but it was Hobson’s choice, you know; this is the only vacant table.”

No, she was not going to snub him. On the contrary, she gave him a very pleasant smile, and he noted with satisfaction that her voice was a refined and pleasant one.

“There is hardly any question of intruding in a public place like this. I cannot expect them to turn customers away in order that I may sit by myself.”

It was not a bad beginning, thought Hugh. It was evident she was not disinclined to enter into a little desultory conversation with a man who she knew was a gentleman, and not likely to take undue advantage of her absence of conventionality.

Hugh went on with growing boldness. He had often said to his great chum Jack Pomfret that it was a thousand pities this pretty girl was not in Blankfield Society, she seemed so much more attractive than the other girls who were in it.

“We haven’t been introduced, of course, but I know you very well by sight. There is hardly a day that I do not meet you about here. And I know your name, too. You are Miss Burton, are you not? And you live with your brother at that nice little house on the London Road.”

“Quite right.” Miss Burton nodded her pretty head. She added with a little silvery laugh: “We can’t be introduced, unless the waitress took the kind office upon herself, for I don’t know a soul in the place. We have been here two months, and we have been let severely alone. I suppose if we stayed here for twenty years it would be the same. Of course, we didn’t expect to get into ‘county’ Society, but we must be quite as good as heaps of people in the town and outskirts.”

Hugh was a little embarrassed by these very frank remarks. He observed lamely that it was a shame, and indulged in some rather inane remarks on the snobbishness of provincial towns.

“You must find it awfully dull,” he ventured after a brief pause. During the short silence, Miss Burton had ordered herself some more tea. It was evident that she was not desirous of abruptly terminating this pleasant tête-à-tête. The waitress drew her own conclusions from the further order, and smiled a little as she turned away.

“I should be a hypocrite if I pretended the contrary. Of course, housekeeping takes up a good bit of my time, and I read a good deal, and do a lot of fancy-work. But all the same, it is a state of isolation, not an outside person to speak to from one week-end to the other. Of course I hear all that is going on from the tradespeople, and I know the names of the principal persons here whom I constantly meet and never speak to. I know, for instance, that you are Captain Murchison. I think I know the names of all your brother officers.”

“What made you come here, if it is not a rude question?” asked Hugh bluntly. “It was surely a risky experiment, landing yourself in a town like this, without any introductions.”

“I told my brother so when he first proposed it,” replied Miss Burton calmly. “But, although he is one of the best fellows in the world, he is frightfully obstinate. He had stayed at an hotel here for a few days some years ago, and he had taken a violent fancy to the place. He was quite sure everybody would make a rush for us, the moment we arrived.”

Miss Burton proceeded to draw on her gloves. During this explanatory conversation, she had consumed her second cup of tea. She called the waitress and paid her bill.

“I must be going now,” she said. “I have quite enjoyed this little chat, although I am sure you will think very badly of me for having confided so much to a stranger. I really don’t know what made me do it – I suppose I got tired of having kept silence for so long.”

Yes, he could understand that. Poor, pretty little girl, just at an age when all the pleasures of youth should be open to her, and to have to pass her life in the society of that rather common-looking brother, good fellow as she declared him to be.

“I have enjoyed the meeting immensely, too,” said Hugh heartily. “I only wish we could come across each other at some of these Blankfield houses, stupid and dull as they generally are.”

And then, the pretty Miss Burton fired her last shot as she rose to leave:

“I have been unconventional enough from the beginning, and if I can do it without blushing, I am going to be more unconventional still. If you cared to come up to Rosemount one afternoon, I am sure my brother would be pleased to see you.”

Murchison was very embarrassed by the suggestion, although she did not proffer it in any bold fashion.

“I shall be delighted,” he stammered. “I will run up one afternoon.” Of course when he said this he had very little intention of keeping his promise. To enjoy a mild sort of flirtation with an exceedingly pretty girl was one thing. To go to her house and make the acquaintance of her brother, who he was certain was not a gentleman, was quite a different proposition, and might land him in all sorts of unpleasant complications.

He also had an uneasy conviction that Miss Burton was remarkably self-assured for such a young woman. She had spoken of blushing when she gave him the invitation, but she had not done so. Not the faintest colour showed on her cheek, and the glance that met his was perfectly steady and unwavering. She must either be very innocent, or, young as she was, she had acquired the experience and self-possession of a much older woman. He would like to think it all out.

The girl nodded in a friendly fashion, and tripped away, leaving Hugh Murchison to finish his tea, and ponder over what had happened.