Between four and five in the afternoon--when the women of theWestern regions are in their carriages, and the men are at theirclubs--London presents few places more conveniently adapted forpurposes of private talk than the solitary garden inclosure of asquare.

On the day when Richard Turlington paid his visit to MuswellHill, two ladies (with a secret between them) unlocked the gateof the railed garden in Berkeley Square. They shut the gate afterentering the inclosure, but carefully forbore to lock it as well,and carefully restricted their walk to the westward side of thegarden. One of them was Natalie Graybrooke. The other was Mrs.Sancroft's eldest daughter. A certain temporary interestattached, in the estimation of society, to this young lady. Shehad sold well in the marriage market. In other words, she hadrecently been raised to the position of Lord Winwood's secondwife; his lordship conferring on the bride not only the honors ofthe peerage, but the additional distinction of being stepmotherto his three single daughters, all older than herself. In person,Lady Winwood was little and fair. In character, she was dashingand resolute--a complete contrast to Natalie, and (on that veryaccount) Natalie's bosom friend.

"My dear, one ambitious marriage in the family is quite enough! Ihave made up my mind that _you_ shall marry the man you love.Don't tell me your courage is failing you--the excuse iscontemptible; I decline to receive it. Natalie! the men have aphrase which exactly describes your character. You wantback-bone!"

The bonnet of the lady who expressed herself in these peremptoryterms barely reached the height of Natalie's shoulder. Nataliemight have blown the little airy, light-haired, unsubstantialcreature over the railings of the garden if she had taken a goodlong breath and stooped low enough. But who ever met with a tallwoman who had a will of her own? Natalie's languid brown eyeslooked softly down in submissive attention from an elevation offive feet seven. Lady Winwood's brisk blue eyes looked brightlyup in despotic command from an elevation of four feet eleven (inher shoes).

"You are trifling with Mr. Linzie, my dear. Mr. Linzie is a nicefellow. I like him. I won't have that."

"Louisa!"

"Mr. Turlington has nothing to recommend him. He is not awell-bred old gentleman of exalted rank. He is only an odiousbrute who happens to have made money. You shall _not_ marry Mr.Turlington. And you _shall_ marry Launcelot Linzie."

"Will you let me speak, Louisa?"

"I will let you answer--nothing more. Didn't you come crying tome this morning? Didn't you say, 'Louisa, they have pronouncedsentence on me! I am to be married in the first week of the NewYear. Help me out of it, for Heaven's sake!' You said all that,and more. And what did I do when I heard your story?"

"Oh, you were so kind--"

"Kind doesn't half express it. I have committed crimes on youraccount. I have deceived my husband and my mother. For your sakeI got mamma to ask Mr. Linzie to lunch (as _my_ friend!). Foryour sake I have banished my unoffending husband, not an hoursince, to his club. You wretched girl, who arranged a privateconference in the library? Who sent Mr. Linzie off to consult hisfriend in the Temple on the law of clandestine marriage? Whosuggested your telegraphing home, and stopping here for thenight? Who made an appointment to meet your young man privatelyin this detestable place in ten minutes' time? I did! I did! Idid! All in your interests. All to prevent you from doing what Ihave done--marrying to please your family instead of to pleaseyourself. (I don't complain, mind, of Lord Winwood, or of hisdaughters. _He_ is charming; his daughters I shall tame in courseof time. You are different. And Mr. Turlington, as I observedbefore, is a brute.) Very well. Now what do you owe me on yourside? You owe it to me at least to know your own mind. You don'tknow it. You coolly inform me that you daren't run the risk afterall, and that you can'tface the consequences on second thoughts. I'll tell you what!You don't deserve that nice fellow, who worships the very groundyou tread on. You are a bread-and-butter miss. I don't believeyou are fond of him!"

"Not fond of him!" Natalie stopped, and clasped her hands indespair of finding language strong enough for the occasion. Atthe same moment the sound of a closing gate caught her ear. Shelooked round. Launce had kept his appointment before his time.Launce was in the garden, rapidly approaching them.

"Now for the Law of Clandestine Marriage!" said Lady Winwood."Mr. Linzie, we will take it sitting." She led the way to one ofthe benches in the garden, and placed Launce between Natalie andherself. "Well, Chief Conspirator, have you got the License? No?Does it cost too much? Can I lend you the money?"

"It costs perjury, Lady Winwood, in my case," said Launce."Natalie is not of age. I can only get a License by taking myoath that I marry her with her father's consent." He turnedpiteously to Natalie. "I couldn't very well do that," he said, inthe tone of a man who feels bound to make an apology, "could I?"Natalie shuddered; Lady Winwood shrugged her shoulders.

"In your place a woman wouldn't have hesitated," her ladyshipremarked. "But men are so selfish. Well! I suppose there is someother way?"

"Yes, there is another way," said Launce. "But there is a horridcondition attached to it--"

"Something worse than perjury, Mr. Linzie? Murder?"

"I'll tell you directly, Lady Winwood. The marriage comes first.The condition follows. There is only one chance for us. We mustbe married by banns."

"Banns!" cried Natalie. "Why, banns are publicly proclaimed inchurch!"

"They needn't be proclaimed in _your_ church, you goose," saidLady Winwood. "And, even if they were, nobody would be the wiser.You may trust implicitly, my dear, in the elocution of an Englishclergyman!"

"That's just what my friend said," cried Launce. "'Take a lodgingnear a large parish church, in a remote part of London'-- (thisis my friend's advice)--'go to the clerk, tell him you want to bemarried by banns, and say you belong to that parish. As for thelady, in your place I should simplify it. I should say shebelonged to the parish too. Give an address, and have some onethere to answer questions. How is the clerk to know? He isn'tlikely to be over-anxious about it--his fee is eighteen- pence.The clerk makes his profit out of you, after you are married. Thesame rule applies to the parson. He will have your names suppliedto him on a strip of paper, with dozens of other names; and hewill read them out all together in one inarticulate jumble inchurch. You will stand at the altar when your time comes, withBrown and Jones, Nokes and Styles, Jack and Gill. All that youwill have to do is, to take care that your young lady doesn'tfall to Jack, and you to Gill, by mistake--and there you are,married by banns.' My friend's opinion, stated in his own words."

Natalie sighed, and wrung her hands in her lap. "We shall neverget through it," she said, despondingly.

Lady Winwood took a more cheerful view.

"I see nothing very formidable as yet, my dear. But we have stillto hear the end of it. You mentioned a condition just now, Mr.Linzie.

"I am coming to the condition, Lady Winwood. You naturallysuppose, as I did, that I put Natalie into a cab, and run awaywith her from the church door?"

"Certainly. And I throw an old shoe after you for luck, and gohome again."

Launce shook his head ominously.

"Natalie must go home again as well as you!"

Lady Winwood started. "Is that the condition you mentioned justnow?" she asked.

"That is the condition. I may marry her without anything seriouscoming of it. But, if I run away with her afterward, and if youare there, aiding and abetting me, we are guilty of Abduction,and we may stand, side by side, at the bar of the Old Bailey toanswer for it!"

Natalie sprang to her feet in horror. Lady Winwood held up onefinger warningly, signing to her to let Launce go on.

"Natalie is not yet sixteen years old," Launce proceeded. "Shemust go straight back to her father's house from the church, andI must wait to run away with her till her next birthday. Whenshe's turned sixteen, she's ripe for elopement--not an hourbefore. There is the law of Abduction! Despotism in a freecountry--that's what I call it!"

Natalie sat down again, with an air of relief.

"It's a very comforting law, I think," she said. "It doesn'tforce one to take the dreadful step of running away from home allat once. It gives one time to consider, and plan, and make upone's mind. I can tell you this, Launce, if I am to be persuadedinto marrying you, the law of Abduction is the only thing thatwill induce me to do it. You ought to thank the law, instead ofabusing it."

Launce listened--without conviction.

"It's a pleasant prospect," he said, "to part at the church door,and to treat my own wife on the footing of a young lady who isengaged to marry another gentleman."

"Is it any pleasanter for _me_," retorted Natalie, "to haveRichard Turlington courting me, when I am all the time your wife?I shall never be able to do it. I wish I was dead!"

"Come! come!" interposed Lady Winwood. "It's time to be serious.Natalie's birthday, Mr. Linzie, is next Christmas-day. She willbe sixteen--"

"At seven in the morning," said Launce; "I got that out of SirJoseph. At one minute past seven, Greenwich mean time, we may beoff together. I got _that_ out of the lawyer."

"And it isn't an eternity to wait from now till Christmas-day.You get that, by way of completing the list of your acquisitions,out of _me_. In the mean time, can you, or can you not, manage tomeet the difficulties in the way of the marriage?"

"I have settled everything," Launce answered, confidently. "Thereis not a single difficulty left."

He turned to Natalie, listening to him in amazement, andexplained himself. It had struck him that he might appeal--withhis purse in his hand, of course--to the interest felt in hisaffairs by the late stewardess of the yacht. That excellent womanhad volunteered to do all that she could to help him. Her husbandhad obtained situations for his wife and himself on board anotheryacht--and they were both eager to assist in any conspiracy inwhich their late merciless master was destined to play the partof victim. When on shore, they lived in a populous London parish,far away from the fashionable district of Berkeley Square, andfurther yet from the respectable suburb of Muswell Hill. A roomin the house could be nominally engaged for Natalie, in theassumed character of the stewardess's niece--the stewardessundertaking to answer any purely formal questions which might beput by the church authorities, and to be present at the marriageceremony. As for Launce, he would actually, as well as nominally,live in the district close by; and the steward, if needful, wouldanswer for _him_. Natalie might call at her parochial residenceoccasionally, under the wing of Lady Winwood; gaining leave ofabsence from Muswell Hill, on the plea of paying one of hercustomary visits at her aunt's house. The conspiracy, in brief,was arranged in all its details. Nothing was now wanting but theconsent of the young lady; obtaining which, Launce would go tothe parish church and give the necessary notice of a marriage bybanns on the next day. There was the plot. What did the ladiesthink of it?

Lady Winwood thought it perfect.

Natalie was not so easily satisfied.

"My father has always been so kind to me!" she said. "The onething I can't get over, Launce, is distressing papa. If he hadbeen hard on me--as some fathers are--I shouldn't mind." Shesuddenly brightened, as if she saw her position in a new light."Why should you hurry me?" she asked. "I am going to dine at myaunt's to-day, and you are coming in the evening. Give me time!Wait till to-night."

Launce instantly entered his protest against wasting a momentlonger. Lady Winwood opened her lips to support him. They wereboth silenced at the same moment by the appearance of one of Mrs.Sancroft's servants,opening the gate of the square.

Lady Winwood went forward to meet the man. A suspicion crossedher mind that he might be bringing bad news.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I beg your pardon, my lady--the housekeeper said you werewalking here with Miss Graybrooke. A telegram for MissGraybrooke."

Lady Winwood took the telegram from the man's hand; dismissedhim, and went back with it to Natalie. Natalie opened itnervously. She read the message--and instantly changed. Hercheeks flushed deep; her eyes flashed with indignation. "Evenpapa can be hard on me, it seems, when Richard asks him!" sheexclaimed. She handed the telegram to Launce. Her eyes suddenlyfilled with tears. "_You_ love me," she said, gently--andstopped. "Marry me!" she added, with a sudden burst ofresolution. "I'll risk it!"

As she spoke those words, Lady Winwood read the telegram. It ranthus:

"Sir Joseph Graybrooke, Muswell Hill. To Miss Natalie Graybrooke;Berkeley Square. Come back immediately. You are engaged to dinehere with Richard Turlington."

Lady Winwood folded up the telegram with a malicious smile. "Welldone, Sir Joseph!" thought her ladyship. "We might never havepersuaded Natalie--but for You!"