158

CHAPTER XIV.

THE CLUB.

To sit still in Oxford was impossible. Irvine felt that he must go somewhere and do something. He could not face his cousin, and discuss the news of this approaching marriage in high life. He was very sorry for himself. He was selected from all men to be the special sport of Fortune. In the morning he was roused to the full consciousness of the one love of his life; in the evening came the 'Court Courier.' It was consummate irony. There was no rest for him. The gad-fly was at him again. He must go somewhere and do something. Thus it happened that Mr Dale, on the morning after the supper-party, was not to be found in Oxford. Term was just over, and he ignored the ceremony of taking leave. He scribbled to Lady Harefel the brief intelligence that he should not be at home for

some time. Then he fled to London, a place so large that many a small fellow may hide his sorrows therein, and knocked at Kerisen's door. In spite of all his real grief, there was some pleasure in the whimsical nature of this proceeding. To pursue his own improvement, as if no woman existed, was clearly a fine thing to do; while every day there would be the bare chance of a dramatic meeting. Would she start and turn pale? He would rise each morning, conscious that before nightfall he might meet a romantic incidenta a stimulating pain. He was deeply hurt and morbidly restless. He had no strength to battle with his gad-fly. So he knocked at Kerisen's door, and Kerisen received him kindly.

A fortnight passed, and Irvine Dale was still restless and ill at ease. When he was in the house, he wished to be in the street; in the midst of the crowd, he longed for the solitude of his room. He buried himself amid the gazers in the Park, and thought how strange his feelings would be if he saw Miss Adare sweep by behind Lord Humphrey's big bay horses. But as he never saw her, he never experienced that remarkable sentiment. Once he caught sight of his aunt Ellen's fair benevolent countenance, and fled: but as that

lady was apt to doze in her carriage, his hurried flight was unnecessary. He did not gain much help from Kerisen, who appeared to him improperly flippant. He likened him to Mephistopheles, and delighted him by the comparison.

"My too inquisitive Faust!" cried Kerisen; "but where is Gretchen?"

"Where indeed!" asked Irvine, dismally"where is the guileless maiden?"

"There are some who sell themselves for jewels," said his host, lightly, and began to hum a wellknown air.

"Don't say that," cried the other, with a spasm of pain, which made Kerisen open his eyes with the sudden consciousness that his jests were illtimed.

Enough of women," cried he.

"Enough of women," echoed Dale, sadly.

Once certain that his friend's mind was dwelling on some unlucky fact, Kerisen did his best to divert his attention. He exercised his wit and poured forth his best stories to an ear which was often inattentive. He led the young man among lions. They dined with Maxwelton, friend of dukes and reformer of society-Maxwelton the writer, who gave to every doubt an answer solemn

and well-paid in the pages of an enlightened magazine-Maxwelton the talker most cynical and paradoxical, tolerant of all things but enthusiasm. Irvine looked for a man firm on his feet and armed at all points; he found a person trying laboriously to be at his ease, and made cross by failure. He heard the great preacher of the day denouncing a trembling waiter over his dinner at the club. He was nearly run over by a remarkable young poet, whose verse was full of languor, and who was dashing to the city to take advantage of a rise in Egyptians. He grew weary of lions. They were but skin-deep, after all, and their voice betrayed them. They were one more disappointment to the most disappointed of young men. It was in vain

that Kerisen exerted himself. He took him to parties given at strange hours, for the sake of variety to the exclusive circle of Mrs Moddell Todder, exclusive of all but notoriety, and for whose sake a real Persian was induced to recite the poetry of his nation. He took him to the Hoopman Hoboys, who, husband and wife, painted together the most beautiful pictures in the world -pictures of hidden meaning but wondrous harmony of colours-pictures which might be viewed with satisfaction from any point, sweet riddles

L

which the joint artists, one in art as in love, could not be induced to part with. Irvine heard young Mr Kemble Francis recite his own unpublished drama, and Mrs Tymperton perform for hours on the instrument invented by her brother. The inventor and some other persons believed that the days of the pianoforte were numbered. Irvine was jostled by critics, snubbed by painters, patronised by unsuccessful authors. And yet, in spite of the efforts of Kerisen, who was welcome everywhere, the young man was not satisfied. Even when, owing to his friend's influence, he was elected an original member of the new club, he could not feel rapture. After many a battle, the club had been decorated and furnished. Now it was open, but nameless. Fears were entertained that the name "Catholic" would not be understood, even if it were spelt with a K. "Philhellenic" had but few supporters, while "Philannic" was the suggestion of a single though influential member. "The Sympathetic" was too sentimental, the "All Round Club" too slangy. Some wished to call it "The Coffee-house," which was less definite than "The Addison;" while a small but determined band would have nothing but a most modest and distinctive title, "The Klub." "Call it Walpurgis,"