[Illustration: Cover art] Wilhelmina in London By Barry Pain Author of “Eliza,” “Eliza Getting On,” “Exit Eliza,” etc. NEW EDITION London John Long, Limited Norris Street, Haymarket 1912 Contents I. STRANDED II. MR. NATHAN GOULD III. THE MAN OF MEANS IV. THE MAN BEHIND THE DOOR V. THE SPIRITS OF HANFORD GARDENS VI. UNREWARDED VII. A QUEER COMMISSION VIII. THE PEGASUS CAR IX. A LOSS AND A GAIN Wilhelmina in London I STRANDED It is quite possible to love a person whom one does not respect, of whom one even disapproves. I loved my father, but I certainly did not respect him. He did not even respect himself. When he married my mother, much against the wishes of his family, my grandfather bought him an annuity of two hundred a year, and desired to have nothing more to do with him. My mother died when I was quite a little girl, but I have a vivid recollection that she was just about as helpless as my father. In times of financial crisis--and, thanks to my father, these were very frequent--the two would sit staring at one another over the fire, and say that this was the beginning of the end, or exhort each other to hope and courage, but never, by any chance, take any practical way of dealing with the situation. On these gloomy occasions my father generally made a will. I do not think he, at any time, had anything to leave us worth mentioning, but the sonorous phrases and the feeling that he was doing something business-like seemed to give him a melancholy satisfaction. I have the last will that he made before me now. It begins: “I, Bernard Castel, being of sound mind and understanding, and at peace with God and man, do hereby give and bequeath all my real and personal estate, of whatsoever kind, to my only beloved daughter, Wilhelmina.” There followed directions as to the ways of disposing of this estate, supposing it should exceed twenty-five thousand pounds at the time of his death, and further directions if it should exceed fifty thousand. At that time we were as usual skating on the very edge of bankruptcy. I remember my father returned in triumph from dealing with the local tradesman who was his principal creditor. “I have done it, Wilhelmina,” he said. “And I doubt if any other man in the world could have done it. Another coat of paint and there would have been a collision.”