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Statistics and Data
Visualisation with Python
This book is intended to serve as a bridge in statistics for graduates and business practitioners interested
in using their skills in the area of data science and analytics as well as statistical analysis in general. On the
one hand, the book is intended to be a refresher for readers who have taken some courses in statistics, but
who have not necessarily used it in their day-to-day work. On the other hand, the material can be suitable
for readers interested in the subject as a first encounter with statistical work in Python. Statistics and
Data Visualisation with Python aims to build statistical knowledge from the ground up by enabling the
reader to understand the ideas behind inferential statistics and begin to formulate hypotheses that form
the foundations for the applications and algorithms in statistical analysis, business analytics, machine
learning, and applied machine learning. This book begins with the basics of programming in Python and
data analysis, to help construct a solid basis in statistical methods and hypothesis testing, which are use-
ful in many modern applications.
Chapman & Hall/CRC
The Python Series
About the Series
Python has been ranked as the most popular programming language, and it is widely used in education and industry.
This book series will offer a wide range of books on Python for students and professionals. Titles in the series will
help users learn the language at an introductory and advanced level, and explore its many applications in data sci-
ence, AI, and machine learning. Series titles can also be supplemented with Jupyter notebooks.
Python Packages
Tomas Beuzen and Tiffany-Anne Timbers
Jesús Rogel-Salazar
First edition published 2023
by CRC Press
6000 Broken Sound Parkway NW, Suite 300, Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742
Reasonable efforts have been made to publish reliable data and information, but the author and publisher cannot assume respon-
sibility for the validity of all materials or the consequences of their use. The authors and publishers have attempted to trace the
copyright holders of all material reproduced in this publication and apologize to copyright holders if permission to publish in this
form has not been obtained. If any copyright material has not been acknowledged please write and let us know so we may rectify
in any future reprint.
Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Law, no part of this book may be reprinted, reproduced, transmitted, or utilized in any
form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, microfilming, and
recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publishers.
For permission to photocopy or use material electronically from this work, access www. copyright.com
or contact the Copyright Clearance Center, Inc. (CCC), 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, 978-750-8400. For works that
are not available on CCC please contact mpkbookspermissions@tandf.co.uk
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks and are used only for identification
and explanation without intent to infringe.
DOI: 10.1201/9781003160359
Typeset in URWPalladioL-Roman
by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.
Publisher’s note: This book has been prepared from camera-ready copy provided by the author.
To Luceli, Rosario and Gabriela
2.2.3 Strings 46
2.3.3 Tuples 61
2.3.4 Dictionaries 66
2.3.5 Sets 72
2.5 Functions 89
3 Snakes, Bears & Other Numerical Beasts: NumPy, SciPy & pandas
99
3.1 Numerical Python – NumPy 100
3.1.1 Matrices and Vectors 101
4.4.2 Splitting One’s Sides: Quantiles, Quartiles, Percentiles and More 166
Bibliography 501
Index 511
Taylor & Francis
Taylor & Francis Group
http://taylorandfrancis.com
List of Figures
8.14 A stacked bar chart for the total population per country
for the cities contained in our dataset categorised by
city size. The plot was created with pandas. 444
8.15 A column bar for the total population per country for
the cities contained in our dataset categorised by city
size. The plot was created with Seaborn. 445
8.16 A stacked bar chart for the total population per country
for the cities contained in our dataset categorised by
city size. The plot was created with Pandas
Bokeh. 446
8.17 A stacked bar chart for the total population per country
for the cities contained in our dataset categorised by
city size. The plot was created with Plotly. 447
8.18 Top: A pie chart of the information shown in Table 8.2.
The segments are very similar in size and it is difficult
to distinguish them. Bottom: A bar chart of the same
data. 449
8.19 A donut chart of the data from Table 8.2 created with
pandas. 451
8.20 A histogram of the miles per gallon variable in the cars
dataset. The chart is created with matplotlib. 454
8.21 Histogram of the miles per gallon as a function of the
type of transmission. The chart is created with
pandas. 455
8.22 Histogram of the miles per gallon as a function of the
type of transmission. The chart is created with
Seaborn. 456
8.23 Histogram of the miles per gallon as a function of the
type of transmission. The chart is created with Pandas
Bokeh. 457
xxii j. rogel-salazar
5.2 Special cases of the PDF and CDF for the Student’s
t-distribution with different degrees of freedom. 256
floppy disks or 1, 498 CD-ROM discs to store just 1 TB These references may only be
meaningful to people of a certain
worth of information. 1024 TB is one petabyte (PB) and this
age... ahem... If not, look it up!
would take over 745 million floppy disks or 1.5 million
CD-ROM discs.
• Volume – The sheer volume of data that is generated and Volume – the size of the datasets
at hand.
captured. It is the most visible characteristic of big data.
• Velocity – Not only do we need large quantities of data, Velocity – the speed at which data
is generated.
but they also need to be made available at speed. High
velocity requires suitable processing techniques not
available with traditional methods.
• Variety – The data that is collected not only needs to Variety – Different sources and
data types.
come from different sources, but also encompasses
different formats and show differences and variability.
After all, if you just capture information from StarTrek
followers, you will think that there is no richness in Sci-Fi.
6 j. rogel-salazar
• Veracity – This refers to the quality of the data collected. Veracity – Quality and
trustworthiness of the data.
This indicates the level of trustworthiness in the datasets
you have. Think of it – if you have a large quantity of
noise, all you have is a high pile of rubbish, not big data
by any means.
The other V I would like to talk about is that of value. At The final V is that of value. Data
that does not hold value is a cost.
the risk of falling for the cliché of talking about data being
the new oil, there is no question that data — well curated,
maintained and secured data — holds value. And to follow
the overused oil analogy, it must be said that for it to
achieve its potential, it must be distilled. There are very few
products that use crude oil in its raw form. The same is true
when using data.
"And the discourse?" asked the vicar, taking a cup of tea from
Pumpkin.
"Ah, indeed. I'm afraid, Mr. Beaumont, I know nothing of the drama,
except the Bard of Avon----"
"The wave of genius which began with this present century," said
the vicar pompously, "has now spent its force and to a great extent
died away--soon it will gather again and sweep onward."
"If it would only sweep away a few hundred of our present writers, I
don't think anyone would mind," said the artist laughing.
"Sed omnes una manet nox," observed Dr. Larcher with a grim
smile.
"What, all our present day scribblers? What a delightful thing for the
twentieth century."
Dr. Larcher smiled blandly as he set down his cup, for he liked his
Horatian allusions to be promptly taken up, and began to think
Beaumont rather good company. He nodded kindly to the whole
party, and was about to turn away when a sudden thought struck
him.
"Do you want to see me, Mr. Beaumont?" he asked looking at the
artist.
"Yes, I do," replied that gentleman, rising leisurely to his feet. "I
wish to speak to you about Blake, and also I wish Blake to be
present."
"Oh, I'll come," cried Reginald, springing forward with alacrity, for he
guessed what the conversation would be about.
"Eh?" said Dick, starting a little, "oh, nothing, only I don't like him."
"Whom?"
"Mr. Beaumont," said Pemberton thoughtfully. "I think he's a
humbug."
"Oh, you'd think anyone delightful who praised your poetry," retorted
Dick rudely, "but I do not like Beaumont; he's very clever and talks
well, no doubt, but he's an outsider all the same."
"What makes you think so?" said Pumpkin, looking at him with the
tray in her hands.
"Oh, I can size a man up in two minutes," observed Dick in his usual
slangy manner, "and if I was Reggy I wouldn't give that chap the
slant to round on me; he says a lot he doesn't mean, and if he's
going to run Reggie's show the apple-cart will soon be upset."
Owing to Dick's lavish use of slang, Pumpkin was quite in the dark
regarding his meaning, so with a quiet smile walked indoors with the
tray.
"Reggy can look after himself all right," observed the poet in a placid
tone.
"And a jolly good thing too," cried Dick, eyeing the poetic youth in a
savage manner, "but prevention's better than cure, and I wouldn't let
Beaumont have a finger in my pie if I were Reggy."
"I'm uncommonly glad I'm not you," retorted Dick politely. "It must
be an awful disagreeable thing for you to know what an arrant idiot
you are."
CHAPTER XIV.
"You know, sir," he said to genial Dr. Larcher, "that Blake has a very
fine voice--a phenomenal tenor voice, which, when properly trained,
will make his fortune. Blake tells me he has not decided what line of
life to take up, so I propose he should be a singer."
"Oh, I should like it above all things," cried Reginald with the usual
thoughtless impulse of youth.
"Oh, my views are easily explained," said Beaumont coolly. "I know
very well your objections to a theatrical career, Doctor Larcher, and
no doubt it is full of temptations to a young man, still, Blake need
not sing on the stage, but make his appearance on the concert-
platform--good tenors are rare, so he will soon have plenty of work
and make an excellent income."
"A young man must take his chance about that," replied Beaumont
satirically. "Of course Blake will be with me and for my own sake I
will do my best to keep him out of harm's way; but you surely don't
want him to stay in this village all his life, wrapped up in cotton
wool?"
"I've no doubt you could," replied Beaumont cordially, "all I offer you
is assistance. Now what do you say, Dr. Larcher?"
"At present, I can say nothing," answered the vicar slowly. "Reginald
is as dear to me as if he was my own son, and the choice of a career
is not lightly to be decided upon. I had hoped he would become a
curate, and then there would have been no necessity for his leaving
me."
"I don't think I would have made a good curate," said Blake shaking
his head, "and though I love this dear old village very much, yet I
want to see a little of the world--my voice is my only talent, so the
sooner I make use of it the better."
"Fairly answered," said the vicar with a half sigh. "Yes, I suppose
you must take advantage of flying time and it is no use for you to
waste your life in idleness. Would you like to be a singer?"
"I think so," said Blake after a pause. "Of course I am anxious to
make my own way in the world, and unless I make use of my one
talent I do not see how I am to do so."
"I wish I had your one talent," observed Beaumont, rather enviously;
"I would not rail against fate--well Doctor Larcher, and what is your
decision?"
"I cannot give it to you now," said the old man rising, "it is too
important a matter to be dismissed lightly. I will let you have an
answer in a few days. Still, Mr. Beaumont, I must thank you for your
kind intentions regarding Reginald."
"Meantime," said the vicar genially, "you must stop and have some
dinner with us."
After dinner, hearing that a visitor was in the house Mrs. Larcher,
who had been lying down all day under the influence of "The
Affliction," made her appearance and greeted Beaumont with great
cordiality.
"So pleased to see you," she said graciously, when she was
established on the sofa amid a multiplicity of wraps and pillows;
"quite a treat to have some one to talk to."
"Come, come, my dear, this is rather hard upon us," said the vicar
good-humouredly.
"I mean some one new," explained Mrs. Larcher graciously. "I am so
fond of company, but owing to my affliction see very, very few
people; it's a great deprivation to me I assure you."
"You do, mama," replied that damsel who was seated at the piano.
"But you would not object to a little music, would you, dear?"
"If it's soft, no," answered the invalid wearily, "but dear Reginald, do
not sing loud songs, they are so bad for my nerves."
"I do wish song writers and their poets would invent something
new," observed Beaumont when this lachrymose ballad came to an
end, "one gets so weary of broken hearts and all that rubbish."
"I quite agree with you, Mr. Beaumont," said Dr. Larcher
emphatically. "I observe in the songs of the present day a tendency
to effeminate bewailings which I infinitely deplore. We have, I am
afraid, lost in a great measure, the manliness of Dibdin and the
joyous ideas of the Jacobean lyricists."
"What about the sea songs?" asked Dick, "they are jolly enough."
"No doubt," replied Beaumont, "'Nancy Lee' and the 'Three Jolly
Sailor Boys,' have a breezy ring about them, but this sugar and
water sentimentality now so much in vogue is simply horrible--it's a
great pity a reaction does not set in, then we would have a more
healthy tone."
"I dare say," said Beaumont quickly; "but there is a great tendency
to morbidness, too much use of broken hearts and minor keys, in
fact the whole tendency of the age is pessimistic--we are always
regretting the past, deploring the present, and dreading the future."
"I think that has been the case in all ages of the world," observed
the vicar; "man has invariably talked of the prosperity of the past,
and the decadence of the present."
"The past is past, and the dead are dead," murmured the poet
thoughtfully.
"By all means, my boy," asserted the vicar heartily. "Read on."
All the company glanced at one another and Dick groaned audibly,
while Mrs. Larcher settled herself in her pillows with a sigh of
resignation. But the poet rejoiced that he had succeeded in gaining a
hearing, and producing from his pocket a carefully written
manuscript read the following poem in a carefully modulated voice:--
I.
II.
III.
ENVOI.
"It's more than the genius is," muttered Dick, who cherished a
deadly hatred of Ferdinand's poetry.
"I'm glad you think so," said the modest poet humbly, to whom
praise was as rain on thirsty flowers. "I hope to do better soon."
"I've no doubt you will," said Beaumont, rather sorry for the poor
youth, who was blushing painfully. "Your verses are, to a certain
extent, an echo of Villon, still you have a musical ear, and that is a
great thing. If I may be permitted to give an opinion I rather think
your views are a trifle pessimistic."
"Just what we were talking about," cried Reginald gaily. "A regret for
the past and a lament for the present."
"It is the spirit of the age," sighed Ferdinand, putting the poem in
his pocket. "It is hard to escape its influence."
"By the very fact that you used in that ballade an exotic form of
rhyme, and the ideas therein are the dreary, hopeless sorrows of a
worn-out world. Sing, like Herrick of the things around you,
"It's the dead world of the past which presses on the dying world of
the present," said Ferdinand, gloomily.
"Oh, bosh!" cried Dick, in disgust. "Your liver's out of order, my dear
chap, that's what's the matter with you."
CHAPTER XV
A FANTASTIC THEORIST.
"He is a man
Full of strange thoughts, and fancies whimsical,
Who dreams of dreams that make his life a dream.
And had he powers supernal at command,
Would tumble heaven itself about our ears
In his mad searchings for--I wot not what."
The room which Beaumont had turned into a studio while painting
Squire Garsworth's portrait, overlooked the terrace on to which the
French windows opened. It was the drawing-room of the Grange,
and was magnificently furnished in the ponderous style of the
Georgian period, though now, being but rarely used, an air of
desertion and decay seemed to linger about it. The windows,
however, being large and curtainless, there was an excellent light to
paint by, so Basil established his easel near the centre window, and
placed the squire at one further along, in order that the full light
should fall on his withered face, showing the multitudinous wrinkles
and stern expression that made it a study worthy of Rembrandt.
Beaumont often glanced at the attenuated form lying listlessly back
in the great arm-chair, and wondered what curious event had
changed this man from an idle reveller into an industrious scholar.
Above was the painted ceiling of the apartment, whereon gods and
goddesses, in faded tints, disported themselves among dingy blue
clouds, surrounded by cupids, sea-horses, rising suns and waning
moons, while, below, a threadbare carpet covered the polished floor
but imperfectly. A huge marble fireplace, cold and black-looking,
heavy, cumbersome chairs, solid-looking tables, a quaint old spinet
with thin legs and several comfortable-looking sofas, filled up the
room. There were also grim-looking faces frowning from the walls,
cabinets filled with grotesque china, now worth its weight in gold,
bizarre ornaments from India and China, and many other quaint
things, which made the apartment look like a curiosity-shop to the
refined taste of the artist. But in spite of the old-time magnificence
of the place, spiders spun their webs in the corners, grey dust lay
thickly around, and a chill, tomb-like feeling pervaded the room.
Even the cheerful sunlight could not lift the heavy shadow which
seemed to brood over it, and it seemed, in its loneliness, to be a
chamber of some enchanted palace, such as we read of in eastern
tales.
Nor was the proprietor out of place in this decayed realm of former
grandeur, for he looked old and weird enough to have been coeval
with the pristine splendours of the Grange. The worn face, the
sudden gleams of insane fire from the deeply-set eyes, the snowy,
sparse hair that fell from under the black skull-cap, and the sombre
robe, all seemed to be the semblance of some hoary necromancer
rich in malignant spells of magic.
Had Randal Garsworth mixed with the world he would have been a
different creature. Had he gone abroad among his fellow men and
taken an interest in their ideas concerning politics, literature, and
music, he would have retained a healthy mind by such generalization
of his intellect. But, shutting himself up, as he had done, in a lonely
house, and concentrating his mind upon himself, he lapsed into a
morbid state which prepared him for the reception of any fantastical
idea. While thus lingering in this unhealthy life, he chanced upon the
curious doctrine of metempsychosis, and it speedily took possession
of his diseased mind, already strongly inclined towards strange
searchings. The weirdness of the Pythagorean theory appealed to
his love of the whimsical, and he became a monomaniac on the
subject. Under the influence of a lonely life, ardent studies of the
philosophers who supported the theory of transmigration, and his
selfish application of these wild doctrines to his own soul, the
monomania under which he laboured deepened into madness.
"I hope this portrait will please you," said Beaumont, breaking the
silence which had lasted some minutes, "it's the best thing I have
ever done."
"Is it?" replied Garsworth, vaguely, his mind being far away,
occupied with some abstruse thought. "Yes, of course. What did you
say?"
"Of course I will," said the squire, quickly. "I want to see myself in
the future as I am now. Some people look back on their portraits
taken in youth, and see a faint semblance of their old age in the
unwrinkled faces, but I will see this picture when in a new body
which will have no resemblance in its form to the withered shape I
now bear."
"As you say--a strange doctrine," said Garsworth, warming with his
subject, "but a very true one. My body is old and worn out.
Physically, I am an irreparable wreck, but my soul is as lusty, fresh
and eager as it was in the days of my youth. Why, then, should not
my true entity shed this worn-out, fleshly envelope as a snake does
its skin, and enter into a new one replete with the vigour of youth?"
"It was a dream of many before Pythagoras, and has been the
dream of many since," rejoined Garsworth, coldly. "The Egyptians,
the Hindoos and the Buddhists all accepted the doctrine, although
each treated it according to their different religions. In our modern
days Lessing believed in it; and if you have read the writings of
Kardec you will find that re-incarnation is the very soul of the spiritist
belief."
Beaumont sneered.
"You talk like that because you don't understand the subject. The
things you mention are only the outward manifestation of
spiritualism. If you read Kardec's books you would find that the true
theory of spiritualism is transmigration. Spirits are incarnated in
human bodies in order to work out their own advancement. If they
resist temptation while in the flesh, they enter into a higher sphere,
in order to advance another step. If they fail to lead a pure life, they
again become re-incarnated in the flesh to make another effort; but
they never retrograde."
"I need not mention all, but I will tell you one as an example. The
spiritists deny that we remember former existences--I believe we
do."
"Oh! and you think in your next body you will remember your
incarnation as Squire Garsworth?"
"I do."
"Some of them."
"Because some of the lives I then lived were base in the extreme,
and not worthy of remembrance, so I forgot them--in the same way
as you forget disagreeable things and only have thoughts of
agreeable events."
"It would be hardly worth while," replied the squire, irritably, "as you
would only look upon my narration as a fairy-tale. But I can tell you
what I was--an Egyptian prince, a Roman soldier, a Spanish Moor,
and an English pauper in the reign of Elizabeth."
"Well," said Beaumont, rising to his feet, and putting his brushes
away, "your conversation is getting too deep for me, Mr. Garsworth.
I understand your metempsychosis theory all right, though I don't
agree with it; but I fail to see how you are going to arrange about
getting your own money."
"No, no!" replied Garsworth, raising his form, tall and gaunt, against
the bright light outside, "of course not; that is my secret. No one will
know--not one! Is your sitting finished?"
The old man shuffled tremulously out of the room, and Beaumont
stood looking after him with a puzzled smile on his lips. He began to
put his paraphernalia away slowly and talked softly to himself
meanwhile.
"I wonder if there's any sense in the old fool's ravings--I don't
believe in this incarnation rubbish--but he's got some scheme in his
head about that money--I'd like to find it out--there might be
something in it by which I could benefit--he's a madman sure
enough but still there is method in his madness--however, I'll try to
discover his secret somehow."
"Hypnotism."
CHAPTER XVI.
The desks of the scholars being immovable were left in their places,
and the audience--which comprised nearly the whole population of
the village--sat like rows of elderly pupils ready to be instructed.
Forms and desks were ranged in the centre of the room and there
was a narrow walk on either side leading down to the wide door at
the end of the building which was continually opening and shutting
to admit late arrivals and exclude a view of the festive preparations
from the penniless crowd outside who could not afford the necessary
coppers for entrance fee. Illumination was provided by six oil lamps,
three on each side, set in metal brackets, and from the centre of the
roof over the stage hung a larger lamp, while the piano was further
adorned with two weakly-looking tallow candles for the convenience
of the musician.
Dr. Larcher made a short speech, ending with a quotation from his
favourite poet:
Reginald then sang "Come into the garden, Maud," but this number
evidently did not please them very much as they could not make out
what it was all about and, preferring noise to delicacy, did not
appreciate the beauty of the singer's voice. Beaumont, however, who
was present, admired the item greatly, and said as much to Mrs.
Larcher who, armed with a fan and a smelling bottle, sat next to him
fighting with "The Affliction."
"Oh yes," sighed Mrs. Larcher when she had got "The Affliction" well
under and did not feel inclined to faint, scream, or kick, or give way
to any other eccentricities which "The Affliction" was fond of doing
at unseasonable hours, "his voice is beautiful, no doubt, but so loud,
it goes through my head and rattles my nerves. I love soft songs
that soothe me--something cradle-like--a Berceuse, you understand.
I'm afraid you find me rather hard to please, but it's my affliction
and not myself. I assure you, Mr. Beaumont, that a loud voice often
prostrates me for days and leaves me a perfect object, does it not,
Eleanora Gwendoline?"
"So flippant," commented Mrs. Larcher when the fair songstress had
retired, "a great want of decorum--she makes my nerves jump."
"Then why doesn't she choose less hoppy music?" retorted the
matron fanning herself vigorously, "it makes me twitch to hear her.
Ah, if she only had my affliction she wouldn't sing at all."
Dick Pemberton gave a sea song with great vigour, and received
genuine applause, then Una and Reginald sang "Oh, that we two
were Maying," which the audience did not care about. The vicar then
read Poe's poem of "The Bells" in a ponderous manner, which
crushed the airy lines, and after another song from Reginald, Mr.
Ferdinand Priggs appeared to recite an original poem "My Ladye
Fayre."
Mr. Priggs was ushered in by a melancholy strain from the piano, and
placing one hand in his breast and tossing back his long hair with
the other he burst into a series of questions about the fayre lady.
On the conclusion of this dismal poem the full company sang "God
save the Queen," and the concert ended amid the congratulations of
all concerned, as they decided it was a great success.
"He had to stay with the squire," replied Una, who was leaning on
Reginald's arm, "he's not at all well."
"Oh, dear no," said Miss Cassy lightly, "though he has got nerves--so
very odd, isn't it? but this time the dear doctor says it's lungs--
something gone wrong--a kind of what's-his-name thing, you know--
if he doesn't take care he'll get that disease--so odd--something
about a moan."
"Oh, pneumonia," observed Beaumont gravely. "I hope not, it's very
dangerous, and to an old man like the squire, doubly so."
"I have had it," said Mrs. Larcher, who by her own showing
possessed every disease under the sun. "Acute inflammation of the
lungs, it left me a wreck--a prostrate wreck--did it not, Eleanora
Gwendoline?"
"It might come on again," said Mrs. Larcher, opening her smelling-
bottle. "I'll have a cup of hot tea when I go home, and a hot bottle
to my feet."
"I wonder she doesn't have a mustard plaster and a fly blister,"
whispered Dick to Una, "might draw some of the bosh out of her."
Una laughed, and the great lumbering barouche of the Grange
having arrived, driven by the stony Munks, she preferred to enter it,
followed by the chattering Cassy.
"So cold, isn't it?" said that lady, "quite like the North Pole. Captain
what's-his-name, you know, Parry, puts me in mind of Paris--French
style--so odd. I'll see you to-morrow, Mr. Beaumont, and oh, Mrs.
Larcher, will you come to tea next week--Thursday--what do you say,
Una? Friday, oh yes--Friday."
"If my affliction permits me," said Mrs. Larcher in a stately tone, "I
will try."
"So glad," replied the volatile Cassy, "and you come also Mr. Blake,
and of course Mr. Pemberton, not forgetting Mr. Beaumont; so very
nice to see one's friends. Oh, yes, Munks, we're quite ready, good-
night--so pleased--delightful concert--odd--very odd."
"I enjoyed the concert very much, Miss Mosser," he said gracefully
as they passed him.
"I'm glad of that, sir," said Cecilia, who looked tired, "it went off very
well. Was--was Doctor Nestley here?"
"No, he had to stay with Squire Garsworth."
The blind girl sighed again, and after saying good-night, went away
followed by Miss Busky, who bounded along in the moonlight like a
marionette.
CHAPTER XVII.
ANTEROS.
The Garsworth family was never a very prolific one, but the estates
had always descended in a direct line from father to son. Many a
time the race seemed to be on the point of extinction owing to the
representative being an only child, yet though the line dwindled
down to depending on one life alone for its continuity it never
absolutely died out. In the event of such a thing taking place it
would have been difficult to say who would have succeeded to the
estates, as the Garsworth family seemed to be averse to matrimony
and their connection with the county families was, to say the least,
doubtful. Besides, as there was no entail, the estates were
completely at the disposal of the head of the family for the time
being, and he could will them to whomsoever he pleased. As
hitherto son had always succeeded father, there had been no
necessity for the exercise of such a power, but now the sole
representative of the race being unmarried he was at liberty to use
his own judgment in disposing of the estates.
Una's parents had died while she was a child and she had been
brought up by the kind-hearted though eccentric Miss Cassy, who
sent her to Germany in order to complete her education. Miss
Cassandra, having an income of three hundred a year, dwelt in
London, where she was known among a select society of well-born
fossils who looked upon her as a mere child. Una, having finished
her education, came back to England and took up her abode with
Miss Cassy, and having an income of some two hundred a year
joined it to that of her aunt, and thus the two women managed to
live very comfortably in a small way.
Their dismay was great at finding the sordid way in which the Squire
lived, and Miss Cassy would have promptly returned to London, only
Una, being touched by the loneliness of her kinsman, determined to
remain, persuading Miss Cassy to do likewise. So they lived quietly
at the Grange on the somewhat begrudged hospitality of the old
man, their own incomes obtaining for them any luxuries they might
require, as they certainly received nothing but the bare necessities
of life from their host.
Una having fallen in love with Reginald, was quite content in her
dreary exile, but Miss Cassy, used to the lively entertainments of the
fossilized society in London, longed to get away from the place, and
looked forward to the Squire dying with a certain ghastly eagerness,
as she thought Una would then come in for all the estates and they
could once more live London.
On the morning after the concert Miss Cassy and Una seated at a
late breakfast, were talking seriously about the unsettled health of
the Squire, who was now obviously breaking up.
"My dear Aunty!" replied Una in a shocked tone, "how can you talk
so?"
"Why not?" retorted Miss Cassy indignantly. "He's not much use
alive. I'm sure he'd be more use dead."
"Why?"
"I don't want his money," said Una with great spirit, "and certainly
don't care about speculating on cousin Garsworth's death to gain it.
I wonder at your doing so, Aunt."
"My dear Auntie," said Una with a smile, "you are so sensitive."
"I don't know whom he'll leave the money to," said Una deliberately.
"I certainly ought to get it, but you know the Squire's delusion about
re-incarnation--you may depend his will is mixed up with the idea,
how I don't know--but there will be some trouble at his death."
To prove which sanity Miss Cassy arose from the table to go to her
room, and placed the tea cosy on her head to protect her from cold.
The eccentric lady walked to the door talking in a broken fashion all
the time.
The young man was not looking well, as his ruddy colour had given
place to an unhealthy paleness, his skin had a flaccid appearance
and his countenance wore an anxious, haggard expression. His eyes
glanced restlessly round the room looking at everything except Una,
and he moved his hands nervously. Even in his voice there was a
change, for in place of his former bold confident tones he now spoke
in a low hesitating manner.
"I just came to tell you the squire is better, Miss Challoner," he said
in an agitated voice, keeping his eyes on the ground.
"It's very good of you, doctor," she replied courteously. "I hope he
will become quite strong again."
"I'm afraid not, his body is worn out and has not strength enough to
resist disease--of course, now he has only a slight cold, but any
chance exposure may affect his lungs seriously and if pneumonia
sets in I'm afraid he will have no chance."
"I cannot do more than I have done, he must be kept quiet and
warm. I've persuaded him to take some strong soup which will do
him good--in fact I think his ascetic manner of living has had as
much to do with his ill-health as anything else."
"I hope he will get well," said Una earnestly, "if he would only
change his mode of life I'm sure he would get well."
"Of course we would be very sorry to lose you," she said quietly,
"but you, no doubt, would be glad to get back to your home."
He looked at her defiantly and saw her standing silent and indignant
before him.
"Can't you understand?" he burst out again rapidly. "I love you--I
love you! from the first moment I saw you I loved you--I want you
to be my wife, will you be my wife Una."
"What you ask is impossible, Doctor Nestley," she said coldly and
deliberately. "I have only known you a fortnight and--beyond this I
am ignorant of your life in every way. I never dreamed that you
would speak to me in this manner."
"Then you don't love me?" he cried in despair, "You cold perfection
of womanhood, you don't love me?"
Una would have replied indignantly, but she began to see the
nervous excitable temperament of the young man and recognised
that, being under the influence of a strong emotion, he was not
answerable for the way in which he spoke.
"No," she replied gently, "I cannot love you, Doctor Nestley--even if I
did, I could hardly respond to your passion after so short an
acquaintance; come, doctor, you have been worn out by your nightly
attendance on my cousin, you are not well and speak without
thinking, forget the words you have spoken and let things be as they
were."
"Things can never be as they were," he replied dully. "I have seen
you and that has changed my whole life--is there no chance?"
Una turned on him in a dignified way with her eyes blazing with
anger.
"How dare you speak to me in this manner?" she said wrathfully. "Do
not try my patience too far--I have given you an answer to the mad
words you spoke--now go."
She pointed to the door with a commanding gesture and the young
man drooping his head on his breast, moved towards it.
"You don't know what you are doing," he said in a dreary voice. "You
are destroying my life; whatever evils now drag me down, it will be
your fault."
"A cowardly speech," she said in a clear, scornful voice; "because
you cannot get the toy you long for you speak like a child. I have
nothing to do with your life, if you yield to evil it will be through your
own weak will, not through any fault of mine--not a word," she went
on as he was about to speak; "leave me at once and I will try and
forget what you have said."
He tried to look her in the face, but seeing her standing tall and
straight as a young Greek maiden, with nothing but scorn and
condemnation in her eyes, he turned away with a sigh, and letting
his head fall on his breast walked slowly out of the room, careless of
what happened to him now that he had placed all his chances on the
casting of a die--and lost.