The room, of regal dimensions, was paneled in linenfold, and hung with
old tapestry. Giant specimens of William and Mary furniture did not
crowd it; nor did the big canopied four-poster on its dais much curtail
the floor-space. In the wide, open fireplace logs glowed warmly. A
dozen candles shed a soft light on Alexandra as she sat in a tall carved
armchair by the hearth, plaiting her hair. Maggy on the bed in her
nightgown with her hands clasped round her knees was lost in the shadow
of its brocaded curtains.
"Pinch me, Lexie, or I shall believe it's all a dream and wake up," she
said. "Fancy, a king slept here once. I wonder what he'd have said if
he'd been told that hundreds of years afterwards a chorus girl was
coming into his bed--" A shy gurgle brought her to a stop as she
realized the doubtful meaning she had given to the last part of the
sentence. "Lexie, how quiet you are."
"I'm reveling in it too," said Alexandra with a contented sigh.
"Oh, you're a lady by birth. It's natural to you."
"Indeed it isn't. I've never been in such a lovely place in my life."
"Footmen with powdered legs!" mused Maggy absently.
Alexandra laughed softly.
"Hair, I mean. Same thing.... And the dinner served like machinery and
yet so quietly. None of the waiters--servants--in a hurry, and
everything so natural and perfect. I thought I should feel like walking
on new-laid eggs, but I didn't at all. Oh, if you lived in a place like
this all your life you couldn't help growing noble and behaving
beautifully. I don't feel properly vulgar here."
"But you're not vulgar."
"Well, perhaps not properly.... Isn't Mrs. Pardiston a dear? She's
'the Honorable,' isn't she? I think 'the Honorable' sounds more
splendid than 'Lady' or even 'Duchess.' 'Honorable!' It means so much.
The others are tides, but 'the Honorable' is an--an--"
"Attribute?" supplied Alexandra.
"Yes, that's the word. Isn't it nice of him asking her--his own
aunt--to meet us? Oh, Lord!"
"What's the matter?"
"I asked Lord Chalfont not to tell any one we were on the stage. Mrs.
Pardiston can't know. She ought to. She's been so sweet to me. Perhaps
she wouldn't have been if she'd known. I think I ought to tell her
before I go to sleep."
"Why not wait till the morning?" suggested Alexandra.
"I'm sure to forget in the morning. I'm going to get up at seven to see
the cows milked. You mustn't, Lexie, because you've got a cold. And
then there'll be church, and after that the Christmas tree to do things
to, and--I shan't _remember_ I'm on the stage to-morrow. Oh, are you
going?"
"My dear, it's past twelve." Alexandra's bedroom was opposite Maggy's.
"I wish we had been together," she said.
"So do I. But I suppose in the state of life unto which it has pleased
God to call the aristocracy they never do sleep together. Good night,
darling."
Left alone, Maggy remained as she was, hugging her knees and thinking.
The soft, warm silence wrapped her round. Her excited mind was full of
the eventful day: the long motor run ending with her first close
acquaintance with a noble old edifice such as she had only previously
seen in pictures and photographs. Her first view of it had made her
feel as if she could have knelt down and worshiped it. It was all so
grand and so very, very good. Her tiny flat, which had hitherto seemed
such a palace in her eyes, receded to its proper unimposing proportions.
She saw the insignificance of her little white "bedroom suite" beside
the stately furniture that surrounded her. She thought of the dignity,
the age and the atmosphere of peace into which, as on a magic carpet,
she had been suddenly transported, and compared it with the fret and
turmoil and passion of her own life. She had been timorous at first of
Mrs. Pardiston with her air of high breeding, and then fallen completely
under the spell of her charm. It had shown itself so gently maternal
toward her and Alexandra, so unquestioning.
But Mrs. Pardiston probably assumed her to be a lady. It seemed absurd,
in spite of her having striven hard to appear as to the manner born.
Indeed, she had succeeded in behaving charmingly. Only her modesty
prevented her being assured of it. Even supposing she had satisfied
Lord Chalfont's aunt in that respect, she still felt she was imposing on
the dear old lady by not having disclosed her want of social standing.
With that doubt on her mind she got into bed, the enormous bed that
enveloped her like a warm, embracing sea. It kept her awake. Not more
than an hour since, Mrs. Pardiston bidding her good-night had said,
"Come to me if you want anything, my dears. You know where my room is."
Recollection of those words sent her flying out of bed. She felt she
must go and make confession. Out in the wide corridor she was directed
by a stream of light that came from under her hostess's door. She
knocked at it ever so gently, and was bidden to enter. She opened it
and stood on the threshhold, hesitating.
Mrs. Pardiston was sitting up in bed, reading. Maggy's subsequent
impression of her was always that of a white-haired Madonna crowned with
folds of soft lace.
"May I come in? Am--am I disturbing you?" she asked timidly.
"No, my dear. I never get to sleep for hours. But what is it?"
Maggy closed the door. Barefooted, in her nightgown, with her hair
ruffled, she looked and felt like a child caught in some reprehensible
act.
"I didn't know whether you knew we--I--I'm a chorus-girl," she
stammered.
Mrs. Pardiston shut her book. She had been reading the story of the
birth of Jesus. That lonely vigil of Mary and her outcast Son, the
friendlessness and loneliness of it, had its special appeal on this the
dawn of its anniversary. Her heart was touched. For some unknown
reason also it went out to the girl so wistfully standing by her bed.
"Are you, dear?" she said tenderly. "Wrap yourself in the eider-down
and tell me all about it."
Tell her all about it! Maggy was quite unprepared for the calm and
friendly overture.
"Would you mind if I didn't?" she faltered. "It would take so long. I
dance and sing for my living, that's all. There's nothing interesting
about it. But I thought you ought to know, else you might have--"
Mrs. Pardiston smiled reassuringly.
"I should never think ill of a person because they worked for their
living. It was nice of you to want to trust me."
"I did. You've been so kind.... But I'm interrupting you. You were
reading."
"You can read to me, if you will." Mrs. Pardiston took off her
spectacles and handed Maggy the book, indicating the place. "Are you
quite warm? But perhaps you would rather go to bed?"
"I'll read a little first, please."
Not till then did Maggy observe that the book she held was the Bible. A
solemn look came into her face. Her voice was a little unsteady as she
began to read.
"'Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the
King, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem,
"'Saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen
his star in the east, and are come to worship him....'"
Chalfont, passing the room on his way to bed, heard Maggy's voice, and
paused to listen.