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IN BRIEF AUTHORITY
BY F. ANSTEY
AUTHOR OF "VICE VERSÂ," "A FALLEN IDOL," "THE PARIAH," "THE GIANT'S
ROBE," "LYRE AND LANCET," "THE BRASS BOTTLE," "THE TALKING HORSE AND
OTHER TALES," "SALTED ALMONDS," ETC.
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1915
[All rights reserved]
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
at the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
To
Peggy
AUTHOR'S NOTE
It may be as well to mention here that the whole of this book was
planned, and at least three-fourths of it actually written, in those
happy days, which now seem so pathetically distant, when we were still
at peace--days when, to all but a very few, so hideous a calamity as a
World-War seemed a danger that had passed for the present, and might
never recur; when even those few could hardly have foreseen that England
would be so soon compelled to fight for her very existence against the
most efficient and deadly foe it has ever been her lot to encounter.
But, as the central idea of this story happens to be inseparably
connected with certain characters and incidents of German origin, I have
left them unaltered--partly because it would have been difficult, if not
impossible, to substitute any others, but mainly because I cannot bring
myself to believe that the nursery friends of our youth could ever be
regarded as enemies.
F. ANSTEY.
_September 1915._
CONTENTS
I. "THE SKIRTS OF HAPPY CHANCE"
II. RUSHING TO CONCLUSIONS
III. FINE FEATHERS
IV. CROWNED HEADS
V. DIGNITY UNDER DIFFICULTIES
VI. CARES OF STATE
VII. A GAME THEY DID NOT UNDERSTAND
VIII. "A STEED THAT KNOWS HIS RIDER"
IX. THE PLEASURES OF THE TABLE
X. THE BLONDE BEAST
XI. A WAY OUT
XII. UNWELCOME ANNOUNCEMENTS
XIII. WHAT THE PIGEON SAID
XIV. BAG AND BAGGAGE
XV. "RIVEN WITH VAIN ENDEAVOUR"
XVI. "A CLOUD THAT'S DRAGONISH"
XVII. THE REWARD OF VALOUR
XVIII. A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT
XIX. SERVANTS OF THE QUEEN
XX. AT THE END OF HER TETHER
XXI. "WHOSE LIGHTS ARE FLED, WHOSE GARLANDS DEAD"
XXII. SQUARING ACCOUNTS
EPILOGUE
IN BRIEF AUTHORITY
CHAPTER I
"THE SKIRTS OF HAPPY CHANCE"
On a certain afternoon in March Mrs. Sidney Stimpson (or rather Mrs.
Sidney Wibberley-Stimpson, as a recent legacy from a distant relative
had provided her with an excuse for styling herself) was sitting alone
in her drawing-room at "Inglegarth," Gablehurst.
"Inglegarth" was the name she had chosen for the house on coming to live
there some years before. What it exactly meant she could not have
explained, but it sounded distinguished and out of the common, without
being reprehensibly eccentric. Hence the choice.
Some one, she was aware, had just entered the carriage-drive, and after
having rung, was now standing under the white "Queen Anne" porch;
Mitchell, the rosy-cheeked and still half-trained parlour-maid, was
audible in the act of "answering the door."
It being neither a First nor a Third Friday, Mrs. Stimpson was not,
strictly speaking, "at home" except to very intimate friends, though she
made a point of being always presentable enough to see any afternoon
caller. On this occasion she was engaged in no more absorbing occupation
than the study of one of the less expensive Society journals, and,
having already read all that was of real interest in its columns, she
was inclined to welcome a distraction.
"If you please, m'm," said Mitchell, entering, "there's a lady wishes to
know if she could see you for a minute or two."
"Did you ask her to state her business, Mitchell?... No? Then you should
have. Called for a subscription to something, I expect. Tell her I am
particularly engaged. I suppose she didn't give any name?"
"Oh yes, m'm. She give her name--Lady 'Arriet Elmslie, it was."
"Then why on earth didn't you say so before," cried the justly
exasperated Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, "instead of leaving her ladyship on
the door-mat all this time? Really, Mitchell, you are _too_ trying! Go
and show her in at once--and be careful to say 'my lady.' And bring up
tea for two as soon as you can--the _silver_ tea-pot, mind!"
It might have been inferred from her manner that she and Lady Harriet
were on terms of closest friendship, but this was not exactly the case.
Mrs. Stimpson had indeed known her for a considerable time, but only by
sight, and she had long ceased to consider a visit from Lady Harriet as
even a possible event. Now it had actually happened, and,
providentially, on an afternoon when Mitchell's cap and apron could defy
inspection. But if it was the first time that an Earl's daughter had
crossed Mrs. Stimpson's threshold, she was not at all the woman to allow
the fact to deprive her of her self-possession.
A title had no terror for _her_. Before her marriage, when she was Miss
Selina Prinsley, she had acted as hostess for her father, the great
financier and company promoter, who had entertained lavishly up to the
date of his third and final failure. Her circle then had included many
who could boast of knighthoods, and even baronetcies!
And, though Lady Harriet was something of a personage at Gablehurst, and
confined her acquaintance to her own particular set, there was nothing
formidable or even imposing in her appearance. She was the widow of a
Colonel Elmslie, and apparently left with only moderate means, judging
from the almost poky house on the farther side of the Common, which she
shared with an unmarried female cousin of about her own age.
So, when she was shown in, looking quite ordinary, and even a little
shy, Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson rose to receive her with perfect ease,
being supported by the consciousness that she was by far the more
handsomely dressed of the two. In fact her greeting was so gracious as
to be rather overpowering.
"Interrupting me? Not in the very _least_, dear Lady Harriet! Only too
delighted, I'm sure!... Now _do_ take off your boa, and come nearer the
fire. You'll find this _quite_ a comfy chair, I think. Tea will be
brought in presently.... Oh, you really _must_, after trapesing all that
way across the Common. I can't _tell_ you how pleased I am to see you.
I've so often wished to make your acquaintance, but I couldn't take the
first step, could I? _So_ nice of you to break the ice!"
Lady Harriet submitted to these rather effusive attentions resignedly
enough. She could hardly interrupt her hostess's flow of conversation
without rudeness, while she had already begun to suspect that Mrs.
Stimpson might form an entertaining study.
But her chief reason, after all, was that the prospect of tea had its
attractions. Accordingly she attempted no further explanations of her
visit just then, and was content to observe Mrs. Stimpson, while she
rippled on complacently.
She saw a matron who might be about fifty, with abundant pale auburn
hair, piled up, and framing her face in a sort of half aureole. The eyes
were small and hazel green; the nose narrow and pointed, the wide,
full-lipped mouth, which wore just then a lusciously ingratiating smile,
showed white but prominent teeth. The complexion was of a uniform
oatmealy tint, and, though Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson was neither tall nor
slim, she seemed to have taken some pains to preserve a waist.
"Most fortunate I happened to be at home," she was saying. "And if you
had called on one of my _regular_ days, I shouldn't have had the chance
of a _real_ talk with you. As it is, we shall be quite _tête-à-tête_....
Ah, here _is_ tea--you must tell me if you like it weak, dear Lady
Harriet, and I shall remember the _next_ time you come. Yes, you find me
all alone this afternoon. My eldest daughter, Edna, has gone to a
lecture at her Mutual Improvement Society, on a German Philosopher
called Nitchy, or some such name. She's so bookish and well-read, takes
such an interest in all the latest movements--runs up to town for
_matinées_ of intellectual dramas--_quite_ the modern type of girl. But
not a blue-stocking--she's joined a Tango Class lately, and dances most
beautifully, I'm told--just the figure for it. We got up a little
Costume Ball here this winter--perhaps you may have heard of it?--Ah,
well, my Edna was generally admitted to be the _belle_ of the evening. A
perfect Juliet, everybody said. I went as her mother--Lady Capulet, you
know. I _did_ think of going as Queen Elizabeth at one time. I've so
often been told that if I ever went to a Fancy Dress Ball, I ought to go
as her--or at all events as _one_ of our English Queens. But, however, I
didn't. Mr. Stimpson went as a Venetian Doge, but I do _not_ consider
myself that it was at all suitable to him."
She did not say all this without a motive. She knew that a local
Historical Pageant was being arranged for the coming Summer, and that
Lady Harriet was on the Committee. Also she had heard that, after
rehearsals had begun, some of the principal performers had resigned
their parts, and the Committee had some difficulty in finding
substitutes.
It had struck her as not at all unlikely that her visitor had called
with a view to ascertaining whether the services of any of the Stimpson
household would be available. If she had, it was, of course very
gratifying. If she had merely come in a neighbourly way, there was no
harm in directing her attention to the family qualifications for a
Pageant performance.
Her hearer, without betraying any sign of the mirth she inwardly felt,
meekly agreed that Mrs. Stimpson was undoubtedly well fitted to
impersonate a Queen, and that the costume of a Venetian Doge was rather
a trying one, after which her hostess proceeded: "Perhaps you are right,
dear Lady Harriet, but the worst of it was that my boy Clarence, who
would have made such a handsome Romeo, insisted on going as a _Pierrot_!
Very likely you have seen Clarence?... Oh, you would certainly have
noticed him if you had--always so well turned out. He's got quite a good
post as Secretary to an Insurance Co., in the City: they think so
highly of him there--take his advice on everything--in fact, he
practically _is_ the Company! And only twenty-two! It's _such_ a relief,
because there _was_ a time when it really seemed as if he'd never settle
down to any regular work. Nothing would induce him to enter my husband's
business--for I must tell you, Lady Harriet, we _are_ in business.
Sauces, pickles, condiments of every sort and description--_wholesale_,
you know, _not_ retail, so I hope you aren't _too_ dreadfully shocked!"
Lady Harriet remarked that she saw nothing to be shocked at--several of
her relations and friends were in business of various kinds, which gave
Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson the opening she required. "Society has changed
its views so _much_ lately, has it not?" she said. "Why, the youngest
partner in Mr. Wibberley-Stimpson's firm is a younger son of the Earl of
Fallowfields--Mr. Chervil Thistleton, and an Honourable, of _course_! I
daresay you are acquainted with him?... Not? Quite a charming young
man--married a Miss Succory, a connection of the Restharrows, and such a
sweet girl! You may have met her?... Oh, I thought--but I really hardly
know her _myself_ yet," (which was Mrs. Stimpson's method of disguising
the fact that she had never met either of them in her life). "When he
came into the warehouse he was perfectly amazed at the immense variety
in pickles and sauces--it was quite a revelation to him. Only he can't
_touch_ pickles of any kind, which is a pity, because it prevents him
from taking the interest he might in the business.... Just _one_ of
these hot cakes, dear Lady Harriet--you're making such a wretched
tea!... I should like you to see my youngest child, Ruby. She's gone out
to tea with some little friends of hers, but she may be back before you
go. So much admired--such lovely colouring! But just a _little_
difficult to manage. Governess after governess have I had, and none of
them could do anything with her. My present one, however, she seems to
have taken to. Miss Heritage, her name is--at least she was adopted as a
baby by a rich widow of that name, and brought up in every luxury. But
Mrs. Heritage died without making a will, and it seems she'd muddled
away most of her money, and there were claims on what she left, so the
poor girl had to turn out, and earn her own living. Such a sad little
story, is it not? I felt it was really a charity to engage her. I'm not
sure that I can keep her much longer, though. She's far too good-looking
for a governess, and there's always a danger with a marriageable young
man in the house, but fortunately Clarence has too much sense and
principle to marry out of his own rank. I do think that's _such_ a
mistake, don't you, dear Lady Harriet? Look at the Duke of Mountravail's
heir, the young Marquis of Muscombe--married only last month at a
registry office to a girl who was in the chorus at the Vivacity! I hear
she comes of quite a respectable family, and all that," admitted Mrs.
Stimpson, who derived her information from her Society journals. "But
still, can you _wonder_ at the poor Duke and Duchess being upset by it?
I've no doubt you are constantly coming across similar instances in
Smart Society."
Lady Harriet disclaimed all acquaintanceship with Smart Society, which
Mrs. Stimpson protested she could not believe. "I am sure you have the
_entrée_ into _any_ set, Lady Harriet, even the smartest! Which reminds
me. _Have_ you heard anything more about that mysterious disappearance
of the Dowager Duchess of Gleneagle's diamonds during her journey from
the North last week? A tiara, _and_ a dog-collar, I was told.
Professional thieves, I suppose, but don't you think the Duchess's
maid?--Oh, _really_? I made _sure_ you would be a friend of the
Duchess's--but, of course, Society is so much larger than it used to
be!"
"You are a far better authority than I can pretend to be about it," Lady
Harriet owned smilingly; "and really you've given me so much interesting
information that I had nearly forgotten what I came to see you about.
It's--well, I wanted to ask----"
"I think I can _guess_, Lady Harriet," put in Mrs. Stimpson, as her
visitor paused for a second. "I've heard of your difficulties about
getting players for the Pageant, and I'm sure I, and indeed _all_ the
family, would feel only too honoured."
"It's most kind of you," Lady Harriet interrupted, rising, "but--but
that isn't why I've troubled you. It's only that I'm thinking of
engaging Jane Saunders as house-parlourmaid, and she tells me she was in
your service, so I called to ask about her character, don't you know."
For a moment Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson wished she had been less
precipitate, but she soon recognised that no real harm had been done.
"Saunders?" she said, "yes, she left me last month. Do sit down again,
dear Lady Harriet, and I'll give you all the information I possibly can.
Well, when that girl first came, she had everything to learn. It was
quite evident she'd never been in service before with gentlefolks.
Actually brought in letters in her _fingers_, Lady Harriet, and knocked
at sitting-room doors! And _no_ notion of cleaning silver, and I like to
see mine come up to table without a speck! However, after being with me
for a while, she improved, and I can conscientiously say that she became
quite competent in time. That is, for a household like _ours_, you know,
where things are done in quite an unpretentious style."
"I don't think we are at all pretentious people either," said Lady
Harriet, rising once more. "And now, Mrs. Stimpson, you have told me all
I wanted to know, so I must tear myself away."
"Must you _really_ be going? Well, Lady Harriet, I've _so_ much enjoyed
our little chat. There are so few persons in a semi-suburban
neighbourhood like this, with whom one can have anything in common. So I
shall hope to see more of you in future. And if," she added, after
ringing for Mitchell, "I _should_ find I've forgotten anything I ought
to have told you about Saunders, I can easily pop in some morning." Lady
Harriet hastened to assure her that she must not think of giving herself
this trouble--after which she took her leave.
"Rather an amusing experience in its way," she was thinking. "Something
to tell Joan when I get back. But oh! _what_ an appalling woman! She's
settled _one_ thing, though. It will be quite impossible to take Jane
Saunders _now_. A pity--because I rather liked the girl's looks!"
Meanwhile the happily unconscious Mrs. Stimpson had settled down in her
chair again with the conviction that she had made a distinctly
favourable impression. She allowed her eyes to wander complacently round
the room, which, with its big bay window looking on the semi-circular
gravel sweep, and its glazed door by the fireplace leading through a
small conservatory, gay with begonias, asters, and petunias to the
garden beyond, was not merely large, by Gablehurst standards, but
undeniably pleasant. She regarded its various features--the white
chimney-piece and over-mantel with Adam decorations in _Cartonpierre_,
the silk fire-screen printed with Japanese photographs, the
cottage-grand, on which stood a tall trumpet vase filled with branches
of imitation peach blossom, the _étagères_ ("Louis Quinze style")
containing china which could not be told from genuine Dresden at a
distance, the gaily patterned chintz on the couches and chairs, the
water-colour sketches of Venice, and coloured terra-cotta plaques
embossed on high relief with views of the Forum and St. Peter's at Rome
on the walls, and numerous "nick-nacks"--an alabaster model of the
Leaning Tower of Pisa, a wood carving of the Lion of Lucerne, and groups
of bears from Berne--all of which were not only souvenirs of her
wedding-journey, but witnesses to Continental travel and general
culture.
She could see nothing that was not in the most correct taste, as Lady
Harriet must have observed for herself, together with the hammered
copper gong, the oak chest, and the china bowl for cards in the hall.
Strange that Saunders should have been the humble means of bringing
about so unexpected a meeting, but Providence chose its own instruments,
and now the seed was sown, Mrs. Stimpson felt she could rely on herself
for the harvest.
And so she took up the latest number of _The Upper Circle_, and read, to
the accompaniment of alternate duologues and soliloquies by thrushes and
blackbirds in the garden, until gradually she drifted into a blissful
dream of being at a garden-party at Lady Harriet's and entreated, not
merely by her hostess, but Royalty itself, to accept the _rôle_ of
Queen at the County Pageant!
She was in the act of doing this gracefully, when the vision was
abruptly ended by the entrance of her elder daughter. Edna was by no
means bad-looking, in spite of her light eyelashes and eyebrows, and the
fact that the _pince-nez_ she wore compressed her small nose in an
unbecoming ridge. Her eyes were larger than her mother's, though of the
same colour, and her hair was of a deeper shade of auburn. Her costume
was of a kind that may be described as the floppily artistic.
"I never heard you come in, my dear," said her mother. "Did you enjoy
your lecture?"
"Quite; I took pages and pages of notes. Nietzsche's _Gospel of the
Superman_ is certainly most striking."
"And _what_ is his Gospel exactly?"
"Oh, well, he teaches that the ideal man ought to rise superior to
conventional prejudices, and have the courage to do as he thinks right
without deferring to ordinary ideas. To be strong in willing what he
wants--all that sort of thing, you know."
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson dubiously. "But, if everybody
acted like that, would it be quite--er--nice?"
"There's no fear of any of the men in Gablehurst being Supermen, at all
events!" said Edna. "They're all perfect slaves to convention! But the
lecturer explained the Nietzschean theories in such a way that he made
us feel there was a great deal to be said for them.... No tea, thanks. I
had mine at the Fletchers. It looks," she added, with a glance at the
tea-cups, "as if you had been entertaining some one, Mother--who was
it?"
"Only Lady Harriet," replied Mrs. Stimpson, with elaborate carelessness.
"_What_ Lady Harriet?" was the intentionally provoking query.
"Really, Edna, one would think there were dozens of them! _The_ Lady
Harriet: Lady Harriet Elmslie, of course."
"Oh," said Edna. "And what did _she_ want?"
"Well, she _came_ to ask after Saunders' character, but she stayed to
tea, and we really struck up quite an intimate friendship, discussing
one thing and another. She's so quiet and unassuming, Edna--absolutely
no _hauteur_. I'm sure you will like her. I told her about you all, and
she seemed _so_ interested. Quite between ourselves, I shouldn't be at
all surprised if she got us invited to take part in the Pageant--she's
on the Committee, you know."
"If I _was_ invited, Mother, I'm not at all sure I shouldn't refuse."
"You must please yourself about that, my dear," said Mrs. Stimpson, who,
perhaps, felt but little anxiety as to the result. "_I_ shall certainly
accept if the part is at all suitable."
She might have said more, if Ruby had not suddenly burst into the room.
Ruby was certainly the flower of the family--an extremely engaging young
person of about ten, whose mischievous golden-brown eyes had long and
curling lashes, and whose vivacious face was set off by a thick mane of
deepest Titian red.
"Oh, Mummy," she announced breathlessly, "I've got invitations for
nearly all my animals while we're away at Eastbourne! Mucius Scævola's
the most popular--everybody asked him, but I think he'll feel _most_ at
home with Daisy Williams. Vivian and Ada Porter will simply love to
have Numa Pompilius, but nobody seems to want Tarquinius Superbus, so I
shall turn him out in the garden, and he must catch worms for himself."
"Dearest child," said her mother, "what are these new animals of yours
with the extraordinary names?"
"They're the same old animals, Mums. I've rechristened them since I
began Roman History with Miss Heritage. Mucius Scævola's the Salamander,
because they're indifferent to fire, like he was--though Miss Heritage
says it wouldn't be kind to try with Mucius. Numa Pompilius is the
Blind-worm--he used to be Kaa--and the Toad has changed from Nobbles to
Tarquinius Superbus."
"I can't understand how you can keep such unpleasant pets as reptiles,"
said Edna.
"Because I like them," said Ruby simply. "And Bobby Williams has
promised, as soon as it gets warmer, to come out on the Common with me
and catch lizards. _Won't_ it be lovely?"
"I hope you won't put one of them down anybody's neck, then, as you did
to Tommy Fletcher."
"That was Mucius," Ruby admitted cheerfully. "But I didn't mean him to
go so far down. And he was very good--he didn't bite Tommy anywhere."
"Little ladies don't play such tricks," said her Mother. "I hope Miss
Heritage doesn't encourage your liking for these horrid creatures?"
"Oh, she doesn't mind, so long as I don't take them out of the aquarium,
but she hates touching them herself."
"Did she come in with you?" her mother inquired, and was told that Miss
Heritage had done so, and had gone upstairs, whereupon Ruby was ordered
to go and take off her things, and stay quietly in the schoolroom till
it was time to come down.
"I don't know if you noticed it, Mother," Edna began, as soon as Ruby
had consented to leave them, "but Miss Heritage had a letter by the
afternoon post which seemed to upset her. I went rather out of my way to
ask her if she had had bad news of any kind, but she did not think
proper to take me into her confidence. Perhaps she might be more open
with _you_."
"My dear," said Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson, with much dignity, "I take no
interest whatever in Miss Heritage's private correspondence."
"Nor I," declared Edna. "I only thought that if she is in any
trouble--She's so secretive, you know, Mums. I've tried more than once
to get her to tell me what cosmetic she uses for her hands--and she
never will own to using any at all!"
"I'm sure, Edna, you've no reason to be ashamed of your hands."
"Oh, they look all right just now," said Edna, examining them
dispassionately. "But they _will_ turn lobster colour at the most
inconvenient times. Hers never do--and it _does_ seem so unfair,
considering--" She broke off here, as Daphne Heritage entered.
"Well, Miss Heritage?" said Mrs. Stimpson, as the girl hesitated on
seeing Edna. "Did you wish to speak to me?"
"I did rather want your advice about something," said Daphne, who had a
paper, and a small leather case in her hands; "I thought I might find
you alone. It doesn't matter--it will do quite well another time."
"Don't let _me_ prevent you, Miss Heritage," said Edna. "If you don't
wish to speak to Mother before me, I've no desire to remain. I was just
going up to change in any case."
She went out with a slightly huffy air, which was not entirely due to
baffled curiosity, for she admired Daphne enough to resent being quietly
kept at a distance.
"It's about this," explained Daphne, after Edna had made her exit--"a
bill that has just been sent on to me." She gave the paper to Mrs.
Stimpson as she spoke. "I don't know quite what to do about it."
She looked very young and inexperienced as she stood there, a slim
girlish figure with masses of burnished hair the colour of ripe corn,
braided and coiled as closely as possible round her small head, but
there was no trace of timidity or subservience in her manner. In the
slight form, with the milk-white skin, delicate profile and exquisite
hands, there was a distinction that struck her employer as quite
absurdly out of keeping with her position.
"The only thing to do about a bill, my dear," said Mrs. Stimpson, "is to
pay it. But nearly thirty pounds is a large sum for you to owe your
milliner."
"It's for things Mother--my adopted mother, you know--ordered for me.
Stéphanie was always told to send in the account to her. But this seems
to have been overlooked, and the executors have sent it on to me. Only I
can't pay it myself--unless you wouldn't mind advancing me the money out
of my salary."
"I couldn't possibly. You forget that it would represent over a year's
salary, and it's by no means certain that you will be with me so long."
"I was afraid you wouldn't," said Daphne, with a little droop at the
corners of her extremely pretty mouth. "So I brought this to show you."
She held out the leather case. "It's the only jewellery I've got. It
belonged to my father, I believe; he and my real mother both died when I
was a baby, you know--and I never meant to part with it. But now I'm
afraid I must--that is, if you think any jeweller would give as much as
thirty pounds for it."
Mrs. Wibberley-Stimpson opened the case, which was much more modern than
the kind of badge or pendant it contained. This was a fairly large oval
stone of a milky green, deeply engraved with strangely formed letters
interlaced in a cypher, and surrounded by a border of dark blue gems
which Mrs. Stimpson decided instantly must be Cabochon star sapphires of
quite exceptional quality. The gold chain attached to it was antique and
of fine and curious workmanship.
She was convinced that the pendant must be worth considerably more than
thirty pounds, though she was no doubt right in telling Daphne that no
jeweller would offer so much for an ornament that was quite out of
fashion. "Besides," she said, "I don't like the idea of any governess of
mine going about offering jewellery for sale. Have Edna or Ruby seen you
wearing this thing?" she asked with apparent irrelevance.
It appeared they had not; Daphne had never worn it herself, and she had
only remembered its existence that afternoon, and found it hidden away
at the back of her wardrobe.
"Well," said Mrs. Stimpson, "it is most unpleasant to me to see a young
girl like you owing all this money to her milliner."
"It isn't very pleasant for _me_," said Daphne ruefully; "but if you
won't advance the money, and I can't or mustn't sell the pendant, I
don't very well see how I can help it."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Mrs. Stimpson. "I really _oughtn't_
to--and under ordinary circumstances I couldn't afford it, but, as it
happens, a great-uncle of mine left me a small legacy not long ago, and
I haven't spent quite all of it yet. So I don't mind buying this for
thirty pounds myself."
"Will you really?" cried Daphne. "How angelic of you!"
"I think it is," said Mrs. Stimpson; "but I feel myself responsible for
you, to some extent. So I'll write you a cheque for the thirty pounds,
and you can send it off to this milliner person at once." She went to
the writing-table and filled up the cheque. "There," she said, handing
it to Daphne, "put it in an envelope and direct it at once--you'll find
a stamp in that box, and it can go by the next post."
"By the way, my dear," she added, as she was leaving the room, "I
needn't tell you that _I_ shall not breathe a word to a soul of our
little transaction, and I should advise you, in your own interests, to
keep it entirely to yourself."
"I was quite wrong about Mrs. Stimpson," Daphne told herself
reproachfully, after she had slipped the letter containing bill and
cheque into the letter-box in the hall. "She _can_ be kind sometimes,
and I've been a little beast to see only the comic side of her! I
daresay she won't even _wear_ that pendant."
But Mrs. Stimpson had every intention of wearing it that same evening.
It is not often that one has the opportunity of doing a kindness and
securing a real bargain at a single stroke; and she knew enough about
jewels to be fully aware that, if the ornament was a trifle
old-fashioned, she had not done at all badly over her purchase.
"It really suits me very well," she thought, as, after putting the last
touches to her evening demi-toilette, she fastened the pendant round her
neck. "Even better than I expected. It was lucky Miss Heritage came to
_me_. A jeweller would have been sure to cheat her, poor child!"
And she went down to the drawing-room feeling serenely satisfied with
herself.