WHEN Elfreda returned about half an hour later she was dressed for the
evening. Girlie was thrilled by the picture of charm and fascination
that she made. If not exactly pretty, she had a highly finished
daintiness and beyond everything the strength of personality which
transcends physical beauty yet is in itself a form of beauty. Somehow
the sight of Elfreda cap-à-pie, bright, strong and audacious meant a
great deal to her fellow conspirator.
“Now please remember,” said the Evil Genius with that impersonal air
which seemed to add to her power, “you simply _must_ play up.”
Poor Girlie had no spirit left in her. So black was the future that
it was mere mockery to speak of “playing up.” Besides, where was the
necessity now?
Elfreda looked her up and down with an eye of frank but not unkindly
criticism.
“Don’t let go, whatever you do--for your own sake. Your dress is most
becoming.” She really _was_ pretty. Madame Lucile’s latest creation
might have been made for her. And the forlorn look in her tear-dimmed
eyes was an added weapon ... if the little noodle only knew how to use
it!
Elfreda led the way along the corridor and downstairs to the drawing
room. There seemed to be a buzz of suppressed excitement as they came
in. Most of the others were already there. They did not want to miss a
moment of the comedy. All might be said to be on tiptoe to learn the
next turn in the game.
Girlie would dearly have liked to sink through the floor, yet she
was sustained by the imperious power which still enslaved her. And
before dinner was announced an event occurred which did much to lessen
the painful tension of the Deputy. In fact it appeared to have an
immediate effect upon everybody. Mrs. Minever pointed to an article
which enclosed the third finger of her left hand and said with a rather
forced laugh, “Behold, the missing ring!”
“You don’t mean to say you’ve found it, Kate,” cried her lord.
Sure enough, Mrs. Minever had. It seemed that the precious ring
had merely been mislaid. She was willing to take the whole of the
blame upon herself, although it should really belong to a stupid and
forgetful servant.
“Well, I call that the limit!”
Mr. Minever was not alone in so regarding the incident. A deep growl of
humorous disgust slowly permeated the room. “There now, didn’t I say
that man from Scotland Yard was a perfect fool!”
A shout of laughter greeted the indignant words of Lord Duckingfield.
It was freely owned that the worthy Midlander had said so from the
first. He had stood alone in his defense of the little governess. His
sportsmanship had been admired, if skeptics deplored his gullibility.
And now at this dramatic moment, like the big-hearted man he was, he
contrived to underscore this admirable quality. For as the hostess
and Lord Carabbas led the way to the dinner table, he moved across to
Girlie, bowed to her and offered his arm.
It was a very hilarious meal. Everybody realized that they were on
their honor “to play up,” There could be no middle course. In the
eyes of the fastidious these people might be vulgar, they might be
second-rate, yet they were fully entitled to plume themselves on their
sportsmanship.
Certainly an excellent dinner blended with their high spirits enabled
them to carry the thing off brilliantly. Even Lord Carabbas, feeling
his reputation as a sportsman to be at stake, made quite a brave
showing. He still cherished homicidal feelings towards his youngest
daughter, but the character of the food, the quality of the wine, the
chaff and the gayety helped him to keep them well in hand. It was a
dickens of a business, but he must “stick it” to the bitter end.
By one of those odd strokes of fortune which seem so inconsequent and
yet obey the laws of reason, Miss Cass suddenly became the heroine of
the hour. Everybody seemed thankful that an undeserved stigma had been
removed; besides, the only means of punishing the culprit-in-chief was
to canonize the understudy. The patrician impudence of Lady Elfreda
could not be forgiven. It went so deep that it could only be wiped out
with blood. Meanwhile, it had to be suffered and this was best achieved
by absolving Miss Cass and even making much of her.
Perhaps for that reason General Norris, an undoubted figure of romance,
was not acclaimed as the hero. The proud position was reserved for
Sir Toby Philpot or with more accuracy it might be said that Sir
Toby reserved it for himself. The little baronet had all the airs of
a Congreve or a Sheridan with a dash of Molière thrown in. Superior
people who had said “The Lady of Laxton” was far-fetched or impossible
had been refuted wonderfully by what had occurred. The series of
situations he had devised for his masterpiece had been outdone by these
amazing events.
What a consolation it is that no matter what absurdities imagination
may bring forth, Real Life never has any difficulty in going one better!
Odd as the circumstances were, there was not a suspicion of constraint.
Mr. Montagu Jupp saw to that. As a matter of course he presided over
the revels. His badinage rolled from one end of the table to the other,
his wit vollied unceasingly. True to himself, in as rare a moment as
life had given him, he spared neither age nor sex nor social position.
Even an enraged parent finding a most excellent dinner to be a real
stimulus to a sense of humor could not resist Montagu’s audacity.
It was not so much what he said, it was the way in which he said it.
Nevertheless, the great man’s words were exceedingly to the point.
What, for example, could have been more apposite than the impromptu
speech in which he proposed the health of Lord Duckingfield? He rose at
a moment when a lull was threatening and in terms which set the table
in a roar he offered that peer sincere felicitations on his approaching
marriage. Moreover, he ventured to link with the toast the name of
their friend Miss Cass.
The toast was honored with acclamation. No doubt the acclamation was
the louder for the fact that these primitive people were fully aware
that for once even the admired Montagu had sailed rather close to the
wind. There was a moment when the success of the _ballon d’essai_ hung
in the balance. In this world there is a limit to most things, after
all!
For the brief space of thirty seconds the look on the face of
the worthy Midlander seemed to promise an early delivery of the
long-delayed punch on Montagu’s nose. It was nearly fifty years since
he had last received one at his private school. But as the sequel
proved, Montagu’s wonderful faculty of divination had judged to a
nicety the thickness of the ice.
Lord Duckingfield rose slowly and heavily to his feet and thanked the
company for their kind words. He thanked them not only on his own
behalf, but--turning to the bewildered little girl at his side with
the most courtly bow he could command--also on behalf of the lady who
he hoped would do him the honor to become his wife.
The effect of the announcement may have been a trifle marred by a loud
shriek from the little baronet. Stimulated by Sir Toby’s threat of
hysteria, Mr. Jupp broke suddenly into “For he’s a jolly good fellow.”
The strain was promptly taken up and musical honors were bestowed upon
my lord.
In the meantime the bewildered Girlie was passing through a sort
of dream. She could not believe her ears. At any rate, she could
not believe the words of Lord Duckingfield. She was really in love
with this good fellow. It was not merely that he alone could stand
between her and a cruel world, it was not merely that he was her only
protector; she loved him for his manliness, his generosity, his large
simplicity. But a girl like herself could never hope to be his wife,
particularly after having made of him a public laughing stock.
Still it is the unexpected that happens. An hour later, in the lee of
the hall stairs, Lord Duckingfield was able to prove to Girlie Cass
that he fully intended to be as good as his word.
About the same time, in the seclusion of the library, Elfreda took
pains to prove to George Norris that she also was determined to keep
faith with him. A stormy interview with her father did something to
nerve her for the task. But, in any case, her mind was made up. Her
year in London with the V. A. D. had opened her eyes to the world
and the things around her. She saw a chance of permanent escape from
the stuffy circle in which she had been brought up. Her pompous,
caste-ridden parents, her narrow, conventional sisters--what did they
stand for, after all?