"Mr Thorold--this is a most adventurous afternoon! I have something to
tell you about myself. It will explain how it comes about that Charmion
and I--Wait for me here for a quarter of an hour. I'll come back,--but
there is something I must do first. You'll understand when I come back.
Please wait!"
I hurried out, rang for Bridget, ordered her to get rid of the orphan,
and come back to help. The wardrobe was pulled from beneath the bed,
off came spectacles and wig, my face was washed free from the
disfiguring marks, my hair was coiled, a dainty blue gown slipped over
my head. The quarter of an hour grew into a half, the sound of pacing
footsteps sounded through the wall. I laughed, slipped my feet into
satin slippers, and threw open the drawing-room door.
He had his back towards me at that moment; he wheeled round, started,
stared, made a curious jerking bow. His face showed no sign of
recognition, only surprise and a veiled impatience.
"Mr Thorold, I believe?" I said smiling.
His forehead knitted into lines; he stared more closely.
"Billy's father, I believe?" I said, smiling more broadly. "The man
who ate up my sandwiches!"
"Oh! you--you--you minx!" he gasped loudly.
Oh! it was gloriously amusing! Edward Hallett and Charmion were nowhere
for the moment; he could do nothing but gasp and stare, walk round me,
examine me from one point of view and then another, gasp and exclaim
again.
"You--; _you_ are Miss Harding! Miss Harding was you! Am I dreaming,
or is this real life? How did you do it? _Why_ did you do it? But
your mouth is a different shape! This beats anything I ever knew! You
used to look round-shouldered. Why? Why? _Why_? How could you be so
mad?"
Then I made him sit down, and told him the whole story from the
beginning; and, like every one else, he disapproved violently at first,
and then, by slow degrees, came round to my own point of view. Like
Bridget, he wanted to know why I couldn't play fairy godmother to the
"Mansions" with my own face; but when I asked him if I could have done
so much for _him_, he acknowledged hastily that I could not. His
expression, half horrified, half shy, spoke more eloquently than his
words.
"No! you see it would not have worked. Old Miss Harding had a pull over
Evelyn Wastneys. My name is Evelyn Wastneys, by the way, but that is a
secret between us for the moment. And I am Charmion Fane's friend, just
as you are Edward Hallett's, and the good, good God is going to give us
the joy of seeing them happy together again. Mr Thorold! they have
both been to blame, they have both had a share in spoiling their own
lives--we won't give them another chance! You and I, as staid,
level-headed outsiders, are going to stage-manage their reconciliation."
"How are we going to manage it?"
"Listen!" I said. "Listen!"
It's a queer world. It's a very queer world! People have said so
before, but I wish to say it again, to shout it aloud at the pitch of my
voice.
Hardly had I changed back into Miss Harding, and finished my evening
meal, when a knock came to the door, and there entered Mrs Travers.
Furious! She had returned from her day in the country; had seen her
husband that afternoon; had heard from his lips what I had dared to
think and to _say_! If she had been defending a homing dove, she could
not have been more outraged, more aflame. She wished me to understand,
once and for all, that for the future _no_ communication, no
acquaintance of any kind was possible between us. She would pass me by
in the street without a glance.
Oh, very well!