A mist seemed suddenly to roll away from Sir Philip's brain.
"_Miss Ella_," he repeated, with a sort of gasp; "you don't mean to
say--you can't be little Ella St Quentin?"
"Why not?" Ella retorted, sharply still--the "little" was unfortunate.
"I am Ella St Quentin and I have never pretended to be any one else; but
at my age people are not spoken of as if they were three or four years
old."
"I beg your pardon," said Philip.
"And," she went on, "I don't understand why you should speak of me in
that way at all. I don't know who _you_ are."
But Philip did not at once reply--his thoughts for the moment were
pursuing another train. "I can't make out," he said, speaking more to
himself than to her, "why they all mystified us. They must have known
we were dancing together--Madelene, Ermine, certainly, and my
grandmother must have--was it with _her_ you came to the Belvoirs'?" he
exclaimed suddenly. "Was _that_ the reason of Granny's strange freak?"
In her turn, Ella's face looked first astonished, then illumined.
"Are you speaking of Lady Cheynes, my godmother?" she said. "Then are
you Sir Philip Cheynes? Oh, how fearfully stupid of me not to know!
But," and her bewilderment took the same direction as his, "why did none
of them introduce us properly? Of course I never thought of you being
here; I understood till yesterday that you were up in the north
somewhere. I did not hear your surname at all, and I was not sure if
_you_ were `Sir Philip,' though I remembered that much. If I had
thought of it--it is not such a very common name--but I just never
thought of _you_, of my godmother's grandson, at all."
"I see," Philip replied; "and they all lent themselves to
the--`mystification,' that is plain. I confess I don't see much point
in it."
He spoke stiffly, but he was not resenting it on _her_--indeed he had no
reason to do so, but when people are vexed they are not always
reasonable--so Ella remained gracious. Suddenly his eyes fell on her
quaint figure--she had forgotten all about her personal travesty by this
time--and a half dubious, half quizzical smile lighted up his face as if
in spite of himself.
"It seems mystifications all round," he said. "It is, to say the least,
an extraordinary coincidence that I should light upon you like this, all
perfectly got up in the Aschen-puttel style."
"You are very,"--"impertinent" was on the tip of Ella's tongue, but she
suppressed it. "I daresay he has heard of all my iniquities from
Madelene. I am not going to have him endorse her opinion of me," she
thought, and a very charming smile stole over her face, as, colouring
again a little, she replied gently, "You are right. It is _very_ queer
that we should have met again like this," and she went on to explain
Hetty's domestic tribulations.
"It was most kind of you," said Philip warmly. "But," as at that moment
the little girl and her father joined them, "don't you think you had
better return to your own character now? It is very cold, too. Rose,
you mustn't let Hetty keep house alone in this style, my good fellow,"
he went on to the gardener; "the child might have fallen into the fire
and been badly burnt."
It had never happened before, and never should again, the man assured
him civilly. He had not known of his wife's absence; she had, so Hetty
had been charged to explain, been tempted to take advantage of the
unexpected chance of getting her boy to the doctor's; and by the
invariable rule of contrary, Rose himself had been detained at work much
later than usual. While the gardener was thus explaining matters, Ella
had run in to the lodge, and a moment later reappeared in hat and
jacket, minus the apron and the smuts.
"Good-bye, Hetty," she said, and "good-bye Sir Philip Cheynes," she
added, turning to him. "I am going a little further, towards the outer
gate."
Philip looked at her.
"Will you not take your constitutional in another direction?" he said
quietly. "There is--I have something to say to you, which I may not
find another opportunity for."
Ella looked surprised and a little startled. His tone was solemn. Was
he going after all to make out that she deserved lecturing for her
innocent deception? But her expression changed to relief when he went
on, Rose and Hetty having by this time retired--
"It is not exactly something to say; it is rather something to _give_
you. If you don't mind walking beside me while I lead my horse, I will
explain. A--a piece of property of yours has come into my possession.
I had no expectation of course of seeing you here, but I have the--
article in my pocket, because, to tell the truth, I was going to show it
to my cousins and consult them about it. I thought it probable they had
noticed the shoes `Miss Wyndham' wore the other evening if they were the
peculiar-looking ones in question, and that they would be able to tell
me where to find her."
Ella had had hard work to keep down her impatience during this long
explanation, and when he came to the word "shoe" her eyes danced with
delight.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "if you have found my slipper I can't thank you
enough. You don't know how miserable I have been about it," and she
went on to tell how her anxiety to hear if it had been found had brought
her to the lodge that morning. "It must be mine," she went on; "it is
too impossible that such a queer accident should have happened to any
one else the same evening. But please let me see it, that I may be
quite sure."
Philip drew a little parcel out of his pocket and held it out to Ella,
who eagerly unwrapped it. Yes--there it lay--the dainty little
old-world slipper, with infinite pathos about its mellow satin and
quaint buckle to any one who knew its history.
Ella looked inclined to kiss it.
"Oh, how pleased I am," she said. "Do tell me where you found it and
all about it--and how odd it was that you should have noticed the
slippers I had on and known it was mine."
Sir Philip looked at her quizzically.
"I must take your word for it, I suppose, that it _is_ yours," he said.
"_By rights_, you know, you should try it on, at least after Madelene
and Ermine have done so."
"What nonsense," Ella exclaimed. "You are not in earnest?"
It was not till some time afterwards that she understood what he had
meant.
"I can show you the fellow to it, if you like," she added.
"Well--perhaps that would do as well," he agreed, looking much amused.
"And as for trying it on, that _wouldn't_ convince you," she said after
a moment's reflection, "for they're too big for me. They weren't made
for me--"
"Scarcely, unless--you are even more of a fairy personage than I have
suspected. The slippers must be thirty years old at least. If you were
grown-up thirty years ago, you look young for your age," he said.
Ella laughed.
"Yes, I see," she answered. "But, by the by, I wonder you never saw
them before. They belonged to your sis--no, she couldn't have been your
sister--what was she to you, then, Clarice Cheynes?" and she glanced up
in his face with a little frown of perplexity on her own.
A light broke over Philip's.
"They were _hers_!" he exclaimed, "and poor granny disinterred them for
you to dance in!"
"I am her godchild," Ella replied, rearing her head a little as she
spoke.
"Of course. I only meant, what I am sure you think too, that it was
very good of her. People are sometimes more selfish about feelings of
that kind than about anything else. No--I never saw the slippers
before, but I know that granny has a room where she treasures up all the
little possessions of my aunt--who never was my aunt--Clarice."
"Did she die before you were born then?" asked Ella.
"Yes--she died the year my father and mother were married, and I was not
their eldest child," said Sir Philip, "though all the others died as
babies."
They were near the house by this time. Ella looked up dubiously.
"Perhaps you will get on your horse again now," she said, "and ride up
to the door. My sisters are expecting you, I know--perhaps you will
tell them of having met me, and found out who I was."
"Will you not tell them yourself?" he said.
"No, I am going round the other way, behind the house. I have no longer
any interest in watching for the groom," Ella replied, "and I would
rather you told my sisters, please." She hesitated a little--"They,
Madelene, might be a little annoyed, at--at my having been at the lodge,
and all that."
Philip looked surprised.
"I don't think that is at all the sort of thing to vex Maddie," he said.
"Indeed it is rather in Ermine's own line, I should say."
But Ella still looked doubtful, and hurried off, half smiling, but with
a gesture that implied her preference for not making one at the
forthcoming interview.
Philip mounted and rode up, _en regle_, to the door, where, in answer to
his inquiries, he was told that Miss St Quentin was at home and in the
library.
There, sure enough, he found his elder cousin. She started up as he
came in.
"Oh, Philip, that's right," she exclaimed. "We were just hoping you
would come before luncheon. It is so nice to have you at home again,"
she added affectionately.
"It is nice to _be_ home again," he replied, as he went up to the fire
and stood warming his hands at the blaze. Then there fell a little
silence.
"Madelene," said Sir Philip at last, "you haven't yet introduced me to
you sister Ella."
"No," Miss St Quentin replied, "there has not yet been any opportunity
for my doing so," she was beginning, when she suddenly and unaccountably
stopped. "If you will ring, Philip," she said, "I will send to tell
both Ermine and Ella to come."
But Philip did not move towards the bell.
"I don't want them to come just yet," he said. "I want to talk to you a
little first. And besides, Ella is out."
"Ella out," repeated Madelene, looking up and changing colour slightly.
Her manner seemed rather constrained and nervous. "How do you know?"
her glance at him said.
Philip smiled.
"Yes," he said, "I know what you are looking so `funny' about, Maddie,
as we used to say when we were children. You cannot sham the very least
bit in the world; you never could, you know. Yes--I have met Ella, and
the mystification is at an end. But by Jove what it ever began for, I
cannot imagine. Will you not enlighten me?"
Miss St Quentin grew more and more uneasy.
"No," she said, "I can't. It--it was a freak of Ermine's, and Aunt Anna
took it up and joined in it, so _I_ could not oppose it, though to tell
you the truth I never liked it. Of course _at the beginning_ it was
altogether accidental; we had no idea--Ermie and I, I mean--of Aunt
Anna's getting papa to let Ella go to the ball--we had done our utmost
to persuade him, but he wouldn't. And then your being there was
unexpected--and they made a muddle of Ella's name: all that came about
of itself."
"Yes," said Philip. "I see. But I see, too, how cleverly you all--no,
not so much you, Maddie--joined to keep up the mistake, though upon my
word I can't see any point in it. I cannot find fault with my
grandmother, but I shall have it out with Ermine."
Madelene looked distressed; she saw that Philip was on the point of
being angry.
"It is my clumsiness," she said. "If you had seen Ermine first it would
have been all right. She would have made you see it differently--but
don't be vexed about it, Philip. I do beg you not to be. I do _so_
want to have no more worries in which Ella is concerned. I am so tired
of misunderstandings and all that kind of bother."
Philip took her up at once.
"Have you had many bothers, poor Maddie?" he said. "Is she--is Ella
not--not nice and gentle with you?"
Madelene felt as if she could have bitten her tongue off for having
spoken so ill-advisedly.
"No, of course I didn't mean to say anything against Ella," she replied
quickly. "You shouldn't take one up so, Philip. It makes me think
Ermine was right."
"Right in what? Maddie, I am tired of all these half-speeches and
cross-purposes. And I foresee I shall very likely have a quarrel with
Ermine if you won't speak out. What was she right in, and why did she
want me to make your young sister's acquaintance without knowing who she
was."
"She thought--as it had happened so--it was not our doing at first,
remember--she thought you would like Ella better, judge her for herself
as it were, if you met her as a stranger. Ermie has fancied you were a
little prepossessed _against_ Ella, and, I think," Miss St Quentin went
on, consideringly, "I _think_, perhaps she blames herself a little for
its being so. You remember--that day when Ella first arrived--Ermine
had been really hardly fair about her."
Philip sat listening.
"Well?" he said, after waiting as if for his cousin to continue.
"That's all," said Madelene. "It really is, Philip. I can't tell you
any more of what Ermine thinks or doesn't think, and as it is, I didn't
want to tell you this. You might have treated it, I do think, as a
simple little piece of fun. But now that I have said so much, I trust
you to make no to-do about it."
"I shall have it out with granny," remarked Philip; "but that's our own
affair, hers and mine." But he said no more about quarrelling with
Ermine.
After a while he looked up and related to Madelene how he and Ella had
met. A variety of expressions crossed Madelene's face as he spoke.
"I wish you had not met her for the first time--"
"But it wasn't the first time," Philip interrupted.
"Well--you know what I mean--the first time at _home_, in that
extraordinary guise. She must have looked comical," said Madelene,
laughing however. "She is very impulsive."
"Impressionable, I should say," said Philip. "And very warm-hearted. I
like to see that sort of impulsiveness," he added heartily, watching
Madelene's face rather closely the while.
Again a slightly uneasy look stole over it.
"Yes," she said, "it was kind, thoroughly kind of her to help poor
Hetty."
But even in this cordial praise there was a suggestion of reserve which
did not escape Philip.
"Cross-purposes. They're all at cross-purposes," he thought, "and I'm
afraid Maddie's in a mood for a good long ride on her hobby-horse at
present. Madelene," he said suddenly after some moments silence,
"you've had a letter from Bernard lately. I know you have, for he wrote
to me by the same mail."
"In that case I need not give you any news, as you will have heard it
all direct," Miss St Quentin replied dryly.
"Come now, Maddie, I know what that means. You don't want to talk about
him. Is there no change then--do you see no prospect of any?"
"None at all," Madelene replied, in a voice which she strove to make as
expressionless as possible.
"It's rather hard upon Omar, I must say," said Philip; and if his object
were to rouse his cousin, he succeeded.
"Did I ever say it wasn't hard on him?" she exclaimed. "Is it my fault?
Have I left undone _anything_ to make him give it up?"
"I don't say you have. I don't say that in that way you are to blame,"
said Philip quietly; "always allowing that the obstacles _are_ as
insuperable as you make out."
"They are more so--worse and worse," said Madelene, with a rather wintry
smile.
"Then you will forbid his coming home, as he can now, I suppose?"
"I have no right to do so, but if he does, I--"
The rest of her sentence was left to the imagination, for at that moment
the door opened, and Ermine, followed by Ella, made her appearance.
Ermine gave no one time to feel awkward.
"It is too bad of you, Philip, and of you, Ella, too," she said
laughing, "to have balked me of my fun. It would have been too lovely
to see you both looking so astonished."
"I am not very fond of looking ridiculous for the amusement of my
friends, though I would do a good deal to oblige you, Ermine," said Sir
Philip dryly.
Ella's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. She would not like Sir Philip
Cheynes to speak to _her_ in that tone, she said to herself. But Ermine
did not seem to mind in the least.
"I can stand your withering speeches, my dear boy," she said coolly.
"It was great fun all the same, and Aunt Anna enjoyed it as much as I
did. You can have it out with her, if you like, when you go home."
"I intend to do so," he replied.
Ella stood glancing from one to the other with a rather comical look of
perplexity on her pretty face. They seemed on very free and easy terms,
these sisters of hers with their cousin. Somehow she had not quite
realised it, and it surprised her a little. She had never seen anything
quite of the same kind before. It was not flirtation, and yet--she was
not by any means sure but that the brother and sisterly love covered
some deeper and tenderer feeling, and she watched and listened with
peculiar curiosity. Madelene, she observed, looked up with some anxiety
when she heard the bandying of words between Ermine and her cousin.
"Philip," she said half reproachfully in a low voice--he was standing
near her--"you promised me?"
Sir Philip turned, with the smile which was one of his charms.
"Don't be afraid, Maddie," he said almost tenderly, it seemed to Ella.
"Ermine, my dear, we must not even _play_ at quarrelling; it troubles
dear old Mad."
"Shall we kiss and be friends then--eh, Phil?" said Ermine saucily; and
when Sir Philip began something about taking her at her word, and she
ensconced herself defiantly behind her elder sister's chair, Madelene
laughed with hearty pleasure, her whole face lighted up with
satisfaction at seeing that there was no real danger of misunderstanding
between the two.
"I have it," said Ella to herself. "It isn't Ermine herself so much.
It is Madelene who wants Philip for her; _that_ explains the keeping me
out of his way when I first came, and all the rest of is. I wonder if
my godmother wishes it too? Yet the trick the other night can hardly
have been on that account. I don't see any object in it. I suppose it
was just a freak of Ermine's, and that Madelene and my godmother too
gave in to her. Ermine _is_ so spoilt."
But she was interrupted in these wise and profound cogitations. Ermine
suddenly gave an exclamation.
"Oh dear," she said. "I am forgetting to give you this note from Mrs
Belvoir. I met James with it as I was crossing the hall."
"A note only--no parcel," said Madelene in a tone of disappointment. "I
am so sorry, Ella," she went on after running her eyes down the two or
three hurried lines which the envelope contained. "I am so sorry. Mrs
Belvoir knows nothing of the--of your lost property. I am so sorry for
you, dear."
A pleasant light spread over her cousin's face as he caught the last
words. They seemed to assure him of Madelene's kindliness and sympathy.
Ella too was touched by them.
"About the shoe, you mean," she said. "Oh, Madelene, I was just going
to tell you. I am not surprised or disappointed for,"--here she glanced
at Philip--"won't you tell them how it was?" she went on, half shyly; "I
don't think I heard quite exactly how or when you happened to find it."
"_You_ found it! Phil found it! oh, how lovely!" cried Ermine. "Have
you got it in your pocket, Philip, or were you afraid of sitting down
upon it and smashing it?"
Philip frowned a little.
"Out with it," said Ermine, "then--what should you do then?--we'll have
to skip the herald part of the business. Go down on your knees--isn't
that it?--and present it first to Maddie and then to me. Of course _we_
can't get it on, and then you summon--"
Philip began to look distinctly annoyed; Ella, notwithstanding her usual
quickness, seemed merely bewildered.
"I have not got it," said Sir Philip; "of course I returned it at once
to its rightful owner."
"I have got it," said Ella. "It is up stairs with its fellow. Sir
Philip gave it to me when we met. Would you mind telling where you
found it?"
"It was just outside the hall door at the Manor," the young man replied.
"I was standing there not long after my last dance with--with _Miss
Wyndham_," he added with a little smile, "and saw it lying--the buckle
gleaming in the moonlight."
"Like _glass_" interrupted Ermine; "dear me, you are quite poetical,
Philip. It must have been that time you went to catch some friends of
yours whom you wanted to say good-night to before they left."
"Yes," said Philip, simply, "it was."
And Ella fixed her brown eyes on him as he spoke.