MISS MAKE-BELIEVE WAKES UP
IT becomes necessary that we should return to the deck of that yacht
_Blue Bird_, there to discover Mr. Daniel Meggison beaming upon Gilbert
Byfield, and inwardly congratulating himself on having once more
stepped straight into the heart of a difficult and delicate business.
We have to imagine the state of mind of that misguided young man
Gilbert, in once again finding himself saddled with Mr. Daniel Meggison.
Yet, if the truth be told, there was behind this resentment some faint
sneaking feeling of relief. In imagination he had gone over scenes that
must presently be enacted on that yacht; and always had come against a
dead wall, beyond which he could not go; and that dead wall had sprung
up hard and firm whenever he thought of how he must look into the eyes
of Bessie Meggison. He had seen her in many different moods--still
always in his imagination; but, to do the man credit, he had seen her
always pure. Which is only another way of saying that she had always
been the girl he had first imagined her to be.
Shorn of all the romantic element in it, the thing had painted itself
in brutal colours; and Byfield had been able to leap the years, as
it were, and to see her in the future. He had set out to do this
thing with the finest motives, and it was not his fault entirely that
his hand had been forced, and that he had been compelled to take a
different course from that he had at first contemplated; nevertheless
he could not blink the fact that what he was to do now was shameful.
So that the coming of Daniel Meggison, while it changed every plan he
had, yet relieved the situation of awkwardness; there were to be none
of those scenes between himself and Bessie, when she would demand an
explanation he could not fully give.
Nevertheless (such is the inconsistency of man) he rebelled at the
thought that once again this man Meggison was to take matters into
his own hands, and to do as he liked, with the unconscious aid of the
girl. Gilbert was quite prepared to end the matter, and, however,
reluctantly, to be done with the whole business for ever; but he was
not prepared to go on with it under present conditions. The thing
resolved itself into the ridiculous; this carrying away into the world
of Mr. Daniel Meggison, in the absurd frock-coat and silk hat of his
supposed respectability.
Dejectedly enough, Gilbert showed the girl over the yacht--Daniel
Meggison tailing behind, and expressing loud approval of everything.
Then, so soon as it could be managed, the young man got rid of Bessie,
and approached the father. For he had determined that now he would no
longer mince matters.
"I'm afraid I don't quite understand the position, Meggison," said
Gilbert, standing leaning over the side while the old man stood beside
him. "What do you imagine I'm going to do; what do you think is going
to happen, now that you have come here with Bessie?"
Mr. Daniel Meggison opened wide eyes of virtuous astonishment. "What am
I going to do?" he echoed. "Is it possible that you imagined, sir, that
I was going to allow my daughter to come here alone? Is it possible
that you thought that her old father would be so neglectful of her
interests as to permit such a thing? What in the name of all that's
moral did you think I should do?"
That was a poser indeed; Gilbert bit his lip and said nothing. Mr.
Daniel Meggison pursued his advantage relentlessly.
"My child, sir, has no mother," he went on in a subdued tone. "I have
not been fortunate, Mr. Byfield, so far as the world is concerned,
but yet I have held up my head. I have been father and mother too to
my girl; she has never been able to complain that I have not watched
over her. Consequently, when she comes to me, and in the joy of her
girlish heart says to me--'Father--I love this man, and this man loves
me'--I take her to my heart, and I rejoice with her. Nevertheless,
sir"--Daniel Meggison wagged his head sternly at the other
man--"nevertheless, knowing the ways of men, I say to myself that I
must be careful, and I must be watchful. My suspicions are aroused when
I learn that there is to be a secret stealing away from the house--with
talk of a yacht--and a voyage--and unknown countries. When my child
turns to me, and says naturally and simply--'You will of course come
with me, father'--the tears gather in my eyes, and I know that all is
well. Providence has arranged that I am to shepherd my child, after
all. And here I am."
The difficulty lay, of course, in the fact that the old schemer was
absolutely right; out of the lips of another man his words would have
sounded magnificently indeed. Setting aside the fact that he had been
working for himself, and had followed the girl simply because she led
the way to that gold mine Daniel Meggison had discovered in his old
age, the man was absolutely right in what he had done, and Gilbert had
no word in reply. But after a moment or two he turned to Meggison, and
said bitterly enough the only thing he felt he could say.
"Very well, Meggison--we will grant that you are right," he said. "But
you must understand that I am not going to carry you about the world
for your own pleasure; I shouldn't think of such a thing. Since the
moment when I did a mad thing for the sake of this girl you have done
your best to drain me; you have, in fact, announced your intention
of living upon me for the rest of your life. Therefore I'll end the
matter; since I cannot help Bessie without being preyed on by you for
your own purposes, I will not help her at all. The game is ended; you
can go back to that miserable, shiftless, shifty life you were living
at the time I first met you. Take Bessie away, and let's put an end to
the matter. I've done with it."
Daniel Meggison walked after him, and laid a detaining hand on his arm.
"Not so fast, my young friend--not so fast," he urged. "For the sake
of my child, and for the sake of the past, I will overlook certain
references to what you term my miserable, shiftless, shifty existence;
I will swallow that particular insult, as I have swallowed others. But
this matter cannot be ended in the fashion you suggest. Nay more--it
shall not be ended."
"We'll see about that," said Gilbert. "I give you fair warning that you
are to get off this boat as soon as you can possibly manage it; you are
to make what excuses you like to Bessie; and you are not to come back
here, nor to go again to Fiddler's Green. In fact, so far as Fiddler's
Green is concerned, I may tell you that I have given instructions to
the servants there that your credit is stopped, and that you are not to
be admitted if you go to the place again."
"I guessed as much," said Daniel, with a grin. "That was one reason
why I pursued you here--because I really wanted you to understand that
you can't take people up one minute, and drop them the next, like
so many hot potatoes. I did not seek you, young man; you sought me;
consequently you've got to put up with me. I decline to go."
"You'll think better of it presently," said Gilbert, turning away
helplessly.
"Sir--I defy you!" said Daniel Meggison, in a stage whisper, as he ran
after the other man. "You dare not do anything--because you dare not
tell Bessie. If I wasn't a weakling, without a penny to bless myself
with in the world, I would not shelter myself behind my child. But you
compel me to do so--and I am not ashamed. I defy you. You dare not tell
Bessie the truth!"
Gilbert knew only too well that that was strictly true; he went
below, nursing his wrath, and wondering what had better be done. Mr.
Daniel Meggison, mildly jubilant, went down below also, in search of
refreshment.
Now that astute servant Pringle had had instructions that directly
the guest expected by Gilbert arrived the _Blue Bird_ was to start.
Consequently he went below now in search of his master, and finding
him, pointed out that the captain was ready, and only awaited Gilbert's
instructions. Gilbert Byfield, in a quandary indeed, told the man
angrily that he had changed his mind.
"I'm not going to start yet at all, Pringle," he said.
"Very good, sir," said Pringle cheerfully. "Expecting anybody else,
sir?"
"The Lord only knows!" exclaimed Gilbert. "I shouldn't be surprised if
everybody else came--any number of them. We must wait, at any rate; I
won't start yet."
"Very good, sir," said Pringle; and retired wondering. "'Shouldn't be
surprised if everybody came.' Wonder what he means?" muttered the man
to himself. "However, it doesn't matter; only it doesn't look as if we
should have a very cheery or chatty party."
Meanwhile those who were on their way to the yacht were proceeding as
fast as various trains would carry them. Mrs. Julia Stocker and her
husband had discovered that by taking a route across country they would
avoid the necessity of going to London, and would arrive at Newhaven
very late that night; they chose that route accordingly. Mr. Aubrey
Meggison made a dash for London, and caught the mail train down--as
did also Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her daughter, piloted by Jordan Tant.
As, however, they had never seen Aubrey (so far, at least, as the
ladies were concerned), and as Mr. Jordan Tant was too busy even to
notice him, it happened that they all travelled down by the same train
together, without mutual discovery.
Simon Quarle, for his part, was unlucky enough to miss the mail train,
but found on that particular day that there was another and a slower
train, half an hour later; by that he travelled, on his way to find
that yacht on which all his thoughts were centred.
Now it happened that on that particular night a dense and heavy white
fog, with indeed almost a suggestion of the "London particular" to add
to its density, settled down upon Newhaven, and upon the coast for some
miles inland, and upon the sea that washed that coast. A perplexing fog
for the summer, and one not to be accounted for; and it only concerns
us in so far that many strange things were to happen under the mantle
of it. Pringle eyed it with concern, for it meant that there was no
possibility of a start being made; and Pringle was of a restless
disposition, with a love of the sea that was as incongruous as that
suggestion of humour in his eyes. However, there was the fog, and they
had to make the best of it.
But Pringle was troubled, because he could not quite understand what
was happening, or what was going to happen. He knew enough of his
master and of that master's moods to know that he must not question him
further; and he had a vague notion that there might be other people
coming to the yacht, or there might not. Being of a philosophical turn
of mind, he decided to be prepared for anything that might happen.
Then, in the most surprising fashion, various people drifted in,
sulkily or suspiciously, out of the fog, and confronted Pringle. In the
first place a lanky youth, with his hat on the back of his head, and
with a cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth; a youth who was
anxious to know whether this really was the yacht _Blue Bird_, owned
by Mr. Gilbert Byfield; and whether, further, a young lady and an old
gentleman had come on board already. Being assured as to these points,
Mr. Aubrey Meggison instructed Pringle in a lordly fashion to show him
to a cabin.
"And there's no call for you to mention that I've arrived; I'll break
it to 'em later," said Aubrey.
Next there drifted in out of the night Mrs. Ewart-Crane and Enid,
piloted by the anxious Jordan Tant; and in this case there was a long
consultation on the quay, while Pringle stood waiting, before they
consented to go on board. And there Mr. Jordan Tant button-holed
Pringle at once, and explained the situation.
"No one is to be disturbed so late as this; Mrs. Ewart-Crane will
choose her own time for an interview with Mr. Byfield. Let them retire
somewhere--the ladies, I mean--and show me some place where I can be
out of the way also. With daylight the atmosphere will be likely to
clear, in more ways than one."
"Very good, sir," said the obliging Pringle; and proceeded to
accommodate the party without further delay.
The coming of Mr. and Mrs. Stocker would have surprised any other man;
but Pringle was equal even to them. He scratched his head a little
as he thought of what the accommodation was; but cheerfully solved a
difficulty that was growing in his mind by whispering to Mr. Edward
Stocker--"Man and wife, sir, I presume?"--and on being assured that
that was the fact, conducting them with some ceremony and much delicacy
to one cabin.
Pringle had finally decided that the vessel was fairly well stocked,
and was discussing the situation with the captain, when he was hailed
for the last time from the quay; and after preliminaries there
descended to him the square-shouldered figure of Simon Quarle. Once
again Pringle was button-holed, and once again he proved equal to the
emergency.
"Yes, sir--quite right, sir; young lady and elderly gentleman. Best not
disturb them till the morning, sir; sunshine an' daylight makes a world
of difference, if the temper is at all 'eated, sir. Mr. Byfield, sir,
wouldn't care to be disturbed, I know. Cold night, sir, with the fog;
could I get you anything, sir?"
"What you can get me is a bunk of some sort--some place I can sleep
in," said Simon Quarle, in a determined voice. "And you need not let
anyone know that I'm here; I'll explain to Mr. Byfield myself in the
morning."
"Very good, sir," replied the smiling but bewildered Pringle. "This
way, sir."
Pringle counted them on his fingers, and shook his head over them, and
decided that they were a little mixed. Proud of the way in which he had
accommodated the party, he went on deck, and assured the captain that
it was all right, but that they were "a rummy lot." Being summoned in a
great hurry by Gilbert Byfield, he discovered that gentleman evidently
in a very fierce and bitter humour, striding up and down his cabin.
Pringle discreetly remained at the door.
"Oh, Pringle"--Gilbert turned quickly as the man appeared--"let it be
understood that we start as early as possible in the morning--directly
it clears. Let there be no delay. Do you understand?"
"Certainly, sir--perfectly, sir," said Pringle. He hesitated at the
door, and came a step or two into the cabin. "And--and the passengers,
sir?"
Gilbert of course understood him to refer to Mr. Daniel Meggison and
Bessie; he answered curtly enough. "They are not to be disturbed; they
go with me," he said.
"Very good, sir," said Pringle, in the hushed tones of one labouring
under deep amazement. "Very good indeed, sir." Then he vanished.
There were, of course, excellent reasons why the various members of
that extraordinary company should keep out of each other's way. Mr.
Jordan Tant, in particular, conjured up in a vivid imagination the
wrath of Gilbert Byfield at discovering that Mrs. Ewart-Crane and her
daughter were on board. The Stockers were too much overawed by their
surroundings, and too much afraid of the result of that impulsive
action taken by Mrs. Julia Stocker, to do anything but remain in the
cabin that had been allotted to them, a little frightened at what they
had done. Aubrey intended to wait for that moment when he could throw
himself, as he had done so often, on the protection of his sister; and
Simon Quarle was fiercely determined to wait until daylight, and then
confront Byfield on his own deck, and have the matter out with him.
So far as Pringle was concerned, he dared not, of course, again
approach his master; and gradually, as sleep settled down comfortably
on the various passengers, the fog lifted, and the fair moon shone
forth, and the crew set about preparations for departure. Presently the
engines started, and the _Blue Bird_ glided out of Newhaven Harbour
into the English Channel, and turned westward. Unexpected journeys
are always tiring; and all those with whom we are concerned had made
unexpected journeys that day. They slept soundly, lulled to slumber by
the throbbing of the engines, and the sound of the waves through which
they churned their way.
Almost the first of the company to wake in the morning and to come
on deck was Bessie. The _Blue Bird_ was plunging and tearing through
a choppy sea, but the new sensation was delightful; she had never
experienced anything like it before. New ideas, and new hopes and
desires, seemed to be buffeted into her by the boisterous wind; above
all, it was good to feel that she was really afloat with Gilbert on
this great sea, and to know also that her father was safely on board
with her. She encountered Gilbert; and for a moment or two they held
hands shyly, the man forgetting readily enough all that had happened.
"Good morning," she said, ducking her head to avoid the wind, and
laughing.
"Good morning, Bessie mine," he responded. "You look as fresh as a
rose."
"You were not hurt with me for bringing poor father with me
yesterday--were you?" she asked. "You see, I couldn't very well come
alone--and poor father loves the sea; in fact he says that he has an
adventurous spirit that has been kept severely in check. You didn't
mind, did you?"
"I don't mind anything this morning," he assured her. "All the little
cares and troubles and worries seem to have been left behind in the
narrow life that I have lived; this morning I breathe a freer, better
air, and you are with me; what more could any man desire? Come to
breakfast, my dear; I'm hungry, if you're not."
In the midst of breakfast Mr. Daniel Meggison appeared, very much
dishevelled, and with a wild and curious stare in his eyes not to be
accounted for by the mere strangeness of his surroundings. During
the progress of the meal he more than once broke out into a chuckle
of laughter; and then checked himself, and became amazingly solemn.
In the very act of cracking an egg he stopped, like one haunted,
listening; chuckled again, and then became solemn again; and made a
most surprising remark to Gilbert.
"Byfield--do you know what I did? It wasn't drink, because your man
only brought me one in the course of a long and thirsty evening--and
it wasn't dreams, because I slept soundly. But I"--he glanced over his
shoulder, and his face became strangely convulsed again--"I opened the
wrong cabin door!"
"Well--what of that?" asked Gilbert.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," said Daniel; and again became remarkably
solemn.
As a matter of fact Daniel Meggison, staggering along a corridor in the
ship that morning, had opened a cabin door, and had seen that which
caused his hair to rise and his flesh to creep. The vision before
him, in the mere fragment of time before he closed the door again,
was that of Mrs. Julia Stocker, leaning half-way out of a bunk and
groaning; while Mr. Stocker held on to another bunk with one hand, and
endeavoured to dress himself with the aid of the other, the while he
groaned in concert. Daniel Meggison had been so alarmed that he had
closed the door hurriedly, and had come away, certain in his own mind
that he had been deceived, and that this was but a mere uneasy vision.
After breakfast, however, he went down again and proceeded to explore.
Discovering again that cabin, the door of which he had opened, he
once more peered in, and once more saw the figures of the Stockers;
retreated hurriedly, and began to have a dim idea of what had happened.
He opened another door, and came upon Simon Quarle, also desperately
ill, and too far gone to take any notice of him; slammed that door, and
stood in the rocking, heaving vessel, striving to understand what had
happened. He was on the point of further investigation, when Pringle
came delicately and skilfully towards him, balancing a small tray on
which was a glass.
"Morning, sir," said Pringle cheerfully. "A bit fresh--isn't it, sir?"
"Too fresh for me," said Daniel Meggison, clutching at the man. "Here,
I say, my fine fellow--a word with you. Who came on board last night?"
Pringle, balancing the tray and watching the glass upon it, answered
deliberately. "Mr. Byfield first, sir--and you and the young lady.
That's three. Then a large lady and a small gent--married--names
unknown----"
"Stocker. I've seen them," said Daniel. "Was that all?"
"Oh, by no means, sir," said Pringle cheerfully. "Two other ladies, and
a small gentleman very much out of breath; another gentleman, tall and
thin, that asked most particular about you and the lady, and said you
wasn't to be disturbed; smoking a cigarette, that gentleman was, sir."
"Aubrey--my disgraceful son--for a thousand pounds!" said Daniel.
"Clever boy, Aubrey; knows his way about."
"And last, sir, just as I thought we had shipped the lot of 'em, in
a manner of speaking, another gentleman, with a very loud voice and
what I might call a way of snapping at a man. Square shoulders--clean
shaven."
"Simon Quarle!" exclaimed Daniel Meggison. "We've got the whole
menagerie!"
"Exactly, sir. Just what occurred to me, sir. You'll excuse me, sir, I
know; lady very ill along 'ere--the married one."
Daniel Meggison struggled on deck, and tried to think. By what
extraordinary process of events they had all contrived to follow he did
not know; still less did he understand who the two strange ladies and
the gentleman out of breath might be. He felt, however, that he would
wait a little before imparting his knowledge to anyone else; some old
spirit of deviltry that had long lain dormant in him whispered to him
to be silent, and to await developments.
But for the fact that Pringle was such a very discreet servant the
discovery must have been made long before it actually was. But Pringle
was that admirable type of servant that told himself he had certain
duties to perform, and was well paid for performing them, and that
nothing else mattered. Consequently during the next two days he waited
upon these new passengers, prostrate in their cabins, with the most
assiduous care, and said nothing to anyone. Daniel Meggison stumbled
about the ship, hourly expecting the explosion that must follow the
discovery of the full passenger list; Bessie was blissfully unconscious
of everything, except that she was on the wide sea, with the man she
loved for company.
Gradually, however, the weather changed; and gradually one by one the
white-faced passengers crept out of their cabins. Pringle, feeling
quite certain in his own mind that his master would welcome their
advent in restored health, bustled about to get out deck chairs, and
generally to make his patients comfortable. It was destined to be a
morning of surprises for everyone; but Pringle did not know that, and
he was as cheerful as ever as he gradually persuaded one and another to
go up on deck.
It happened that Gilbert was standing alone when he heard a movement
behind him, and turning, saw the first of the invalids being helped up
the companion by Pringle, who made use of little encouraging remarks
on the way. The patient was Mrs. Stocker, who clung to Pringle as she
might have clung to her best friend.
"That's it, ma'am--you won't know yourself when you're on deck, and
get the breeze. Other foot, ma'am; that's right--now here we are, and
here's Mr. Byfield absolutely waitin' for us. If you would be so kind,
sir"--this to the amazed Gilbert--"if you would be so kind, sir, as to
take the lady's other arm, I could get her to the chair there in a mere
matter of winking. That's it, ma'am; take your time from us--asking the
master's pardon."
"What--in the name of all that's marvellous----" Gilbert was staring at
the woman who clutched him, and was quite mechanically stepping along
the deck in the direction indicated.
"I can explain everything," said Mrs. Stocker. "I came on account of my
niece; I have suffered severely for my devotion. I am suffering now."
"The gentleman, sir, said he'd find his way up alone," said Pringle.
"It's taken it out of the gentleman a lot, sir; much more frail than
the lady, sir. Talkin' of angels!--here he is, sir."
"Beautiful vessel, sir," murmured poor Edward Stocker, getting
discreetly a little behind Pringle. "Most sorry to have been ill on the
premises, as I might say, sir; it doesn't seem exactly grateful for
privileges--does it, sir?"
Gilbert walked past him, and accosted Pringle, who now for the first
time began to look doubtful. "How did these people come on board,
Pringle?" he asked.
"Well, sir," said the man--"they--they just came. Asked for you, sir,
and seemed as if they knew they were expected, and--and here they are,
sir. Every one who came on board seemed to know you, and seemed to
think they'd be expected, sir."
"Every one? How many more?"
"Five more, sir--only five. Two ladies, and a gentleman with them--and
two separate gents that tumbled in without appearing to know each
other, sir."
"But why did you let them stop--and who the deuce are they?" demanded
Gilbert angrily.
"If you please, sir, you'll remember I asked you if any more was
expected, and the remark you made, sir, was (askin' your pardon, of
course, sir)--'The Lord only knows!' In fact, you seemed to think, sir,
that all sorts of people might be droppin' in. Consequently, sir, when
they did arrive I made 'em as comfortable as I could, and I've waited
on 'em simply 'and and foot ever since. Very ill they've been indeed,
sir."
From that moment the passengers may be said to have emerged gradually
and with caution. Mr. Tant came on deck with something of a scared
look, and seemed appalled to find himself on the open sea; seized by
Gilbert, he blurted out something of what had happened.
"It's no use bullying me," he said, in an aggrieved fashion. "I didn't
bring them; they brought me. Thank your stars that you've got a man on
board in case of emergencies. Enid and her mother were both frantically
anxious about you, and simply insisted on coming straight away to the
yacht; though why on earth you wanted to bring 'em away to sea beats
me."
"I didn't even know they were on board," exclaimed Gilbert furiously.
"It's simply monstrous that I should be followed about in this fashion.
I understand there are five of you, besides those I've already
discovered; who are the other two?"
"How should I know?" retorted Tant crossly. "You've taken an interest
in so many people, and have adopted families wholesale, that you ought
to know better than I do. Where's that man of yours? I'm ravenously
hungry for the first time in three days. This is a beastly vessel for
pitching."
As he went away sounds of a struggle and of heated voices floated to
Gilbert from below; and a moment or two later Simon Quarle struggled on
deck, grasping by the collar Aubrey Meggison, whom he was dragging in
triumph with him. Aubrey was protesting feebly, and endeavouring under
trying circumstances to sustain his dignity.
"Come out--stowaway!" exclaimed Simon excitedly. "Another
hanger-on--another creature sneaking behind a woman's skirts, and
shirking the honest work he ought to do. Come on deck and show
yourself!"
"So you are the other two--are you?" asked Gilbert. "May I ask what
brings you here, Mr. Quarle?"
"You may--and you shall be answered," said Simon Quarle sturdily.
"I come to have an explanation with you--and I come also to set a
few matters straight. I didn't expect to be carried away to sea like
this----"
"You're not the only one," said Gilbert, with a smile. "All your
followers are here--all the people with whom you have associated
yourself. There's quite a ship's load of them--of all sorts and sizes
and qualities!"
Even in such an amazing business as this a crisis had to be reached;
all the many threads had to be gathered together. That crisis was
reached when Bessie presently came along the deck, accompanied by her
father; when she stared with amazement at Mrs. Julia Stocker and Mr.
Stocker, reposing in deck chairs; when she encountered her brother,
disposed to be affectionate from sheer terror of what might happen to
him; and when she was finally received into the arms of Simon Quarle
with a friendly hug.
"Don't you be afraid, Bessie," said Quarle. "I came on board on purpose
to look after you; no one shall do you any harm. You've got one friend
in the world, at least."
"I seem to have a great many friends," said Bessie, looking round at
them. "Father, dear--you and Mr. Byfield have been arranging a surprise
for me; you've brought all our friends together, even here. Here's dear
Aubrey--and Aunt Julia and Uncle Ted, and----"
"So this is the girl--is it?" It was an unfriendly voice, and it
proceeded from Mrs. Ewart-Crane, who had that moment climbed to the
deck accompanied by her daughter. From an unfinished breakfast Jordan
Tant had also appeared; so that they were all gathered about her on
that deck, with the friendly arms of Simon Quarle round her; her
troubled eyes were turned upon Gilbert.
"I did not expect to see you here," said Gilbert slowly to Mrs.
Ewart-Crane. "Perhaps now you'll explain what it is you want?"
"We've been carried to sea quite against our will, and in deplorable
weather," said Enid. "May I ask if this is the young lady who is the
cause of all this trouble and disturbance?" she asked, looking at
Bessie.
"Don't you mind, my dear; I'm close to you," growled Simon Quarle.
"This is Miss Bessie Meggison," said Gilbert.
"Gilbert and I are very glad to see you," said Bessie, still watching
Byfield, but speaking bravely. "Gilbert has been good enough to take us
all away on his beautiful yacht; I didn't know there was going to be
such a large party. Why do you all look at me so strangely--why won't
someone speak to me?"
"Don't take any notice of 'em; keep a brave heart, child," growled
Simon Quarle in the same fashion as before.
"I certainly think it's time, Byfield, that some proper explanation was
made," said Tant, adjusting himself with difficulty to the rolling of
the vessel. "It's a mad business from beginning to end; but it seems to
me Miss Meggison is the only one that doesn't understand it."
"She understands all that is necessary," broke in Daniel Meggison
fiercely. "She trusts her poor old father, and she knows where her
best friends are. Come, now--what if we all go to breakfast? or at all
events get some refreshment of some sort? Splendid notion!"
"Mr. Byfield has asked us to sail with him on his yacht," said Bessie
steadily. "What explanation is needed? My father and I would never have
come away from England like this, but that my father had a fortune,
and was able suddenly to make up for many years of hardship and misery.
I would have liked to stay at Fiddler's Green for ever."
"You don't seem to understand that the house at Fiddler's Green
belonged to Mr. Byfield," broke in the cold voice of Mrs. Ewart-Crane.
"Borrowed by me under a special arrangement," persisted Daniel
Meggison. "Why don't we all go to breakfast?"
"Lent to your father by Mr. Byfield, because for some absurd reason
he thought it might be well for you, who had lived all your life in a
poverty-stricken district of London, to have a taste of the country,"
said Enid. "Will the girl never understand?"
"Bear it bravely; keep a stiff upper lip before 'em all!" urged Simon
Quarle, in a growling undertone. "We'll get you out of this muddle with
clean hands yet."
"Mr. Byfield--won't you tell me what it all means?" asked Bessie.
"I never meant that you should know the truth," said Gilbert. "I played
a game of make-believe, just as you had done; your father's fortune
was make-believe too. God knows you've been welcome to anything I've
been able to do for you; we'd have been happy enough but for all the
meddlers and muddiers who have been about us. Now you know the truth."
"There was never any fortune--never any money, except what you gave
us?" she said slowly, looking at Byfield. "All the rest is lies--and
pretence----"
"Only make-believe, Bessie," said Gilbert gently.
"There's no more make-believe for me!" she exclaimed, with a sudden new
fierceness. "I'm not a child any more." Then suddenly breaking down,
she looked at them appealingly, with eyes swimming with tears. "Won't
you turn your faces from me?" she pleaded. "Don't you see that I am
shamed and mean and horrible? For pity's sake turn your faces away from
me!"
She turned her own then, and hid it on the friendly breast of Simon
Quarle.
[Illustration: "SHE TURNED HER OWN FACE THEN, AND HID IT ON THE
FRIENDLY BREAST OF SIMON QUARLE." _Page 212_]