Set in Silver
not musical. But Mees Lethbridge, _la petite jeune fille_ on the right,
was a friend of Mees Bennett.
Now you'll admit that Dick was rather smart to have chopped all these
branches off the tree of knowledge with his little hatchet. I think his
cleverness worthy of a better cause.
The next thing he did was to ask, naively, if _that_ Miss Lethbridge was
_the_ Miss Lethbridge--the ward of Sir Lionel Pendragon, so much talked
of in the papers just now? Proud that her sister's school had moulded a
celebrity, Mademoiselle chatted away about Ellaline, saying what a dear
child she was, how sorry Madame was to part from her, and how Madame de
Blanchemain, Ellaline's _chere marraine_, at St. Cloud, must be missing
her _mignonne_ at this very moment.
It goes without saying that Mr. Dick's next step took him at a single
stride to St. Cloud. He didn't call on Madame de Blanchemain, not
wishing to stir up a tempest in a teapot, but simply pryed and peered,
and did all sorts of sneaky things, only excusable in a professional
detective, who must (or thinks he must) live.
He found out about Madame de Blanchemain's nephew, Ellaline's Honore,
and put this and that together, until he'd patched up the theory of a
love affair. But further he dared not go, on that track, so he pranced
back to Versailles, and found out things about Audrie Brendon.
The way he did that was through noticing the name of the Versailles
photographer who took the group in the garden. Dick called on him, and
said he wanted a copy of the picture, because his "cousin" was in it.
The man had several on hand, as parents occasionally wrote for them, and
when Dick got his he inquired who I was. The obliging photographer,
perhaps scenting a romance, told him I lived in the Rue Chapeau de Marie
Antoinette with my mother. Then the wretch actually had the impudence to
describe to me a visit he paid our apartment, ringing at the door, and
asking dear Philomene for Madame Brendon!
In five minutes, he had heard all our family affairs, as far as that
dear, simple, talkative soul could tell him. That you were in
Switzerland, and I had gone to England to visit a friend.
I sat and listened to the end of the story, saying never a word, though
I was in one of the moods which make me a person that nobody but myself
could stand for a moment. I should simply have smiled if wild horses had
come along to tear him in two.
"So you see," said he, at last, when I didn't speak, "I'm in the game
with you."
"It isn't my game," said I.
"You're playing it," said he.
"Because I have to," said I.
"Is it Sir Lionel who's making you play it?" he asked.
"Oh, dear, no," I broke out, before I stopped to think.
"Then, he isn't in it?"
I thought it looked more respectable to admit that, whatever the "game"
was, Sir Lionel and I were not playing it together.
"You're doing it for your friend," deduced our young detective.
I gently intimated that that was _my_ business. But Mr. Burden advised
me that I would be wise to accept him as my partner if I didn't want the
business to fail.
"What have I done to you, that you should interfere?" I wanted to know,
only I didn't dare--actually didn't _dare_, for Ellaline's sake, to
speak angrily. Oh, I did feel like a worm's paper doll!
"You've made me like you, awfully," he said.
"Then you shouldn't want to do me any harm," I suggested.
"I don't want to do you harm," he defended himself. "What I want is to
see as much of you as possible, and also I'd like to give Aunt Gwen a
little pleasure, thrown in with mine. I want you to ask Sir Lionel to
invite us to join your party. There's plenty of room for us in that big
motor-car of his. I went to see it in the garage to-day."
"You _would_!" I couldn't resist sputtering. But he took no notice.
"You needn't be afraid that Aunt Gwen's in this," he went on to assure
me. "I've kept mum as an oyster. All she knows is that I saw you--Miss
Lethbridge--in Paris, and haven't been the same man since. She helped me
get to know you, of course. She's a great chum of mine, and her being an
old pal of Sir Lionel's too, meant a lot for me in the beginning. She's
a ripper, and stanch as they make 'em--but they _don't_ make 'em
perfectly stanch where other women are concerned. And as long as you and
I hunt in couples she shan't have a suspicion."
"You'd tell her, if I refused to hunt in that way?" I asked.
"I might think it my duty to let Sir Lionel know how he's being
humbugged. At present I'm shuttin' my eyes to duty, and lookin' at you.
What?"
"Why does Mrs. Senter want to come with us?" I ventured to inquire.
"Because," explained her loyal nephew, "she's fed up with visiting, and
she loves motoring. So do I, with the right people. I'm sure it's not
much to ask. We won't sponge on Sir Lionel. We'll pay our own hotel
bills; and I'm sure, even though you are in a wax with me just now, you
must admit Aunt Gwen and I would wake things up a bit--what? All's fair
in love and war, so you oughtn't to blame me for anything I've done.
You'd think it jolly well romantic if you read it in a book."
I denied this, but said I would consider. He must give me till to-morrow
morning to make up my mind; which he flatly refused to do. To-morrow
would be too late. He saw in my eye that I hoped to slip off, but it was
"no good my being foxy." Things must be fixed up, or _blown_ up, on
board this ship to-night.
Whether or not he really meant to do his worst, if I wouldn't give in, I
can't be sure, but he looked as obstinate as six pigs, and I didn't dare
risk Ellaline's future. My _own_ impression is that there's a _big_
mistake somewhere, and that she would be perfectly safe in Sir Lionel's
hands if she would tell him frankly all about Honore du Guesclin--I,
meanwhile, vanishing through a stage trap or something. But she may be
right. And I _may_ be wrong. That's why I was forced to promise Dick.
And I kept my promise, as soon as we got home to our hotel--Sir Lionel,
Mrs. Norton, and I.
I knew it would be a most horrid thing to do, but it was even horrider
than I thought.
All the way going back I was planning what to say, and feeling damp on
the forehead, thinking how impudent it would seem in _me_, a young girl
and a guest, to make such a suggestion. But it had to be done, so I
screwed up my courage, swallowed half of it again, with a lump in my
throat, and exclaimed in a gay, spontaneous way, like the sweet,
innocent angel I am: "Oh, Sir Lionel, _wouldn't_ it be fun if Mrs.
Senter and--and her nephew were going with us for a little way? They
both love motoring."
He looked surprised and Emily pursed her lips.
"Do you want them to come?" he asked.
"Well, I just thought of it," I stammered.
"I thought you didn't like Burden," he said. No wonder, as I'd
unfortunately unbosomed myself of my real sentiments not three hours
before!
"I think he's amusing enough," I tried to slide out of the difficulty.
"And Mrs. Senter probably wouldn't go without him."
"I somehow gathered an impression that you didn't admire her
particularly," went on Sir Lionel, looking at me with a very straight
look.
"Oh, I never said so!" I cried. "I admire her immensely."
"In that case, I'll ask them, with pleasure," said Sir Lionel. "The idea
did cross my mind in London, but I didn't think you'd care for it,
somehow. Emily will be pleased, I know. Won't you, Emily? And if Mrs.
Senter will be as reasonable as you two in the matter of luggage we
shall have plenty of room."
"It is your car, and the idea of the tour is yours," said Mrs. Norton,
very feminine and resigned, also feeling that my "cheek" deserved a tiny
scratch. "I am pleased with whatever pleases _you_."
Next morning (or rather the _same_ morning, and _this_ morning) Sir
Lionel got his sister to write a note to Mrs. Senter, and he wrote one
too, or added a P. S. "Aunt Gwen's" reply was a ladylike warwhoop of
joy; and we are now waiting till the latest additions to our party have
broken the news to their hostess at Hayling Island, packed a few things
to take, and sent the rest "home" (wherever that may be) with Mrs.
Senter's maid.
Good-bye, my Parisienne Angel.
Your broken and badly repaired
Audrie-Ellaline.
I long to hear whether you think I ought to have braved Dick.
X
SIR LIONEL PENDRAGON TO COLONEL PATRICK O'HAGAN
_Royal Hotel, Winchester_,
_July 21st. Night_
My dear Pat: I thought of you on the Portsmouth Downs
yesterday, remembering a tramp you and I had together, "exploring wild
England," as we called it. We then had a pose that all England, except
"town," was wild--save only and always when there was any shooting of
poor silly pheasants or hunting of "that pleasant little gentleman," the
fox.
After running out through Portsmouth, I suggested stopping the car and
mounting the downs above, on foot, for a look at the view. There are now
five in our party, instead of three--not counting Young Nick, who has no
stomach for views. At Ellaline's expressed wish, Mrs. Senter and Dick
Burden have come on with us from Hayling Island, where they were
staying. We met them at a dance on the _Thunderer_, which Starlin
captains. They have been invited to be of the party for a fortnight or
so.
I should rather have liked to watch Ellaline's face as she climbed the
hill, her feet light on yielding grass, where the gold of buttercups and
turquoise of harebells lay scattered--as she climbed, and as she reached
the top, to see England spread under her eyes like a great ring. But
that privilege was Burden's. I hope he appreciated it. Mine was to
escort Mrs. Senter. I was glad she didn't chat. I hate women who chat,
or spray adjectives over a view.
You remember it all, don't you? On one side, looking landward, we had a
Constable picture: a sky with tumbled clouds, shadowed downs, and
forests cleft by a golden mosaic of meadows. Seaward, an impressionist
sketch of Whistler's: Southampton Water and historic Portsmouth Harbour;
stretches of glittering sand with the sea lying in ragged patches on it
here and there like great pieces of broken glass. Over all, the English
sunshine pale as an alloy of gold and silver; not too dazzling, yet
discreetly cheerful, like a Puritan maiden's smile; but not like
Ellaline's. Hers can be dazzling when she is surprised and pleased.
I think I recall your talk with me on a height overlooking the
harbour--perhaps the same height. We painted a lurid picture, to harrow
our young minds, of the wreck of the _Royal George_. And we said, gazing
across the Downs, that England looked almost uninhabited. Well, it
appears no more populous now, luckily for the picture. I heard Ellaline
saying to Dick Burden that the towns and villages might be playing at
hide and seek, they concealed themselves so successfully. Also I heard
her advise him to read "Puck of Pook's Hill," and was somewhat
disappointed that she'd already had it, as I bought it for her in
Southsea yesterday. Probably she won't care to read it again. Perhaps I
had better give the book to Mrs. Senter, who is a more intellectual
woman than you and I supposed when she was playing with us all in India.
But one doesn't talk books with pretty women in the East.
You remember the day you and I walked to Winchester from Portsmouth,
starting early in the morning, with our lunch in our pockets? Well, we
came along the same way, past old William of Wykeham's Wickham, the
queer mill built of the _Chesapeake's_ timbers, and Bishops' Waltham,
where the ruins of the Episcopal palace struck me as being grander than
I had realized. Ellaline was astonished at coming upon such a splendid
monument of the past by the roadside, and was delighted to hear of the
entertainment Coeur de Lion was given in the palace after his return