MY LADY 
 CINDERELLA 
 
 '■] 
 
 MRS.C. N. n WILLIAMSON 
 
MY 
 
 LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. C. N. WILLIAMSON 
 
 COAUTHOR OF 
 
 *'Lady Betty Crosses the Water/' 
 " My Friend the Chauffeur,'* 
 **The Lightning Conductor," 
 **The Princess Passes," Etc. 
 
 CHICAGO : 
 
 M. A. DoNOHUE & Co. 
 
Copyright 1906 by 
 B. W. DODGE AND COMPANY 
 
 Nevt York 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 pAoa 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. The Day when So^iething Happened . 1 
 
 IT. The Mysterious Visitor . . . • '^ 
 
 III. The Haunting Victoria . . . • ^^ 
 
 IV. I Fling down the Gauntlet to Fate . 20 
 V. I Make a Mistake ""^ 
 
 VI. What I Saw in the Mirror . • .42 
 
 VII. The Plausibility of Mr. Wynnstay . . 49 
 
 VIII. The Meeting That was not a Coincidence 62 
 
 IX. The Benefit of the Doubt ... 78 
 
 X. I Understudy Cinderella ...-»- 
 
 XI. The First Act of the Play . . • ^^^ 
 
 XII. Must he Who Breaks Pay ? . • - Hi 
 
 XIII. Lady Dunbar and a Catechism . . . ^^S 
 
 XIV. A Surprise for Cousin Sarah . . . ^26 
 XV. Links in a Chain ^ 
 
 XVI. Sesame and Lilies ^"'^ 
 
 ■in A 
 
 XVII. The Masked Singers 
 
 XVIII. Diana Throws down the Glove . . 181 
 
 XIX. A Paragraph in a Letter . . • 'ISO 
 
 XX "I Hold You in the Hollow op My 
 
 HAND" '^'^ 
 
 iii 
 
IV 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAOK 
 
 XXI. The Ordeal by Fire . . . .216 
 
 XXII. "Then You'll Remember Me" . . 229 
 
 XXIII. " Wanted Immediately " .... 343 
 
 XXIV. The Story That the Housekeeper Told 264 
 XXV. A Glass of Green Chartreuse . . 278 
 
 XXVI, A Flash op Light on a White Hand . 286 
 
 XXVII. Afterwards 298 
 
 XXVIII. " Ring Out the Old, Ring in the New " 310 
 
 XXIX. The Contents op the Secret Drawer . 31A 
 
MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE DAY WHEN SOMETHING HAPPENED 
 
 To-day I had meant to be a happy day. But, 
 after all, I was miserable. I would have given 
 a great deal to be almost anywhere else — ^yes, 
 even at home in Cousin Sarah East's villa In Peckham. 
 
 I had never thought of myself as a vain girl; but 
 I suppose it was a morbid sort of vanity that induced 
 so keen a pang of shamed distress on this glorious June 
 day in the Park. 
 
 Anne Bryden, who had brought me, and proudly 
 paid for the chairs to which we had found our way 
 through the crowd, looked serenely blissful. She was 
 not one whit depressed by the fact that she and I 
 were the only ugly ducklings in this dazzling array of 
 swans. Forgotten was her rusty black frock, with the 
 cheap, pathetic jet trimming on the bodice; her last 
 year's hat, with its faded pink roses, had practically 
 ceased to exist. 
 
2 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 It did not even.'o(;ciir;to.her that it might be well to 
 give, her shabby. |>Qot8 the prott'ction of her skirt. This 
 lack 'of ^self-Go'ftScicHisnesg* "Struck me as scarcely short 
 of greatness in Anne. It was almost above the level 
 of the feminine, and far above the level of the Me. 
 
 It was not often that I could get a holiday from 
 Cousin Sarah's babies, to whom I had the honour of 
 being nursery governess — alias nursemaid — with a 
 mingling of "general servant's" duties. There were no 
 regular "days out" for me, but Cousin Sarah consid- 
 ered Anne "a most respectable young woman." (Anne 
 had with unwonted diplom.acy praised the house, ad- 
 mired the babies, and deferred to Cousin Sarah's opin- 
 ion during the one visit I had received from her at 
 Happiholme Villa.) Accordingly, this whole long 
 June afternoon in her society had been granted. 
 
 I ought to have been radiant, revelling in the pretty 
 faces, the prettier dresses, and the glittering equipages 
 of my betters, but instead I sat wishing that I were 
 not ashamed to ask Anne if she were ready to go away; 
 concealing the mended finger-tips of my gloves by curl- 
 ing my hands into fists, and feeling utterly wretched 
 that I, who adored beauty, must be so hopelessly out 
 of the picture. 
 
 Carriage after carriage rolled by; well-groomed, 
 clean-limbed men lounged over the railings, and raised 
 their tall, shining hats to the occupants, or chatted with 
 exquisitely-dressed girls, who looked like floating flow- 
 ers, under their tinted chiffon and lace parasols. The 
 rhododendrons were a flame of glorious colour; the 
 distance was blue with the soft mist that hung, ineffable 
 
WHEN SOMETHING HAPPENED 5 
 
 and pensive, above the Serpentine, and the far, billowy 
 reaches of sweet-smelling, new-cut grass in the Park. 
 
 "It's a nice world, isn't it ?" remarked Anne, apropos 
 of everything — everything but ourselves. 
 
 "Yes. And there are lots of nice times in it. Only 
 w^e're not in any of them." 
 
 Anne looked critically at me. 
 
 "You ought to be. Con," she observed, after an inter- 
 val of reflection. "As for me, I don't count. I'm no- 
 bod)^ I wasn't born to things, and I don't expect 
 them. But you — you are different. You are a beauty. 
 And you are a mystery. A book could be written about 
 you." 
 
 I laughed a little. 
 
 "It would have to be a book for children. Nothing 
 has ever happened to me since I was a child, and then 
 — they wxre all sad things." 
 
 "But you are the sort of girl that things do happen 
 to. They will yet ; you mark my words." 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "Oh, if they only would! I'm so, so tired of Peck- 
 ham. If something would happen to-day!" 
 
 "What would you like best to happen?" queried 
 Anne. 
 
 "Am I to have my choice? Are you a fairy god- 
 mother in disguise? Well, I should say. Please, fairy 
 godmother, you see that beauteous maiden in pink mus- 
 lin, driving with her mother in the particularly desir- 
 able victoria?" (As I spoke my eyes focussed upon 
 a wonderful girl who laughed haughtily, lazily con- 
 scious that she was one of Fortune's supreme favour- 
 
4 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 ites.) 'Well, then, dear fairy godmother, wave your 
 magic wand which so sadly resembles a three-and-six- 
 penny umbrella, and make me, if only for the space 
 of one gorgeous month, like her. Give me as many 
 Paris gowns, as much fun, as wild a whirl of gaiety, 
 as she will enjoy this season. It isn't a very noble or 
 exalted wish; but I'm in the mood for that, and noth- 
 ing else, to-day." 
 
 Anne's chair was on my left. On my right, sep- 
 arated by a little distance, I had been conscious for 
 the past half-hour of a vague cloudiness of silk and 
 muslin that represented a woman. I had not actually 
 glanced in her direction, but the corner of my eye had 
 reflected a pale lavender fluff which was a sunshade. 
 Now, suddenly, it was lifted, and a soft voice addressed 
 me from underneath. 
 
 ''Do forgive me, won't you? I really can't resist 
 speaking. I don't want to be rude. On the contrary, 
 I wish to be very nice. But — I couldn't help over- 
 hearing some of the things that you and your friend 
 have been saying." 
 
 I felt the colour stealing up, as I racked my brain 
 to recall exactly what we had been saying. Anne 
 was staring in blank surprise ; for this was a personage 
 of great magnificence who was endeavouring to draw 
 us into conversation, and no doubt Anne was wonder- 
 ing, even as I was wondering, what could be the motive 
 of such apparently purposeless condescension. ^ 
 
 The lady was of middle age — if women who frame 
 their personal charms with the best can ever appear 
 of middle age. She had elaborately undulated brown 
 
WHEN SOMETHING HAPPENED 5 
 
 hair, under a bonnet that was a poem, in one verse; 
 bright, searching brown eyes, and a complexion that 
 could still live up to its past. As for her gown, it 
 was too exquisitely Parisian to have been made out 
 of London. 
 
 ''Don't look so horrified," she smiled. "Vm not mad, 
 only a little eccentric. That means that some of my 
 friends think me a genius. I wonder what you would 
 think me if I suggested that you tried me as a fairy 
 godmother?" 
 
 She spoke to me, not Anne. She did not even look 
 at Anne after the first courteous, comprehensive 
 glance. 
 
 "Why, I — I'm afraid I'd think you were making fun 
 of me," I stammered, since some answer must be given. 
 
 "Then you'd be mistaken. I fancied, from some of 
 the expressions which I involuntarily overheard, that 
 you were not — well, not quite a conventional girl ; that 
 you had an original way of regarding life. If you have, 
 we might cultivate each other's acquaintance w^th 
 mutual advantage." 
 
 "I should find it more interesting to know you than 
 you would to know me," I said meekly, for I felt as 
 if I must have fallen asleep in my chair, and be dream- 
 ing. 
 
 "That remains to be seen. Your preface looks prom- 
 ising. Let's begin, if you don't mind, to cut each 
 other's leaves. My name is Sophie de Gretton — Lady 
 Sophie de Gretton, strangers call me. What is yours? 
 
 "Consuelo Brand," I answered. 
 
 I had never talked to a Lady Anybody in my life, 
 
6 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 but though her aquiline nose and thin red line of lips 
 might be formidable if she chose, she was easier to 
 talk to than Cousin Sarah's friends in Peckham. 
 
 "What a queer name! Why did they call you Con- 
 suelo?" 
 
 I blushed vividly. 
 
 "My mother had had a great deal of trouble. She 
 hoped I would be her consolation." 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon ; I didn't mean to be pry- 
 ing. But it's my turn to impart information now. I 
 live close by, in Park Lane. You can almost see my 
 house from here. I strolled into the Park by myself 
 because I wanted to think." 
 
 "And our chatter disturbed you." 
 
 "On the contrary, it has been most helpful — ^why, is 
 my secret. But what do you say, you and your friend, 
 to going home with me and having a talk over a cup 
 of tea?" 
 
 My heart gave a little jump. Here was an adven- 
 ture! The shabby nursery-governess from Peckham 
 asked to tea with a Personage in Park Lane! 
 
 "I should like it immensely, thank you, and so would 
 my friend, Anne Bryden, I'm sure." 
 
 I turned to Anne, but her face expressed disap- 
 proval. I could read her thoughts, and guessed that 
 she was saying to herself: "Humph 1 how do we know 
 that this bird of paradise isn't a ^ham? If she is 
 really what she pretends to be, why on earth should 
 she pick us up and invite us, after a ten minutes' 
 conversation, to visit her? There's something pretty 
 queer about this." 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 
 
 Anne^ whom I had known ever since my dear dead 
 mother and I had stopped at the boarding-house which 
 her mother kept, was now a mixture of typewriter, 
 secretary, and companion to a vulgar, newly-rich ma- 
 tron engaged in storming the outworks of society, and 
 it was part of Anne's duty, I remembered, to read 
 aloud endless columns of society gossip, bristling with 
 titles. Probably she was familiar with that of Lady 
 Sophie de Gretton, who lived in Park Lane, and be- 
 lieved that our eccentric new friend was for some 
 nefarious purpose of her own masquerading in bor- 
 rowed plumage. 
 
 "I'm afraid," she replied stiffly to the question in my 
 eyes, "that it's rather late, and we ought to be getting 
 home. We don't live in Park Lane, and we've a long 
 way to go." 
 
 "Come alone. Miss Brand, if your friend has no 
 time to spare," suggested the lady in lavender. 
 
 It was a tempt-^'on. Never would such a chance 
 be thrown in my way again ; my future was bounde-^ 
 by Peckham. Yet I could not leave Anne. 
 
 "Don't you think we might, dear?" I pleaded. "I 
 won't go without you. But— it would be pleasant." 
 
 7 
 
8 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 "I wouldn't dream of letting you go alone," said 
 Anne, with the air of preserving me from a death-trap. 
 "If you really wish it so much, I dare say we might 
 manage a few minutes." 
 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton rose. 
 
 "We won't delay, then, if you haven't much time 
 to spend, for I have several things to say which I 
 think will surprise and interest you." 
 
 Anne walked along, keeping those big gray eyes of 
 hers wide open. I hoped Lady Sophie did not realise 
 that she was waiting to see whether we should indeed 
 be led into Park Lane. 
 
 But we were led there, and stopped before a quaint, 
 pretty little white house, sandwiched in between two 
 big ones, its windows blossoming with pink and white 
 geraniums, and frothing over with snowy, frilled cur- 
 tains. So far the adventure seemed genuine; and the 
 footman who opened the door (respectfully addressing 
 our companion as "my lady") was grand enough to 
 convince even Anne. 
 
 We passed through a miniature hall, whose walls 
 could not be seen for exquisite engravings, went up 
 half a stairway, and had the door of a fairy bower 
 thrown open for us. Cousin Sarah East would have 
 scorned chintz for her parlour in Peckham, where she 
 had a "suite" of saddlebag, or something else that 
 sounded horsy to the ear; but Lady Sophie de 
 Gretton's drawing-room was all white and green and 
 rosy and ruffly with chintz. 
 
 We sat down, I feeling more conscious of my dusty 
 old boots and serge, white round the seams, than ever. 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 9 
 
 Presently the footman brought tea, with strawberries 
 and cream and tiny cakes, and quantities of silver that 
 looked imposingly ancestral. 
 
 *'Now for business!" exclaimed Lady Sophie, when 
 I had grown more and more dazed with the thought 
 that I was dreaming her, and Anne's shrewd little 
 brown face had relaxed into a mingling of curiosity 
 and good nature. 
 
 It was to be business, then! I was stabbed with 
 humiliating dread lest Lady Sophie de Gretton were 
 oa the committee of a girls' friendly society, and had 
 gathered us in as likely candidates. She had a brusque 
 way of speaking, despite her low, sweet voice, and she 
 w^ent on abruptly: 
 
 "You haven't told me yet where you live." 
 
 "In another world," I retorted. "They call it 
 Peckham." 
 
 "Do you like this better?" 
 
 "Yes," entering into the spirit of the catechism. 
 
 "How would you like to have that wish of yours 
 granted — as I hinted it might be, if you would trust 
 to my wand — and live here, surrounded by the joys 
 v/hlch I heard you cataloguing to your fairy god- 
 mother? Now, don't fall into error again, and fancy 
 I'm making fun of you, for I'm not. I'm asking you 
 a serious question, and I want a serious answer." 
 
 A curious tingling chill was creeping up from my 
 finger-tips. 
 
 "I — I don't think I understand you," I heard some- 
 body say, and was dimly aware that the somebody 
 could only be myself. 
 
lo MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 "Yes, you do. If you are dumfounded, it is be- 
 cause you are a singularly modest young woman. Turn 
 round ; glance at that mirror on the wall near you, and 
 see whether you can guess why a rather lonely, ec- 
 centric person, who is tired of most things and pines 
 for variety, might be seized wilth a sudden violent 
 desire to have you for — for a new doll to play with?" 
 
 I did not take her at her word, and glance mirror- 
 ward, for I was familiar enough with the reflection I 
 should have met there; though, to be sure, I only saw 
 it in small, greenish sections at home. I was not 
 ignorant of the fact that I was pretty, or might be 
 pretty, in a decent dress; but I had not suspected that 
 I was pretty enough to triumph over the combined hat 
 (which the youngest East had sat on in a rage this 
 morning) , boots and serge. 
 
 "You don't answer. Don't you think your people 
 would let you come for a while?" 
 
 "I have no people. Only a cousin, who doesn't like 
 any one to know that we're cousins. When she is angry 
 she says she 'keeps me out of charity.' When I answer 
 her back, I say that I more than earn my own living. 
 Sometimes she tells me she wishes I were out of her 
 sight forever. I don't know whether she means it 
 or not, but I do not suppose she could force me to stay 
 if I were determined to go." 
 
 I made these explanations jerkily, and then, at the 
 end, before Lady Sophie de Gretton could comment 
 upon them, I broke out: 
 
 "But why — why do you say such strange things to 
 me, whom you never saw till an hour ago? There 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR iv 
 
 are thousands of girls whom you know who would 
 love to come and visit you — poor girls, perhaps, yet 
 in your own class of life. Why do you put such ideas 
 in my head when you must feel, if you stop to think, 
 that by to-night you will be sorry, and have to dis- 
 appoint the poor 'doll' you wanted to play with?" 
 
 *'My mind is made up," she quietly returned. "As 
 for the 'why — why' u-hich 3'ou fling at me, can't you 
 be satisfied with the explanation I have given? I've 
 set my heart on having you to play with. You are 
 the prettiest doll in the whole shop, and I hope to 
 get you comparatively cheap." 
 
 "But what would you do with me?" 
 
 "Oh, put you into pretty frocks, take you about with 
 me, and show you off." 
 
 "There must be some other reason." 
 
 I had not meant to speak aloud, for the words 
 sounded ungracious. But they broke forth without my 
 volition. 
 
 Lady Sophie's handsome face flushed, and she bit 
 her lip. For an instant her eyes appeared to flinch 
 from mine, and suspicion, vague, yet sharply pinching, 
 clutched my perturbed spirit. 
 
 "Well, if you must have it, my fancy for you arose 
 partly from a resemblance to some one I used to know 
 and admire years ago. I noticed it the instant I saw 
 you in the Park, and though you did not guess that 
 I observed you, I hardly took my eyes from your face, 
 peeping under the frills on my sunshade, until I spoke 
 to you. Now that I've exhibited mj^self as a woman 
 of sentiment — a creature I despise — are you satisfied?" 
 
12 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Perforce, I had to answer falteringly that I was. But 
 suspicion, once roused, would not be put to sleep again 
 so soon. There was a look in Lady Sophie de Gretton's 
 eyes w^hich told me (or I morbidly imagined it) 
 that there was still something concealed under her 
 most unexpected, most astonishing offer. I felt this 
 electrically, yet I would not listen to the subdued 
 whisperings. 
 
 What if there were something else? What did it 
 matter? What did anything matter if this transfor- 
 mation of my life could come about? I was intoxi- 
 cated by the cup that she held out to me, and I 
 would have been ready to drink it down to the dregs 
 — if only I need not taste the dregs quite yet. 
 
 "I must be hard to please if I were not satisfied," 
 I said. "But I'm so bewildered, you must forgive me. 
 Only tell me, since you say this is real and serious, 
 what I am to do." 
 
 "You are to get leave, and come to stop with me, 
 as soon as you can." 
 
 "Oh, for how long? A week — a fortnight — if you 
 won't mind my asking?" 
 
 "Would it be worth while your offending your 
 Peckham relative and losing a home for a fortnight?" 
 
 I drew in my breath. The room swam before my 
 eyes. 
 
 "Yes!" I cried recklessly. "It would be worth it 
 all — for that. For a fortnight I should have lived. 
 \ should 'have had my day,* and surely something, 
 wome sort of work, would turn up later." 
 
 "Brava! you're a girl after my own heart. You 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 13 
 
 are a ivoman who dares. I was only trying you. I'd 
 keep you longer than a fortnight. Just how long, I'm 
 too honest, Miss Brand, to pretend to settle now. It 
 would depend on many things." 
 
 Again her eyes dropped away from mine as if their 
 falling lashes would hide something of mystery. But 
 I was used to mysterj^ I had had it in my own life, 
 so close, so intimate a companion, that familiarity had 
 bred contempt — or carelessness. 
 
 "Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof; and you 
 would have to trust me to see that your future pros- 
 pects at Peckham or elsewhere were not endangered. 
 Meanwhile I can promise you this: While your visit 
 lasts you shall have everything that the most spoiled 
 and petted girl could ask for — quite as much as the 
 one you took for an example in speaking to your 
 friend in the Park. By the way, I know her well, 
 and you shall know her too, if you wish, though I 
 warn you she doesn't easily tolerate rivals, and you 
 will be so dangerous a one that the rose of her ac- 
 quaintance may have its thorns." 
 
 I wonder if a spirit of prophecy had entered into 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton, that she should have made use 
 of just those words? 
 
 As she spoke the door opened, and the footman who 
 had brought in tea appeared. 
 
 "Sir George Seaforth, my lady " he had decor- 
 ously begun, when his mistress sprang up impulsively, 
 her face flushing. Her eyes darted to the doorway, 
 well-nigh blocked by the man's padded shoulders, and 
 so doing her features slightly relaxed. 
 
J4 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 The visitor was, at all events, not close behind the 
 servant, and for some reason she was glad of the 
 respite. 
 
 "Where is he?" she questioned, a slight quiver in 
 her voice. 
 
 ''I showed Sir George into the boudoir, your lady- 
 ship, thinking you were engaged." 
 
 "Ah!" with a little relieved sigh. "That was right, 
 William. I will see him there in a few minutes." 
 
 William vanished; the door closed; Lady Sophie 
 remembered us. But there w^as a subtle change in 
 her manner. 
 
 "It is settled, then?" she asked. 
 
 Her tone was almost impatient, and, as soon as I 
 had murmured "Yes," she hurried on: 
 
 "Good! Can you get away the day after to-mor- 
 row? Ah, I'm very pleased. I will — but no, on sec- 
 ond thoughts, for several reasons, perhaps I'd better 
 not drive to Peckham for you. You shall come here, 
 but don't bother about — er — much packing. It will 
 amuse you to choose a new outfit with me. I may 
 depend on you? Then I won't keep you and Miss 
 — er — Bryden longer now, as she is in haste; and I've 
 an early dinner, for a theatre party to dress for, too. 
 Good-bye, or, rather, au revoir!" 
 
 Before we knew what had happened we had been 
 cordially shaken hands with, William had been rung 
 for to show us out, and we were in the warm June 
 sunlight of Park Lane again, banished from fairyland, 
 humbly waiting for an omnibus. 
 
 "Why was she in such a hurry to get rid of us?" 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 15 
 
 queried Anne. "And why was she so pleased be- 
 cause the footman had shown that man into another 
 room?" 
 
 My ears tingled with the sting of my conviction. 
 
 "She was ashamed to have any one see us in our 
 dowdy clothes. And that brute of a William was 
 ashamed, too. That's why." 
 
 "Oh, do you think so? I don't. It goes deeper 
 than that. Mark my words. Con: there's a mystery 
 of some sort, and the man who called is mixed up in 
 it. Don't go to stop with that woman, dear. It's 
 all too fantastic. No good can come of it, but maybe 
 dreadful harm to you." 
 
 No wonder that Anne's words struck coldly on my 
 heart. It was odd that she, as well as I, should have 
 suspected something hidden, for Lady Sophie de Gret- 
 ton's explanation, though eccentric, had sounded frank 
 enough. I would not have given up my new prospects, 
 chimerical as they still appeared, unwise as it was, 
 according to an old proverb, to exchange "a bird in the 
 hand for tAvo in the bush," but since the entrance of 
 the footman to announce a visitor my excitement had 
 been dying down. Now I felt chilled and unhappy, 
 yet obstinate. 
 
 "I can't help it," I said sulkily. "It's done now, 
 for good or evil. I wish an omnibus would come." 
 ' But at an unseen distance something had happened, 
 and there was a block in the stream of traffic. Not 
 an omnibus was in sight, and none of the carriages 
 packed into Hamilton Place were able to move out 
 into Piccadilly. Anne and I were obliged to stand 
 
i6 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 close by the curbstone waiting, and though I was In 
 too reckless a mood to care whether I were late In 
 arriving at Happlholme V^illa or not, I was also too 
 impatient to tolerate waiting. I wanted to be off; I 
 wanted to be going somewhere, an)rvvhere. Anne and 
 I could only be together in an omnibus for a certain 
 length of time; we must then separate, she proceeding 
 in one direction, I in another. 
 
 Only a little while ago I had disliked the Idea of 
 parting with her; now^ I welcomed it, for I did not 
 wish her to continue her conscientious efforts at dissua- 
 sion. We might have walked on at this juncture, allow- 
 ing an omnibus finally to overtake us, and Anne sug- 
 gested the plan, only to have it vetoed by me. If 
 we walked she would have plenty of opportunity for 
 further argument; in an omnibus, where all our 
 neighbours might hang upon our words, private conver- 
 sation would be im.practicable. 
 
 So we stood still, I feverishly discussing the hats 
 and frocks in the carriages packed along the waiting 
 line, and nearly ten minutes must have passed before 
 a movement ahead became perceptible. We w^re still 
 close to Lady Sophie de Gretton's when at last the 
 omnibus w^e desired came in sight. 
 
 It was rattling along at great speed to make up 
 for lost time, and, as the driver seemed disinclined 
 to see our insignificance, I boldly dashed out to head 
 It off before the more cautious Anne had left the 
 pavement. 
 
 I had stretched out my hand to grasp the rail, when 
 an Impatient cab-horse intercepted me. I sprang back 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR i7 
 
 startled, and felt my shoulders come in contact with 
 something just behind. 
 
 A woman on top of the omnibus uttered a shrill 
 squeal of alarm, and the sound of her voice, the ex- 
 pression of her eyes, which for a bewildered instant I 
 saw were fixed on me, robbed me of my presence of 
 mind. 
 
 I thought that I was going to be run over. In imag- 
 ination I felt myself knocked down, wheels crunching 
 over my spine. The whole world seemed made of 
 horses — rearing horses, horses with tossing heads and 
 trampling hoofs. The street was a sea of horses. 
 
 They were everywhere — in front, behind, coming 
 from both sides; go where I would, I could not es- 
 cape. I shut my eyes and threw up my hands, con- 
 scious in an odd, bewildered way, even at that instant, 
 that I had dropped my umbrella, and should never be 
 able to buy another, if I lived to want it. 
 
 People were shouting this and that at me; I only 
 heard their voices, not their words, and they all 
 sounded angry, unsympathetic, as if they were an- 
 noyed that I had got in their way, not that they 
 cared what became of me. 
 
 It could not have lasted sixty seconds, though I 
 had thought of so many things (even feeling a pang 
 of regret that this had not happened after instead of 
 before my glorious visit to Lady Sophie de Gretton, 
 now to be lost forever under the horses' hoofs), 
 when I was caught up bodily and planted in safety 
 on the pavement. It was a strong arm that held 
 me, and until a mist cleared away from my eyes I 
 
i8 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 thought my stammered thanks were due to a big 
 policeman; but though the policeman was there, hav- 
 ing arrived the fraction of a second too late, it was 
 not to him that I owed my deliverance. 
 
 " 'Twas that gentleman there, not me," he ex- 
 plained, with a gruffness born of my reckless conduct, 
 which deserved all the punishment it had received. 
 My impression was that, if any one merited a scold- 
 ing, it was the omnibus driver for not looking, or the 
 first cabman, who had come so near to using me for 
 a ninepin. But they had both contrived to disap- 
 pear, and I should have been censured by the guar- 
 dian of the law, had not "that gentleman" gallantly 
 interfered. 
 
 "Oh, I say, bobby, don't be an idiot," he succinctly 
 remarked, and, having disposed of the policeman, 
 turned to me. "I do hope you're not hurt." 
 
 "No, I think not, thanks to you!" I faltered. "It 
 was so stupid of me. But you were very good, and 
 — I'm all right now. Come, Anne, we will take this 
 next omnibus." 
 
 "Won't you let me call you a cab? You look 
 awfully white and shaken," said the man. 
 
 I was about to refuse, but Anne seconded his sug- 
 gestion. Yes, we would have a cab. And in another 
 moment, with a motion of the stick he carried, our 
 new friend had summoned a hansom. 
 
 The crowd, which had paused for the excitement 
 of seeing me killed, had passed on, defrauded. All 
 was quiet again in Hamilton Place, and I thought that 
 there were none remaining who cared to stare, as my 
 
THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR 19 
 
 knight in tall hat and frock-coat extended his service 
 by helping me into the vehicle. 
 
 But, after all, I was mistaken. Just as he stood, 
 his hat lifted, inquiring with interest in his eyes 
 whither he should direct the cabman to drive, a vic- 
 toria approached us. By a coincidence which seemed 
 odd to me (and afterwards was to seem far more so), 
 it contained the wonderful girl in pink muslin. She 
 and the woman by her side — her mother, I was certain 
 — wTre gazing indifferently into space, when the eyes 
 of the former fell upon my champion. 
 
 Her features quickened suddenly into life; her gaze 
 travelled from the man standing by the cab to me, 
 at whom she continued to look with keen curiosity, 
 tempered by disapproval. Then she whispered a word 
 to her companion. The elder woman glanced in my 
 direction, and — a strange thing happened. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE HAUNTING VICTORIA 
 
 What there could have been in my appearance to 
 cause her emotion I could not guess; but the well- 
 preserved face, under the exquisite bonnet, seemed 
 actually to shrivel. She stared, with widening eyes, 
 her jaw falling in that unattractive, yet pathetic, way 
 seen when the spirit loses control of the body in sleep. 
 
 I observed this queer, unrehearsed dramatic effect, 
 in vivid surprise, and forgot to ansv/er the question 
 that had been asked. Anne replied for me; and I 
 heard her giving her own address as the one to which 
 we desired the cabman should drive us — heard it half 
 unconsciously, without room in my mind for more 
 surprise; though afterwards, when it appeared that 
 much was to hang upon such a trifle, I remembered. 
 
 The driver was duly informed, and we left my 
 knight standing on the pavement, looking after us 
 with a parting smile. It w^as a very pleasant smile; 
 and for the first time it struck me that the man was 
 handsome. I had been too dazed, too excited, to notice 
 him before, save to gather an impression that he was 
 a gentleman. 
 
 "He's rather nice, I think," I remarked languidly 
 
 20 
 
THE HAUNTING VICTORIA 21 
 
 to Anne, sinking back, with a sense of rest after storm, 
 upon the unwonted luxury of cab cushions. 
 
 "Rather nice?" she echoed contemptuously. "Where 
 are your eyes? He's splendid. He's my ideal of what 
 a man ought to be. I'll bet anything he's a soldier. 
 Oh, the difference between him and the dreadful men 
 — the Things — ^who come to Mrs. Leatherby-Smith's!" 
 
 Mrs. Leatherby-Smith was the lady with whom she 
 lived; but never before had I known Anne to be so 
 enthusiastic about a mere man. 
 
 "I suppose my eyes were otherwise engaged," I ex- 
 cused myself. "There was such a curious thing, just 
 as we were bidding him good-bye (I hope I remem- 
 bered to thank him properly again!) : a woman in a 
 victoria — we'd seen her in the Park, but she didn't 
 see us — stared at me, and behaved in the most ex- 
 traordinary manner. One would have fancied I was 
 a ghost. She looked awful ; I can't think of any other 
 word." 
 
 "She probably had a stitch in her side, or a twinge 
 of neuralgia," said Anne prosaically. "You wanted 
 things to happen to-day, and they have happened. 
 They've gone to your head a little, my dear. You 
 mustn't expect to find a new excitement wherever you 
 turn your eyes, on the principle of 'It never rains but 
 it pours.' " 
 
 "She did look at me strangely — very strangely," I 
 persisted. 
 
 "Well, you're not exactly plain." 
 
 "There she is again!" I exclaimed eagerly. "I do 
 believe she's following us." 
 
22 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 "Nonsense!" retorted Anne. "There are dozens of 
 victorias coming this way. Why not hers?" 
 
 There was common-sense in Anne's words, but 
 somehow I could not be convinced. The victoria was 
 abreast of our hansom ; though its elder occupant wore 
 a surface air of composure, she was alert, w^atchful, 
 and her cold eyes lighted as they met mine. 
 
 I said no more to Anne, for I could not prove my 
 assertion; and I knew that she fancied my experiences 
 of the afternoon had sown the seeds of conceit in my 
 heart. 
 
 She was inclined to talk of the man from whom we 
 had just parted, and I encouraged the tendency, since 
 it took her mind from my affairs. At the place where 
 we should have changed into different omnibuses, I 
 insisted on getting out, as Anne was to pay for the 
 cab. 
 
 We bade each other good-bye, and I hailed my omni- 
 bus. As I did so, I threw a furtive glance behind. 
 The victoria w^as still in sight. 
 
 For a moment I hesitated, and then ascended to the 
 top of the omnibus. From a coign of vantage on the 
 back seat I could from time to time observe the prog- 
 ress of events. If it were really by chance that the 
 victoria with the two ladies was coming in this direc- 
 tion, it would soon overtake and leave the humble 
 omnibus far behind. If not — and I were right instead 
 of Anne — I might prove my wild theory after all. 
 
 I racked my brain for some motive to account for 
 the elder woman's interest in me, taking for granted 
 that it actually existed. The daughter had certainly 
 
THE HAUNTING VICTORIA 23 
 
 observed with some eagerness the young man who had 
 been speaking with us: she had whispered to her 
 mother, who had at once exhibited uncontrollable feel- 
 ing. 
 
 Could it be, I wondered, that my knight was this 
 pretty girl's husband? that she was jealous, and, sus- 
 pecting an acquaintance between him and me, had in- 
 duced her mother (the typical, suspicious mother-in-law 
 of the flirtatious, farce-comedy husband) to track me 
 to my lair? 
 
 He had been as far as possible from resembling this 
 farce-comedy, gay dog of a young man; on the con- 
 trary, he had been, as Anne said, soldierly, brown, 
 serious, with gray eyes that looked as if they might 
 be very much in earnest. But I could think of no 
 other solution to the puzzle, and in accepting it I 
 lost the thrill of mystery in the chase. A chase, how- 
 ever, it undoubtedly was. I was not too far aw^ay, 
 perched up in my high seat, to observe, when I ven- 
 tured to glance behind me, the expression on the faces 
 of coachman and groom. 
 
 It was contemptious resignation; every weary feature 
 said that never before had they been expected to dance 
 attendance on a vulgar omnibus. I thought they 
 might even go so far as to give a month's notice when 
 they reached home. 
 
 Suddenly something impish entered into my breast, 
 and it occurred to me that it would be amusing to 
 try an experiment. I ran down the winding staircase 
 of the omnibus, and, undismayed by my late mishap, 
 jumped off before it stopped. 
 
24 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Another was coming, and was just in tht act t)i 
 turning a corner which would take it in quite a 
 different direction. I was in time to board it. I 
 w^ondered if ''they" had observed this manceuvre, and 
 whether they would presently be seen pursuing. Yes, 
 there was the victoria! The girl and her mother were 
 talking together with animation, in strong contrast to 
 the languor of their mien when first we had met, 
 before they had been waked to this odd interest, which 
 I was not yet sure that I understood. 
 
 I had not lingered to ask the destination of this 
 second conveyance, but, when the conductor appeared 
 to demand my fare, I discovered that it was taking 
 me away from, rather than towards, Peckham. I should 
 be late, and Mrs. East would be angry. Nevertheless, 
 I would play the game out now. 
 
 My money was running low, and I had only a 
 few pence left, or, at the end of the route, I might 
 have been tempted further to prolong th^ hunt. As 
 it was, there remained nothing to do but to repair 
 to Peckham, after stepping into a shop, expending a 
 halfpenny for a paper, and remaining inside y^s long as 
 I could, to account for my visit to this part of the town. 
 Somehow, I was unwilling for the pursuers to know 
 that I had been deliberately misleading them; though 
 why it mattered I could scarcely have explained to 
 myself. 
 
 At the corner of Chesley Street, where I lived, I 
 beheld the inevitable victoria driving slowly past. I 
 walked through my gate, up the steps to the door, but, 
 changing my mind, ran down again and gazed towards 
 
THE HAUNTING VICTORIA ^5 
 
 the end of the street. There the carriage had stopped, 
 before a bakery and postoffice. At the moment of my 
 appearance the groom was coming out of the latter 
 with a telegraph form in his hand. His mistress took 
 it, and seemed to write. 
 
 I would have lingered at the open gate to see what 
 might be next in the programme, but at this instant 
 I was hailed by a familiar voice. It was that of Jimmy 
 East, my one friend at Happiholme Villa. 
 
 "Oh, I say, ain't you goin' to catch it!" he ejacu- 
 lated, appearing at the front-door. "Ma's just sav- 
 age because you're late. What are you dong out there, 
 anyhow — afraid to come in?" 
 
 "No," I replied sedately, ascending the steps with 
 such dignity as I could command. 
 
 But my heart was beating somewhat faster than 
 its wont. It was all well enough to tell myself, at 
 a safe distance from Mrs. East, that I could now, 
 for the first time, afford to brave her displeasure. But 
 the habit of years had gripped me again, with my 
 return to the old environment. I would not for a 
 great deal that Jimmy should guess it; but in truth 
 my soul melted within me as I crossed the threshold. 
 
 I had a curious feeling that I had come back from 
 another world; or perhaps I experienced the sensa- 
 tions of an opium-eater, awaking to dull, headachy 
 realities after a dazzling panorama of dreamland. The 
 smell of the stuffy little passage depressed me more than 
 ever before — that indescribable reminiscence of dinners 
 past, present, and to come. How narrow it was! how 
 hideous the paper on the wall, representing marble! 
 
26 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 how grim the linoleum on the floor, which masqueraded 
 unsuccessfully as mosaic ! 
 
 "She's upstairs in our room, puttin' baby to bed," 
 volunteered Jimmy, in an awestruck tone. No need 
 for more particular classification. There was only one 
 omnipresent, reigning She at Happiholme! "She said 
 you were to go right up to her the instant minute 
 you came in, Connie. I was put to wait at the draw- 
 rin'-room window to watch for you." 
 
 "Very well, I'm going," I responded, and set my 
 foot upon the stairs. 
 
 There was a bad half-hour in store for me, I was 
 aware, and I could have found it in my heart to wish 
 that Mr. East were at home. 
 
 Mr. East was only my cousin Sarah's husband, in 
 Peckham; but in wider spheres he was a commercial 
 traveller. When he abode at Happiholme I desired 
 his absence, for his carpet slippers and his dressing- 
 gown got upon my nerves. Besides, he had a dis- 
 agreeable habit of patting me on the shoulder and 
 remarking on the colour of my hair or my eyes when his 
 wife was not in the room. 
 
 But, at least, he did his cowardly best to stand 
 between me and Cousin Sarah's wrath; and things 
 undoubtedly went more smoothly during his vists than 
 when he was away inducing provincial firms to order a 
 certain brand of soap. 
 
 If he were here to-night — ^but he wasn't; and so 
 there was no use in wishing. 
 
 The room which Jimmy East, Emmy East, Baby 
 East, and I shared as a bedchamber was up under 
 
THE HAUNTING VICTORIA 27 
 
 the eaves of the villa, with a ceiling that slanted in 
 unexpected places, and attempted to knock one's brains 
 out if one arose in the darkness to soothe the baby's 
 cries. 
 
 Adjoining was the abode of the one servant, whose 
 many tasks it was part of my daily duty to lighten. I 
 went upstairs heavily, past the floor where Mr. and 
 Mrs. East's domain and the "spare bedroom" did 
 their best to grace a self-respecting Peckham villa. 
 Before the top of the second flight, the voice of Cousin 
 Sarah rang out through the closed door: 
 
 "Nasty, ungrateful hussy! She'll know it when 
 she gets an afternoon out again !" 
 
 This was a challenge, though she was only har- 
 anguing Emmy and the baby; and it ought to have 
 spurred my failing courage. But there was some- 
 thing spiritually relaxing to me in the air at Happi- 
 holme. It was a white-faced coward who reluctantly 
 opened the door and prepared to "face the music," 
 
 "I'm sorry, Mrs. East (she did not approve of being 
 addressed more familiarly), that I'm late," I said; "I 
 didn't think it would be Mousie's bedtime yet." 
 
 She had been sitting by the wash-hand stand with 
 her back to me, but she flounced her chair round, and 
 turned a flushed, virago face upon me. 
 
 "Oh, you've deigned to come back, have you? I 
 wonder you didn't stop away a little longer, dine at 
 the Savoy, and go to a box at the Opera. This is what 
 I get for being good-natured, and letting you go 
 trapesing about town, while I stay at home and look 
 after your business." 
 
28 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Of course, her children were my business; at all 
 events, I should hardly have breath enough to dispute 
 the assertion against her. I therefore quietly took off 
 my hat and gloves, and advanced to retrieve the baby, 
 who had now begun to 5ell under his mother's fierce 
 jerklngs and pulllngs. But Mrs. East snatched him 
 back against her ample breast. 
 
 "Now that IVe done all the work, you'd step in 
 and get the credit, would you?" she snapped. "Let 
 me alone. I'll finish what I've begun. But this day's 
 been a lesson to me. I'm tired of giving away my 
 food and my house-room for nothing. You don't get 
 out again, to defy me, in a hurry, my lady." 
 
 Her tone, her words, were unbearably insulting. 
 Coward that I was, and had too often been in the pres- 
 ence of this big grenadier of a w^oman, w^ho looked too 
 large for her own house, my blood leaped now ; and my 
 ears tingled as if she had boxed them. 
 
 An instant ago I had not meant to speak of what had 
 happened to-day, what was to follow a few days later, 
 until she should be In a more promising temper. But 
 in my anger I lost my shrinking dread of her, and w^as 
 bitten vdth the temptation to fling In her fierce face 
 the knowledge that somewhere I was wanted and ap- 
 preciated, if not here. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 I FLING DOWN THE GAUNTLET TO FATE 
 
 "I HAVE never wished nor attempted to defy j^ou, 
 Mrs. East," I said, trying to speak calmly, though my 
 voice trembled. "But there is a limit even to my endur- 
 ance. I am not a slave; I am of your own flesh and 
 blood, and by hard work from early morning till late 
 at night I have earned over and over again the food, 
 the shelter, you so grudgingly allow me. Now " 
 
 "Upon my word!" she broke in, beating m.e down 
 with her loud vituperation. "You'd answer me back, 
 would you? 'My flesh and blood,' you call yourself? 
 A third cousin — that's all you are — is no cousin at all. 
 For years I've kept you out of charity, ever since your 
 mother — a poor, useless invalid, no good to herself or 
 anybody else, for all her fine boastings — died in a rail- 
 way carriage and left you on the world. This is the 
 reward I get for it; but that's life — that's life, I sup- 
 pose. Of course you've been made to work; you 
 couldn't expect to sit idle all day while I slaved for 
 you. But you've not done half what a hired nursemaid 
 would have done. Henry East's silly kindness has 
 spoiled you. I could get in a girl and pay her four 
 shillings a week, not a quarter as much as your clothes 
 and your pocket-money have cost me — ^yes, I could get 
 29 
 
30 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 her in to-morrow, and she'd do better without any 
 practice than you do after five years." 
 
 Fortunately, or unfortunately, I was born with a 
 sense of humour, so that, little merriment as was in 
 my heart, I was seized with a sudden hysterical gust 
 of laughter at Mrs. East's boast of generously given 
 ''pocket-money." She had been known to deal me out 
 a postage-stamp at a time for a letter to Mrs. Bryden 
 or Anne ; and she had sat sulkily by talking of her own 
 financial sacrifices for her family's sake, while her 
 husband tossed a shilling into my plate at breakfast. 
 But she had no sense of humour, and, not fathoming 
 the cause of my laughter, it infuriated her the more. 
 She glared and swallowed hard, but I did not yet 
 allow her to begin again. 
 
 "Wait," I exclaimed; "I have something to say 
 now, Mrs. East. As it will be so easy for you to fill 
 my place, you will be glad to hear that I have made 
 up my mind to relieve you from the burden of my 
 presence at the end of the week. It is only fair to 
 give you so much notice, I think, and for the children's 
 sake " 
 
 "How dare you!" she flung at me. "You go away! 
 j^ou leave a good home like this! Catch you doing it. 
 You know too well which side your bread's buttered, 
 though I've the best mind in the world to take you 
 at your word " 
 
 "I want nothing else," I asseverated. "Indeed, I 
 have wished for long to go. To-day an opportunity 
 has been afforded me. I have had a — a most advan- 
 tageous offer." 
 
I FLING DOWN THE GAUNTLET 31 
 
 She began to look at me sharply, the "boiled goose- 
 berry" eyes, which had such an unpleasant, catty fas- 
 cination for me, snapping with anger. 
 
 "Ah!" she sneered, 'perhaps the Queen has begged 
 you to come and be a maid of honour?" 
 
 "Really, you are not so far wrong," I retorted. "A 
 lady — a woman of title — has invited me to pay her a 
 visit — a long visit. After that she has intimated that 
 she will help me find work." 
 
 "Of all — the — liars — you are the worst and the 
 most barefaced, Consuelo Brand. 'Brand' indeed! I 
 always did say it meant the brand of Satan." 
 
 The blood rushed so hotly to my face that the tears 
 were forced, stinging, to my eyes. 
 
 "Leave my room, woman!" I exclaimed, pointing 
 to the door; "for while I am here in this house it is 
 and shall be mine." 
 
 I had hardly known what I was saying, but when* 
 the full force of my temerity swept over me, I was 
 not even then dismayed. An end was coming now^; 
 the earth quaked in the old world that I had know^n. 
 
 She slid the frightened, whimpering two-year-old 
 from her knees, and springing to her feet, towered 
 above me. 
 
 "You brat! you charity child! you nameless waif!" 
 she choked, "you tell rrve to leave this room ! I tell you 
 to leave my house, not in a week, not to-morrow, but 
 now, this minute. Out you go!" 
 
 I faced her, quivering. 
 
 "Do you mean it?" 
 
 "As much as I mean that I'm sick to death of you. 
 
32 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Not a stick of luggage do you wait for. It can be 
 sent after you to your lady of title. Bah! you make 
 me 111. Go!" 
 
 I shut my lips together without a w^ord. I do not 
 think that I could have spoken then If I would. A 
 shower of glittering sparks seemed to be falling before 
 my eyes; but, fumbling, I found my hat and put It on. 
 My gloves, too, which lay beside It on the bed, I me- 
 chanically picked up, crushing them in my hand. 
 Then, without turning to look back, I left the room. 
 
 Outside In the passage the whirlwind of my quick, 
 blind flight knocked against something, and tumbled it 
 over. Startled, I collected my faculties sufficiently to 
 see Jimmy, who had thus been punished for listening 
 at the keyhole, and to help him to his feet. 
 
 He sneaked downstairs at my side, his small six- 
 year-old body striving to hide itself In my skirt as we 
 went. Halfway down, a strident voice from above 
 hurled some Inarticulate abuse after me, but I neither 
 paused nor looked up, and Jimmy only cuddled the 
 closer. 
 
 At the front-door the little boy clung to me with 
 desperate, grimy hands. 
 
 ''Don't go — don't go, Connie!" he implored. 
 "Maybe she'll be sorry to-morrow. Anyhow, I love 
 you, and I'll be better to you after this If you'll 
 stay, so'll pa. I'll tell him on her, see If I don't. 
 Connie, I can't get along without you — ^honest true I 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 I MAKE A MISTAKE 
 
 Gently, but firmly, I loosened Jimmy's little hands. 
 
 "Vm sorry to leave you, dear," I said. "But after 
 what's happened to-night I can't stay any longer. I 
 won't forget you. And by-and-by I'll write you a 
 letter to your own name. If I have any money, I'll 
 send you a present, too." 
 
 Jimmy's tea s ceased to fall. 
 
 "Will you, true's you live?" 
 
 "Yes. And perhaps I shall come back to see you one 
 day in a carriage. Who knows?" 
 
 I bent and kissed him, despite the smudges with 
 which his small face was ever adorned, save at early 
 morning. Then, before he could grasp me again, I 
 had put him away, and closed the door between us. 
 Running down the steps, and out at the gate, I hur- 
 ried away in the gathering twilight, hardly realizing 
 that the dust of Happiholme Villa had indeed been 
 shaken from my feet. 
 
 For a long time I flew on, aimless, panting, paying 
 no heed to the way I went. But at last sheer fatigue 
 caused my speed to slacken, and with a shock of sur- 
 prise it dawned upon me that I did not know where 
 to go. 
 
 33 
 
34 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 I had told Lady Sophie de Gretton that I must give 
 Mrs. East a few days' notice before leaving her chil- 
 dren, after a residence of five years in her house. Lady 
 Sophie would doubtless have arranged matters in ac- 
 cordance with that expressed intention of mine, so 
 that now it might be inconvenient for her if I were 
 to make my appearance earlier, announcing that I had 
 come to stay. 
 
 At all events, it would be impossible for me to go to 
 Park Lane to-night, as she had mentioned that she 
 was dining out, with a theatre party afterwards. 
 Clearly it would not do to arrive in her absence, with 
 only the servants at home, nor could I hang about the 
 door, like a tramp, until twelve o'clock or so, when 
 she might be expected to return. 
 
 I began to feel a little frightened, though I by no 
 means regretted my precipitancy in leaving that most 
 inappropriately-named domicile, Happiholme. In my 
 shabby purse, which I had possessed since before my 
 dear mother's tragic death, coyly nestled one penny, 
 one halfpenny, and an impracticable farthing. As I 
 walked on more slowly I examined and thought over 
 these resources. 
 
 With the malicious contrariness of human nature, 
 though I could not have eaten the most delicate mor- 
 sel a few moments ago had it been temptingly served to 
 me in Mrs. East's house, I now began poignantly to 
 feel that I was hungry. 
 
 A clock over a cheap jew^eller's shop told me that it 
 was half-past eight. I had lunched hastily at twelve on 
 a piece of bread and cheese before going out to join 
 
I MAKE A MISTAKE 35 
 
 Anne, and I had been far too much excited at Lady 
 Sophie de Gretton's to do more than crumble a bit of 
 Icing on my tiny cake as I tasted the tea In one of her 
 Dresden cups. 
 
 Oh, how faint I was beginning to be! How my 
 head throbbed, and how desolate I was! A brilliant 
 destiny might be fluttering before me, like a Will-o'- 
 the-wisp, but the present brought tears of loneliness to 
 my eyes. I did not know what I was to do, where I 
 might hope to spend the night. 
 
 If Mrs. Bryden had still kept the boarding-house In 
 Bloomsbury, where my mother and I had lived for sev- 
 eral years, I might now have gone there. Mrs. Bryden 
 would gladly have accommodated me for a night or 
 two, and let me pay when I could. But she had moved 
 to Surbiton, and I had no money for my railway fare, 
 so that It was hopeless to think of finding shelter with 
 her. 
 
 Some people spent their nights In wandering up and 
 down, or dropping Into a troubled doze upon the seats 
 on the Embankment, I knew; but I had not the cour- 
 age to face such an experience, and finally, with ex- 
 treme reluctance, I permitted the thought of Mrs. 
 Leatherby-Smlth to grow within my mind. I had 
 never seen Mrs. Leatherby-Smith, though I seemed to 
 know her only too well from Anne's description of her 
 employer, and I had no reason to believe, from the 
 knowledge which I possessed, that she would give her 
 companion-secretary's Insignificant friend a warm wel- 
 come. 
 
 Still, much as I disliked exacting a grudging favour, 
 
36 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 I thought It would be preferable to entreat Mrs. Leath- 
 
 erby-Smlth's hospitality for one night rather than walk 
 the streets, or apply to a Refuge for Homeless Young 
 Women — all spelled with capital letters. 
 
 Whatever I did, It was clear that I could not pre- 
 sent myself at Lady Sophie de Gretton's till next day 
 at earliest, and Mrs. Leatherby-Smith appeared to be 
 my only other hope. I might sleep with Anne, I 
 reflected, and, after all, I need not make trouble for 
 any one else In the house. 
 
 Having once arrived at a decision, I felt better. 
 But the next thing was to reach Addison Road, where 
 Mrs. Leatherby-Smith lived. A penny would not take 
 me half the distance in an omnibus, but I must ride 
 as far as I could, and accomplish the rest of the journey 
 on foot. My remaining halfpenny I expended at a 
 baker's upon a cake so stodgy as to be particularly 
 filling at the price, and ate it, furtive and abject, at 
 a street corner while waiting for the 'bus to come 
 in sight. 
 
 As I did so, with such poor pretence of jauntiness as 
 I could maintain, I thought of Lady Sophie de Gret- 
 ton, and of the two dainty occupants of the mysterious 
 victoria, w^ondering grimly what would be their im- 
 pression if they could see me now. 
 
 Somewhat revived, I was ready to make the neces' 
 sary exertion, when the om.nibus had brought me as 
 far as It would for a penny, and I had to descend and 
 walk. 
 
 It was a very long walk, which I made still longer 
 by losing my way more than once. Weary, faint, and 
 
I MAKE A MISTAKE 37 
 
 miserably doubtful of my reception, I was almost too 
 far gone, when at last I reached Addison Road, to 
 rejoice that I was so near my journey's end. 
 
 Mrs. Leatherby-Smith, who had occupied a suite in 
 a fashionable hotel, when first she came to London 
 for the season (which meant so much to her nouveau 
 riche ambition), had not been long in Addison Road; 
 but I had written to Anne since her arrival, and I 
 was sure of the address. 
 
 "Holland Park House" was the name which I had 
 scrawled on one or two envelopes during the past four 
 weeks; and now, seeing the two words, ''Holland 
 Park," glittering in gold letters on a tall iron gate- 
 way, I did not wait to let my eyes travel further along 
 the line, but ventured inside. 
 
 A short drive led up to a large building of brick and 
 stone, dignified with a deep porch, the roof of which 
 was supported by massive pillars. I knew that Mrs. 
 Leatherby-Smith was lavish of the money left her by 
 a deceased Birmingham husband, and that she had 
 chosen a place in Addison Road expressly that she 
 might be able to give garden parties; but I had hardly 
 expected to see such an imposing mansion as this. It 
 looked big enough for two or three Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smiths to give parties all at the same time. 
 
 Big double doors stood hospitably open. Within, 
 other doors, half composed of jewelled glass, were 
 tightly closed. A light shone through, and here and 
 there in the house other lights filtered through drawn 
 curtains; but many windows were dark. Probably, I 
 thought, Mrs. Leatherby-Smith was out; but Anne 
 
38 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 would be at home, and not yet in bed, as it was not 
 much after ten o'clock. 
 
 I touched an electric bell, and an elderly man, in 
 a plain, businesslike livery, answered my ring. 
 
 "Is — is Miss Bryden at home?" I hesitated. 
 
 The man looked puzzled. 
 
 "Miss Bryden? I don't know the name," was his 
 reply. 
 
 "She is Mrs. Leatherby-Smith's companion." 
 
 The cloud of his bewilderment did not lift. 
 
 "Is Mrs. Leatherby-Smith visiting here?" he in- 
 quired, with an air of painful conscientiousness. "We 
 have no tenant by that name, miss." 
 
 "But this is Mrs. Leatherby-Smith's house, isn't it?'* 
 I questioned hastily. "Surely Holland Park 
 House " 
 
 "Ah, you've made a mistake, then. This is Hol- 
 land Park Mansions. Holland Park House is next 
 door but one, miss. I'll show you, if you like." 
 
 "Thank you," I had begun, and was already moving 
 farther from the door, when from within a man came 
 out in so great a hurry that the janitor was obliged 
 to forget his dignity and give a funny little hop out 
 of the way. 
 
 I, too, stepped aside, expecting to see the man con- 
 tinue his headlong career down the drive to the gate; 
 but instead he stopped abruptly on the threshold and 
 gazed at me. 
 
 He was a man of middle age, well dressed and sub- 
 stantial-looking, with old-fashioned side whiskers, gray 
 hair, and round, gold-bowed, smoked spectacles that 
 
I MAKE A MISTAKE 39 
 
 lent him a benevolent air. In his hand was a telegraph 
 form, crushed up with the opened envelope. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said ; then paused, as if 
 undecided how to follow up his preface. I gleaned 
 a rapid impression that he fancied we had met before, 
 and though his face was strange to me, oddly enough 
 I vaguely had the same feeling in regard to him. 
 
 The pause was very short; he had scarcely given 
 himself more than time to draw breath, although it 
 certainly had seemed that, for the fraction of a second, 
 he had sought eagerly for an idea, an inspiration. 
 
 Then — "I beg your pardon," he said again. ''But 
 didn't I hear you inquiring for Holland Park House? 
 The people there are your friends?" 
 
 "I don't know Mrs. Leatherby-Smith," I confessed 
 humbly. ''But her companion. Miss Anne Bryden, is 
 a friend of mine." 
 
 The face of the middle-aged man brightened with a 
 smile. I racked my brain to think where, if ever, I 
 had seen him before; but the recollection would not 
 come. 
 
 "Ah, Miss Anne Bryden! She is a friend of mine 
 also. It is a great pity, if you were gong to Holland 
 Park House to-night, that Mrs. Leatherby-Smith and 
 Miss Bryden are both away. They are not expected 
 to return until to-morrow morning. I am Mr. Wynn- 
 stay. You may have heard Miss Bryden speak of me." 
 
 "No," I replied, my heart sinking at the news of 
 Anne's absence. "I don't think she has mentioned 
 you. But, then, I haven't seen much of her since she 
 and Mrs. Leatherby-Smith came to live in Addison 
 
40 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Road. It is very odd, however, that Anne said nothing 
 to me when I was with her this afternoon about going 
 away for all night." 
 
 "I dare say she did not know then," Mr. Wynnstay 
 explained, regarding my changed countenance intently. 
 "Mrs. Leatherby-Smith is a woman of quick decisions. 
 They — er — left quite suddenly, as I happen to know. 
 I'm sorry my little friend Miss Bryden forgot to men- 
 tion my existence, for, had she done so, you would 
 be more ready to let me help you in any way 
 possible, if you are inconvenienced by her unexpected 
 absence. I trust, however, that — er — you are not 
 inconvenienced?" 
 
 If I had been quite myself I might successfully have 
 maintained an air of graceful reserve; but I was weak 
 with fatigue and hunger, which had developed into a 
 wiry headache, with little hot and cold flashes of gid- 
 diness. My eyes were so full of tears that a fall of 
 my lashes sent two plashing over my cheeks, and after 
 that it was useless to pretend that I was indifferent. 
 
 "I don't quite know what to do," I choked, "for I 
 thought Anne would surely have been at home. How^- 
 ever, it doesn't matter at all. I am much obliged to 
 you, sir, for saving me the trouble of going on to Hol- 
 land Park House. Good-night." 
 
 "But, my dear young lady, you must really forgive 
 me: I can't let you go away like that. Pray wait, 
 and let us have a moment's conversation. Denby" — 
 to the janitor — "place a chair for the lady. She is 
 tired." 
 
 These last sentences w^re delivered with authority, 
 
I MAKE A MISTAKE 41 
 
 and i)beyed with alacrity. Evidently Mr. Wynnstay 
 was / respected tenant of Holland Park Mansions. 
 
 I sat down, not because my mind desired it, but 
 because my knees insisted. 
 
 *'You were very anxious, I fear, to see Miss Bry- 
 den?" said the gentleman with side whiskers. 
 
 ''I meant to stop to-night with her," I admitted, 
 *'as — I happened to be rather far from home, and it 
 Is late. But " 
 
 "Of course? Quite so. And now you are some- 
 w^hat at a loss. As a friend of Mrs. Leatherby-Smith's 
 and Miss Bryden's, you must permit me to advise you." 
 
 "Where have I seen you before?" I demanded ab- 
 ruptly — or, rather, something within me, over which I 
 had no control, seemed to ask the question. 
 
 Mr. Wynnstay's face stiffened. 
 
 "If we had met before, it is impossible that I should 
 have forgotten it," he said politely. But, despite the 
 politeness, for some reason which I could not under- 
 stand, my words had displeased and disconcerted him. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHAT I SAW IN THE MIRROR 
 
 I FELT that I must be growing morbid, looking fof 
 mysteries and hidden meanings everyuhere, even in the 
 most unlikely places, as I had appeared continually 
 to do during the past few eventful hours. Perhaps I 
 had imagined Mr. Wynnstay's displeasure; at any 
 rate, it apparently lasted but for an instant. 
 
 "It would certainly not be agreeable for you to go 
 to Holland Park House in both ladies' absence, as you 
 are not acquainted with Mrs. Leatherby-Smith," he 
 went on, revealing his consideration for my forlorn- 
 ness, "and simply announce to the servants that you 
 intended to stop the night. Unless they already know 
 you very w^ell, I fear they w^ouid hesitate to let you in." 
 
 "I shouldn't dream of attempting such a thing," I 
 returned. "You have been good to take an interest; 
 but now I really must go, and " 
 
 "ly-ay wait. I believe I see a way out of the diffi- 
 culty," Mr. Wynnstay interpolated. "If you will 
 come into my study, which is close by on this floor, 
 and sit for a few minutes while I give you a letter 
 to the housekeeper, telling her (on my responsibility) 
 to take you up to Miss Bryden's room, she will with- 
 
 42 
 
WHAT I SAW IN THE MIRROR 43 
 
 out doubt do so. Then Mrs. Leatherby-Smith need 
 know nothing of the transaction until you see Miss 
 Bryden and she explains matters satisfactorily to her 
 employer. What do you say to that plan?" 
 
 I hardly knew what to say. The man was a stran- 
 ger to me; it was distasteful to accept a favour from 
 him; the whole affair was distressing; and I could 
 scarcely bring myself to pass a night under Mrs. Lea- 
 therby-Smith's roof without her permission. But the 
 alternative was appalling. I was penniless ; it was now 
 nearer eleven than ten ; the night loomed black and full 
 of horrors to my sensitized imagination. 
 
 "I think I must accept your kindness," I said. "Per- 
 haps — would it not be better if you would take mc 
 to the door of Holland Park House, Instead of trou- 
 bling to write a letter? I fancy you were going out 
 when I " 
 
 "It will be better to write," he reiterated; and going 
 to the door through which I had seen him come out 
 into the hall, he threw it open. 
 
 There was darkness within at first, but In a second 
 or two Mr. Wynnstay's hand had found the electric 
 button, and the room was Illumined by a clear and 
 brilliant light. 
 
 "We shall not be long, Denby," announced my bene- 
 factor, as if to set me at my ease with the janitor, 
 who had been decorously drinking In our conversation. 
 "You may be at hand, if you please, to show the lady 
 out when she is ready to go." 
 
 These words relieved me from danger of being 
 placed In a false position, and my gratitude towards 
 
44 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Mr. Wynnstay increased. He was certainly remarkably 
 thoughtful, and I reproached myself for a dim feeling 
 of physical repulsion against him which had sprung up 
 in my breast with the first glimpse of his benevolent, 
 middle-aged countenance. 
 
 "Perhaps the man of whom he reminds me was con- 
 nected with some disagreeable experience or other 
 which I can't remember, but which I'm now visiting 
 on this innocent and kindly old person," I said to m)^- 
 self as I walked, still with a certain reluctance, into 
 Mr. Wynnstay's domain. 
 
 It was a handsomely-furnished room, though almost 
 any other appellation than "study" would have been 
 more appropriate to a place where books were so few. 
 However, there were one or two shelves where lux- 
 uriously-bound volumes turned their handsome leather 
 backs to the audience ; on a table magazines and papers 
 were scattered ; and there was a desk with a silk-shaded 
 lamp, for w^hich Mr. Wynnstay switched on the elec- 
 tric light. 
 
 He did not entirely close the door leading into the 
 hall, so that I still felt easily able to establish com- 
 munication with the outer world, inhabited by Denby. 
 
 "I had the misfortune a few weeks ago to dislocate 
 the thumb of my right hand," my host remarked, 
 when he had laid out writing materials. "It is diffi- 
 cult for me, even now, to use a pen, and I shall be 
 obliged if you will write the letter I mentioned, w^hich 
 I will sign when it is finished. Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smith's housekeeper w^ill recognise my signature, which 
 she has ha«l occasion to see on one or two legal docu- 
 
WHAT I SAW IN THE MIRROR 45 
 
 ments. All you need say is that Miss — er — I don't 
 think, now I come to reflect, that I have the pleas- 
 ure of knowing your name." 
 
 I mentioned it; and he went on to suggest the out- 
 lines of such a note to the housekeeper as he thought 
 best calculated to open Mrs. Leatherby-Smith's doors 
 for me. Meanwhile, I had sat obediently down at the 
 desk, and taken up a pen. 
 
 It appeared to me that if he had accompanied mc 
 to Holland Park House, saying a few words of intro- 
 duction to the servant at the door, who must have 
 been familiar with his face, it would have been a dis- 
 tinct saving of time ; but he had chosen otherwise, and 
 it was not for me to question his decision. 
 
 As I wrote the letter, which, following on the lines 
 proposed by Mr. Wynnstay, had to be somewhat long 
 and rambling, my host walked up and down the room. 
 I could hear his nervous footfalls on the polished floor, 
 whenever he strayed off the big Turkish rug in the 
 centre; but once, for a long moment, the sound of his 
 steps was stilled. 
 
 Silence, save for the scratching of the quill pen in 
 my fingers across the paper, reigned in the room. I 
 wrote quickly on, and had nearly reached the end of 
 what I had to say, when I heard a faint, clinking noise, 
 like two pieces of glass brought into contact with each 
 other. 
 
 "Mr. Wynnstay is surreptitiously refreshing himself 
 with a glass of wine, or whisky, behind my back," I 
 thought; *'or perhaps he is pouring out something for 
 me, but I certainly won't have it. If he offered me a 
 
46 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 biscuit instead, in my present state of collapse, I might 
 not be able to resist, but wine could not tempt me." 
 
 Writing the last few words, I became suddenly con- 
 scious that Mr. Wynnstay had come close behind my 
 chair. I had not heard his advance ; the rug had dead- 
 ened the sound of his footsteps, but somehow I felt that 
 he was there. He was looking at the letter under my 
 hand, maybe; and the thought that his gaze w^as fast- 
 ened on the back of my head made me uncomfortable. 
 
 I did not turn to look at him, but I raised my eyes 
 from the paper, and as I did so they focussed upon a 
 quaint convex mirror hanging on the wall directly over 
 the desk. 
 
 Reflected on its oddly transforming surface, I could 
 see myself, and, bending over me, Mr. Wynnstay. He 
 was looking, not at me, nor at the letter, as I had 
 fancied, but at something which he held in his hand; 
 and a prickling thrill ran through my nerves at the 
 notable difference in the man — a difference for which 
 the convex mirror was not wholly responsible. 
 
 He was no longer benevolent of aspect. His big 
 mouth hung half open, showing yellow, irregular teeth. 
 The round, smoked spectacles were pushed far up on 
 his frowning forehead, and the eyes looked cruel. With 
 a leap of the heart, I knew, in one terrible instant, 
 where I had seen this man before. 
 
 The room faded, and I saw w^th my mind's eyes 
 another picture which blotted all else out. A little 
 girl was in a railway carriage with her mother, a beau- 
 tiful, wearj'-faced woman in the heavy mourning which 
 she had worn ever since the child could remember. 
 
WHAT I SAW IN THE MIRROR 47 
 
 They had been whispering together of a wonderful 
 change that was to come into their monotonous life, all 
 through a letter which had arrived that morning, a 
 change the mother could not explain then, but that the 
 little girl would understand by-and-by, when it came, 
 when everything was different, and they were happier 
 than they had ever been. 
 
 The two spoke in low voices, but an old clergyman 
 (with beautiful white hair and a long white beard) who 
 got in at a station after theirs seemed interested in the 
 couple. When they relapsed into thoughtful silence, 
 he kindly offered the mother a share of his papers and 
 magazines. Later, when she complained of a headache, 
 he took from his bag a bottle of smelling salts, begging 
 her to keep it as long as she liked. 
 
 She went to sleep with it in her hand at last; and, 
 rather than wake her, the child gently withdrew the 
 bottle from the clasping fingers when the old clergy- 
 man was about to leave the train, returning it to him 
 with a grateful smile. 
 
 He had bent down to take it, and as he did so the 
 little girl looked up into his eyes. They were curious 
 eyes, one brown, the other grayish-blue, with a mot- 
 tled yellow line round the pupil. For years the child 
 had not thought of those strange eyes, because, a few 
 moments after the clergyman had left the compart- 
 ment, a thing had happened which made all the past 
 seem dim and far away. 
 
 At the next station the slender figure in black had 
 fallen sidewaj^s, with a slight jerking of the train as 
 it stopped. The little girl, frightened, had attempted 
 
48 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 to rouse her mother in vain. The sleep into which 
 she had sunk had been that dread sleep which knows 
 no waking. 
 
 "Heart failure," the doctors had said ; but that was 
 afteru^ards. The picture which had risen to blur the 
 features of the handsome, commonplace room in Addi- 
 son Road held only the sleeping mother, the grateful 
 child, the white-haired clergyman with the curious 
 eyes. 
 
 I had been that child. And those eyes were re- 
 flected now in the mirror over the desk. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE PLAUSIBILITY OF MR. WYNNSTAY 
 
 The old clergyman who had travelled in the same 
 compartment with my mother and me, on that sad- 
 dest day of my life, had not been in any sinister way 
 connected with the tragedy — ^which, indeed, only oc- 
 curred after he had departed. He had been attentive 
 and kind to us ; he had looked keenly at me as he went 
 out; these were his sole sins. Yet it w^as horrible to 
 see the ill-matched eyes again, after all these years, set 
 in a younger face — a face differing in every other feat- 
 ure, framed no longer in an aureole of snowy hair. 
 
 How was I so sure they were the same eyes? I 
 could not have explained that; I could not have told 
 my impression coherently enough to prove anything to 
 the most lenient jury; yet I was sure. And being 
 sure, I was filled with the greater fear at what I saw. 
 
 My glance into the mirror showed me Mr. Wynn- 
 stay standing close behind my chair, pouring the con- 
 tents of a bottle upon a handkerchief. He was stoop- 
 ing over, as if to bring himself even nearer to me. As 
 I looked, my gaze fixed upon the glass with a hateful 
 fascination, the bottle was emptied; I began to inhale 
 a pungent, sickly odour, which was not entirely un- 
 familiar. Cousin Sarah East used stuff that smelled 
 49 
 
so MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 like this sometimes when she had headaches. It was 
 chloroform. 
 
 Instantly I knew what was coming, though why it 
 should come I could not guess. There was no time 
 for speculation — no time for thought at all. With a 
 low cry, I half rose in my chair. The man's stout body, 
 pressing against it now from behind, prevented my 
 pushing it back. The slight sound I had uttered caused 
 him to start and lift his head from his task. Our eyes 
 met in the mirror. 
 
 For my life I could not have withdrawn mine. I 
 saw him in the glass, as he pounced upon me like some 
 great bird of prey. Then the picture went out, like 
 the rainbow tints in a bubble that bursts, for my face 
 was buried in the dripping handkerchief. 
 
 For some short space — how many seconds it might 
 have measured I cannot tell — I struggled, voicelessly, 
 striving to escape, striving to breathe, knowing 
 through it all that if I could only scream, the janitor 
 must surely hear me and come. I knew this; but I 
 knew also that with every breath I tried to draw I 
 merely inhaled the heavy fumes of chloroform, which 
 were gradually steeping my senses in sleep. 
 
 I felt them going — going — felt consciousness slip- 
 ping from me, on a sluggish tide. I began to see, 
 in a dream, white pond lilies floating along the smooth, 
 moving surface of w^ater, bound in the end to fall over 
 a weir, towards which they were almost imperceptibly 
 drifting. Those lilies and my own failing senses were 
 somehow the same ; if I could arrest one, I could save 
 both, and I fought for the life of my own soul. 
 
PLAUSIBILITY OF MR. WYNNSTAY 51 
 
 "I mustn't let myself go — I mustn't." 
 
 I could hear the adm.onition buzzing queerly in my 
 mind, like a wheel spinning round and round. Once 
 lost to consciousness, I dimly felt that this world was 
 finished for me — I had come to the end; the lilies 
 would go over the weir and be beaten to shreds in the 
 foaming rush of the water. 
 
 Then another voice came ; very small, very far away 
 it seemed in my strange state, but growing louder, until 
 it shouted thunderously in my brain : 
 
 ''Don't breathe ; hold your breath till he takes away 
 the handkerchief. Pretend to be unconscious." 
 
 I had just presence of mind enough left to obey the 
 promptings of this instinct towards self-preservation. I 
 thought that the man would never remove the wet 
 linen pressed over my face ; but when I had let my body 
 collapse limply until it fell back into his arms, the 
 handkerchief was withdrawn. 
 
 A second longer and I must have gasped wildly 
 for air, filling my lungs with more of the fumes, 
 enough to send the poor, floating lilies, which I still 
 dreamily saw, over the crystal lip of the weir. 
 
 My eyes were closed; my head was lying back 
 against the man's shoulder. I knew that he was gazing 
 keenly at me, and I dared not let my eyelids quiver, lest 
 he should suspect that I deceived him. 
 
 It would have been even harder than it was to lie 
 motionless, feigning complete unconsciousness, had it 
 not been that the chloroform had already half done its 
 work. 
 
 I retained a knowledge of what passed, but hazily, 
 
52 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 and my mind was clogged, clouded with a heavy indif- 
 ference to my fate. I was like one who, though dream- 
 ing still, is sufficiently awake to know that he dreams 
 — no more. 
 
 "What luck! what astounding luck!" the man who 
 had called himself Wynnstay whispered under his 
 breath, a note of triumph thrilling through the sub- 
 dued voice. ''That it should have been to-night of all 
 nights — after the telegram. Like a lamb — that pokes 
 its nose into the butcher's hand." 
 
 The muttered words struck on my brain as if they 
 had been blows from a tiny hammer, each one uner- 
 ringly aimed to reach the tenderest spot. My ebbing 
 senses came back with a shock, a wrenching of the 
 nerves; still, my body and my spirit felt as if they 
 were separated, and I were trying vainly to fit them 
 together again, so that I could move. As it was, I 
 did not seem to have any control over my own muscles. 
 
 ''What shall I do — how save myself from him?" I 
 thought. "In a moment it may be too late to decide. 
 Am I to lie quietly here, or am I to stake all on a 
 single move — now — in this instant?" 
 
 Yet I could do nothing. My body refused obedience 
 to the brain. 
 
 The man gathered me up in his arms and moved 
 across the room. A minute more and my dress was 
 drenched with eau de Cologne. I wondered mistily 
 if it were meant to drown the odour of the chloroform. 
 At all events, it was not dashed into my face, and 
 evidently was not used with the intention of reviv- 
 ing me. 
 
PLAUSIBILITY OF MR. WYNNSTAY 53 
 
 Once. more Mr. Wynnstay moved with me In his 
 arms. To my surprise and almost incredulous joy, 
 he was going toward the door that led into the hall. 
 
 I heard him call in a fussy, anxious tone : 
 
 "Denby! Denby! come here, quick!" 
 
 The door squeaked faintly, and the janitor's startled 
 accents responded : 
 
 "Well, sir? Why, whatever's the matter, sir?" 
 
 "Good gracious ! can't you see for yourself the girl's 
 fainted? — fell over in her chair before she could finish 
 a letter I was dictating to her. She miust have been 
 ill when she came — most inconsiderate, I must say. 
 Call a four-wheeler, Denby, as quick as you can. I 
 shall take her to my doctor's house. I can't stand a 
 fainting woman on my hands." 
 
 "Pshaw, sir! she'll soon come round again," soothed 
 the janitor. 
 
 "I won't trust to that. I'm not the man for this 
 sort of thing. The cab, and make haste about it, 
 Denby. I'll follow you out of doors with her, where 
 it's dark. Not very pleasant for me if anybody should 
 be coming in and catch me with a fainting woman in 
 my arms. A nice situation!" 
 
 "All right, sir, if you're bound to have her out of 
 the house," the janitor acquiesced, with a humorous 
 quaver of indulgence in his voice. "I'll have whistled 
 you a four-wheeler inside a couple of minutes, I dare 
 say, though it's a bad time for cabs in this neighbour- 
 hood, I'm afraid." 
 
 Mr. Wynnstay was carrying m.e out of the house. 
 A cool air blew on my face, and a flurry of rain that 
 
54 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 had begun to fall from long-threatening skies spat- 
 tered my forehead. 
 
 "Confound it!" the man muttered, and, with what 
 secretiveness I could imagine, once more pressed over 
 my mouth and nose the chlorformed handkerchief, 
 which he must have hidden in his pocket. 
 
 He was afraid of the very thing which had oc- 
 curred, and behind Denby's back was endeavouring to 
 counteract the restorative effect of wind and rain. 
 
 I had been summoning all my strength, all my ener- 
 gies, for an effort to break my invisible bonds; and 
 now I was to be defeated in the moment of success. 
 If I could only hold my breath, and not draw in 
 those deadly fumes 
 
 There was the whistle for the cab which was to 
 take me away — where? To my death, perhaps. I 
 believed now that I must be in the hands of a 
 madman, for he could have no sane motive in wish- 
 ing to compass the destruction of so insignificant a 
 creature as I. A madman would stop at nothing. It 
 was now or never with me. 
 
 Again and again the whistle, and then came the 
 rattle of wheels. A cab had driven hrough the gates, 
 and the horse's feet were crunching the gravel of the 
 short drive that led up to the house. 
 
 The man who held me started forward, the handker- 
 chief no longer covering my face; then I heard him 
 draw in his breath sharply, stepping back so hastily 
 that he stumbled. 
 
 Involuntarily, in the instinctive effort to save him- 
 self from a fall, his grasp was loosened. I felt myself 
 
PLAUSIBILITY OF MR. WYNNSTAY 55 
 
 slipping out of his arms, and with one supreme effort, 
 staggering, panting, quivering, I threw him off, keep- 
 ing my feet as they touched the ground. 
 
 "Help! help!" I whispered feebly, when I would 
 have shrieked aloud. 
 
 My eyes were wide open now, and staring, though 
 everything swam before them, as if I had been made 
 giddy with the long-continued motion of a merry-go- 
 round. What I saw, what I heard, mingled together 
 in clamouring confusion — a pair of bright lights, 
 like great eyes, a hansom, and tv\^o men getting out 
 of it. 
 
 The yellow light shone on the face of one. I re- 
 membered it, and was vaguely glad. But, strangely, 
 being glad caused me to weep, and through my weep- 
 ing I could still hear down by the gate the shrill whis- 
 tling that was to summon a four-w^heeled cab. 
 
 "Save me!" I articulated hoarsely; and tottering for- 
 ward, I kept myself from falling by seizing with both 
 hands a black coat-sleeve which seemed to stretch itself 
 protectingly toward me. 
 
 "Don't be frightened. Of course I'll help you," a 
 voice said soothingly. "Has this man been annoying 
 you?" 
 
 I pressed closer to him, farther from Mr. Wynn- 
 stay, whom with clearing vision I could distinctly see, 
 his whiskered face more benevolent of aspect than ever 
 now that the smoked glasses once more hid the queer 
 disparity of his eyes. 
 
 "He — he was going to kill me, I think," I panted. 
 
 Somehow, looking at that mild countenance, my 
 
56 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 words sounded unconvincing, foolish. I realized this, 
 and was abashed. 
 
 Mr. Wynnstay laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 "There !" he exclaimed, "that's what an old bachelor 
 gets for meddling with what doesn't concern him. It's 
 just what I vias afraid of." He lifted his voice, and 
 called to the janitor. "Never mind the cab, Denby. 
 The lady has come to herself." 
 
 "Whatever this man says, don't believe him," I 
 pleaded. "For Heaven's sake don't let him take me 
 away with him!" 
 
 "Certainly not," he whose arm supported me re- 
 turned with decision. "But " 
 
 "Certainly not, indeed!" broke in Mr. Wynnstay 
 irritably. "It is the last thing I want, I can tell you, 
 young lady, now that you seem to need a doctor as 
 little as I do. I ieally must ask you to let me explain 
 this most vexing dilemma, sir. You are Sir George 
 Seaforth, I believe? I've seen you here before, as 
 well as elsewhere. You will probably recognise my 
 name also when I mention it — Nathaniel Wynnstay, 
 not quite unknown as a solicitor." 
 
 "I think I have friends who know you," replied 
 the other, somewhat impatiently I thought. "Still " 
 
 Again the elder man interrupted: 
 
 "I feel bound to introduce myself, under the un- 
 pleasant aspersions which this lady has been misguided 
 enough to — but a few words will make everything 
 plain. I bear her no malice; she is only mistaken. 
 Until half an hour ago we were strangers. She came 
 here believing this to be Holland Park House. I was 
 
PLAUSIBILITY OF MR. WYNNSTAY 57 
 
 In the act of going out when I heard her Inquiring 
 for an acquaintance of mine living almost next door. 
 Seeing that she was bitterly disappointed when I was 
 able to Inform her that the lady was away, and fancy- 
 ing her tired and ill, I determined to arrange that 
 she should, after all, spend the night at my friend Mrs. 
 Leatherby-Smith's house. 
 
 "My right hand being lame, I suggested that she 
 should write a proposed letter to the housekeeper for 
 my signature. She consented, but hardly had she sat 
 down at the desk in my study when I saw that she 
 was on the point of fainting. I hurried into the ad- 
 joining room for some eau de Cologne, which I sprin- 
 kled over her, unfortunately without avail. I then 
 called the janitor, and requested him to procure a 
 four-wheeled cab, Intending to drive the lady to my 
 physlcan's, not far off, as I had never seen a woman 
 faint before, and dared not take the responsibility of 
 restoring her. Fearing to be seen in a ridiculous posi- 
 tion by some of the other tenants of this house, I has- 
 tily carried the lady, apparently still unconscious, out 
 of doors into the shadow of the porch, to wait until 
 the cab should arrive. 
 
 "The rest you know, and though I fail to com- 
 prehend why the young lady I tried to benefit should 
 accuse me — er — as a would-be murderer, I suppose 
 hysterical women are not responsible for their hallu- 
 cinations." 
 
 "He drugged me!" I stammered weakly. In self- 
 defence, astounded at the plausible manner In which he 
 had turned the story. His version sounded so probable 
 
58 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 — ^mine so wildly impossible. *'He pressed a handker- 
 chief wet with chloroform over my face. I kept myself 
 from breathing the fumes as well as I could, but I 
 was dazed. Even now everything seems far away and 
 strange." 
 
 "You dreamed it all," asserted Mr. Wynnstay. 
 "Quite natural. I have no hard feelings toward you 
 — though it is a little discouraging when a man tries 
 to do a kind action to be rewarded by such accusa- 
 tions. What motive could a staid old fellow like me 
 have had, my dear madam, for attempting to drug 
 you?" 
 
 "I— don't know," I faltered. 
 
 "Ah, I thought so. You will presently, I am sure, 
 admit that you have done me a further injustice. 
 Denby, you heard and saw everything that took place 
 between this young lady and me. Perhaps you will 
 kindly add your testimony to mine." 
 
 "Certingly, sir," promptly responded the janitor, 
 pleased to be called upon as a witness. "It's all true 
 what Mr. Wynnstay says. He was most kind to the 
 young lady, whom he'd evidently never set eyes on 
 before to-night. When she w^nt into his study for 
 the letter to be written the door was open, and Mr. 
 Wynnstay purticulurly ast me to stop in the hall a 
 few minutes till she should want to be shown out. 
 I did stop, and I could easy 'ave seen everything that 
 went on in the study. It w^asn't much above five min- 
 utes, I should think, before Mr. Wynnstay (one of 
 our oldest tenants, I may say) called out to m^e that 
 the lady'd fainted. I was scared, though not, when 
 
PLAUSIBILITY OF xMR. WYNNSTAY 59 
 
 I came to think of it, surprised, for she was as white 
 as a ghost, and shaky-like, when I opened the front- 
 door for her; and I thought she'd 'ave dropped when 
 I told her Mrs. Leatherby-Smith didn't live here. Mr. 
 Wynnstay followed me out, and I'd just begun to 
 whistle the four-wheeler when j'our hansom drove in." 
 
 "I've often heard my friends in the flat next mine 
 speak of Mr. Wynnstay," remarked a new voice, which 
 I had not heard before. 
 
 It was that of the other man, who had come in 
 the cab with Sir George Seaforth. Sir George Sea- 
 forth! "What association did that name call up?" I 
 asked myself. I could not remember; my head ached 
 blindingly, and I felt too ill for further mental effort. 
 But I knew that this was the man who, near Lady 
 Sophie de Gretton's house, had pulled me out from 
 among the horses and set me safely on the pavement 
 again. To-day seemed full of coincidences; but I was 
 to learn later that this meeting was not a coincidence. 
 Rather, it was a direct result of an earlier incident. 
 
 The other man, who had testified last to the im- 
 maculate Mr. Wynnstay 's integrity, I had never seen 
 before. I felt no curiosity regarding him — only a slight 
 sense of resentment that he should defend my enemy 
 seemingly at my expense. 
 
 Sir George Seaforth looked at me, and I met his 
 eyes appealingly, fearful lest Mr. Wynnstay and his 
 backers had alienated him from my cause. But there 
 was no stern incredulity visible on the brown face, 
 though I searched the semi-darkness to find it. The 
 hansom had driven away now, the cabman paid (I 
 
6o MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 indistinctly remembered seeing) by Sir George Sea- 
 forth's companion. 
 
 The two new-comers, Mr. Wynnstay, the janitor, 
 and I, were the only actors in the scene — the only audi- 
 ence as well — our footlights the bright stream of elec- 
 tricity which poured through the open doors into the 
 night. 
 
 "You oughtn't to be standing out here in the rain," 
 said Sir George Seaforth to me, without answering his 
 friend. 
 
 Curiously, even in that moment, there was room in 
 my mind for triumph that his first thought, after all 
 he had heard, was still of my welfare. 
 
 "You look awfully ill. What would you like to 
 do? Will you go at once to your friends' house?" 
 
 "I can't go now," I answered. "They're away, 
 and " 
 
 "But you can still have the introduction to the house- 
 keeper I promised," benevolently interrupted Mr. 
 Wynnstay. "As I said, I bear you no malice, poor 
 child, for the illusion of a temporarily disordered brain. 
 I'm certain that, by this time, you are ready to see 
 common-sense and laugh at your former suspicions. 
 Come now! to prove you regret your injustice, better 
 let me escort you to Mrs. Leatherby-Smith's. We 
 won't trouble any further about the letter; and Hol- 
 land Park House is only a few steps from here." 
 
 "No — no!" I ejaculated. 
 
 "What? You don't mean to say that you still be- 
 lieve me a — er — a villain out of melodrama?" Mr. 
 Wynnstay laughed jovially. 
 
PLAUSIBILITY OF MR. WYNNSTAY 6i 
 
 He was either a marvellous actor or else — or else 
 he was right, and hunger, fatigue, and excitement had 
 combined to make me dream things unspeakable. Was 
 it, after all, possible that I had been on the point of 
 fainting, without the subtle aid of drugs, and in the 
 clouded moment of swooning imagined the picture in 
 the looking-glass? 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE MEETING THAT WAS NOT A COINCIDENCE 
 
 How could I prove my story? I had been tired, I 
 had been almost ready to faint. Sheer hunger had 
 made my head feel as if it were filled with the fumes 
 of new wine. It had been so before I looked up 
 into the mirror to see Mr. Wynnstay pouring some- 
 thing out of a bottle on to a handkerchief. 
 
 How could I be sure, and make others sure, that 
 it had been chloroform? Maybe I had lost conscious- 
 ness at once, and, as Mr. Wynnstay said, dreamed all 
 the rest. I saw, or thought I saw, that Sir George 
 Seaforth and his friend both thought that it was so. 
 
 I no longer found any resemblance between this pro- 
 saic, gray-whiskered, middle-aged man and the pictur- 
 esque old clergyman with the white hair and the eyes 
 that did not match. Even if such a resemblance did 
 exist — even if by an astonishing coincidence the two 
 were one and the same — how could I possibly prove it 
 now? Besides, the clergyman had done us no harm. 
 He had come and gone on that sorrowful day, and 
 been connected with its grief only through the chance 
 that he had been travelling for a short distance in our 
 company. 
 
 I realized that the ground was cut away from under 
 62 
 
A MEETING NOT A COINCIDENCE 63 
 
 my feet. To-morrow (if I had eaten and slept mean- 
 while) I might once again feel as certain of what I 
 had seen in the mirror as I had felt at the time; but 
 now I could plan nothing, do nothing. If my eyes had 
 seen aright, then Mr. Wynnstay was too clever for me 
 to cope with. If they had been deceived, it would be 
 shameful to reiterate my accusations. I was very un- 
 happy, utterly bewildered. 
 
 '1 don't know what to say," I exclaimed at last. 
 ''Only — I would rather go alone to Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smith's. I — if I have misjudged you, I hope you will 
 forgive me. But — but I can't forget what I thought. 
 I can't trust myself with you alone, feeling as I do." 
 
 The man shrugged his elderly shoulders. Sir George 
 Seaforth had led me up on the porch out of the rain, 
 which was increasing, and it gave me a sense of pro- 
 tection to be near him. I feared at first lest he should 
 fail me, and deliver me over to the enemy; but I was 
 sure he would not do that now. 
 
 'Tar be it from me to inflict myself upon you, if 
 you can do without me, madam," returned Mr. Wynn- 
 stay. "You intimated that you had nowhere else to 
 go; yet you seemed to think your reception by servants 
 )'ou did not know in Mrs. Leatherby-Smith's house was 
 more than doubtful. If you have other resources, and 
 much the better." 
 
 "I have no others — for the present," I stammered. 
 "But " 
 
 "In a way this lady and I are old acquaintances," 
 broke in Sir George Seaforth impulsively, after a quick 
 glance at my distressed face. "I had the privilege of 
 
64 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 (doing her a very small service only this afternoon, so 
 that perhaps she vuill allow me to make a suggestion. 
 Mr. Wynnstay seems to have said that a Mrs. Leath- 
 erby-Smith, living in this street, was away. If that 
 statement proves true, it is so much in his favour; 
 therefore it is only fair that he should be granted a 
 chance of vindicating himself. Suppose, then, that we 
 all three go with her to the door of this other house?" 
 
 He had addressed no one in particular, but had 
 
 spoken to all. My eyes were on Mr. Wynnstay 's face, 
 
 and I thought that he looked disconcerted, a dull red 
 
 • flush slowly mounting to his forehead. But if it were 
 
 so he soon ceased to show traces of his disturbance. 
 
 "Thank you," I said quickly. "I should be glad 
 if you would go." 
 
 I did not stop to reflect that it might look strange 
 to Mrs. Leatherby-Smith's servants for a young woman 
 to arrive at eleven o'clock at night with a bodyguard 
 of three men. I only remembered that I had to go 
 somewhere, and soon; that, above all, I would go 
 nowhere alone with Mr. Wynnstay. 
 
 ''It's settled, then," Sir George Seaforth took me up. 
 *'rve an umbrella, and if you will allow me, I'll shield 
 you from the rain. Mr. Wynnstay, you and my friend 
 'Benoit seem to be old neighbours, so perhaps you'll show 
 us the way." 
 
 My thoughts were very busy as we walked from 
 Holland Park Mansions to Holland Park House, and 
 I wondered greatly what might be in Mr. Wynnstay's 
 mind now that the management of aiifairs had been 
 taken thus summarily out of his hands. It seemed to 
 
A MEETING NOT A COINCIDENCE 65 
 
 me that Sir George Seaforth had acted with diplomacy, 
 putting the other in a position to appear discredited if 
 he betrayed reluctance. 
 
 I liked Sir George Seaforth, and I was more thank- 
 ful than I could have expressed for his timely inter- 
 vention. 
 
 Just how much he had really saved me from I did 
 not know, but at least he had relieved my mind of an 
 agonizing burden of fear, and for the second time in 
 the day I was grateful to him. 
 
 Now that my brain was less oppressed by the weight 
 of bewilderment and dread, I remembered well enough 
 where and when I had heard his name before. Indeed, 
 it seemed strange that I had not instantly recollected. 
 
 The footman at Lady Sophie de Gretton's had an- 
 nounced Sir George Seaforth, and gratified his mis- 
 tress by showing her visitor into the boudoir instead of 
 bringing him into the drawing-room, where Anne and I 
 had been sitting. Sir George could have made but a 
 short call, for not ten minutes after we had left the 
 house he had arrived in Hamilton Place, and had 
 extricated me from my difficulty in the street. 
 
 As I looked back, the chain of events which con- 
 nected us appeared to be linked together in a curious 
 and complicated manner. 
 
 "It must seem very strange to you that I should be 
 here," I said lamely, as we followed Mr. Wynnstay's 
 bulky shoulders towards Holland Park House. 
 
 "Strange?" he echoed. "Not at all. Your friend 
 gave this address in the cab to-day. I thought you 
 lived here. That's the reason " 
 
66 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 He stopped abruptly. 
 "The reason for what?" I questioned. 
 "If I finished that sentence you would be vexed. I 
 don't want to vex you." 
 
 "But I wouldn't be, I promise. You have been so 
 kind." 
 
 "Well, then, I was going to say that I should not 
 have been with Benoit this evening if your friend 
 hadn't mentioned Holland Park House." 
 "I don't understand." 
 
 "Oh, well, to tell the truth, I dined at a club where 
 I thought I should be pretty sure to meet Benoit, and 
 then I hinted for an invitation to come home with him. 
 He's sometimes asked me before, and — er — I've usually 
 been engaged. But I was in hopes he knew you and 
 your friend, you see, living so near and all that, and 
 I thought he might tell me something about you." 
 
 Evidently Lady Sophie de Gretton had kept her own 
 counsel. Perhaps I ought to have been vexed, but I 
 was not. I was glad that Sir George Seaforth had 
 taken so much trouble to learn something more about 
 the owner of a tolerably prepossessing face seen in a 
 crowd. 
 
 My heart beat faster at the idea of meeting him 
 again some day when I should be visiting in Park 
 Lane. I was even tempted to speak of the prospect, 
 but I refrained. If he had not forgotten by that time 
 — and the time should actually come — it would be 
 pleasant to watch the effect of a surprise. 
 "Are you angry?" he was asking. 
 "No — o. I don't think so. After all you've done 
 
A MEETING NOT A COINCIDENCE 67 
 
 for me in a day, It would be too ungracious to be angry. 
 You can hardly understand how thankful I was to 
 you for — for coming just when you did to-night." 
 
 "I only wish I could have known and come sooner. 
 But I really think — if you don't mind my saying so 
 — you were mistaken about that old chap. He has 
 the reputation of being a very respectable sort of 
 person. It sounds such a mad trick, doesn't it, for 
 an elderly solicitor to chloroform and attempt to kid- 
 nap a young lady without any apparent object except 
 the fun of the thing? Still, I wouldn't for the world 
 he should have gone a step with you alone." 
 
 "I am beginning to believe I may have deceived 
 myself, and to feel very foolish," I confessed. "I was 
 so sick — so dazed — I might have imagined things. But 
 ^ I am much better now." 
 
 We had reached a gate, and Mr. Wynnstay, with 
 his companion, Mr. Benoit, was going in. We fol- 
 lowed up a path, and were close behind them when 
 Mr. Wynnstay rang the house bell. 
 
 Sir George Seaforth had only had time to ask me a 
 question, which I had not yet answered, when a foot- 
 man appeared at the door — a footman in a far more 
 showy livery than Lady Sophie de Gretton's. 
 
 "Mrs. Leatherby-Smith is away, I believe?" Mr. 
 Wynnstay announced rather than inquired. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The eyes behind the smoked spectacles glanced back 
 at me. The man's whole aspect said: "So, you see, 
 I did not deceive you." 
 
 "And Miss Bryden — she also is absent, Is she not?" 
 
68 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 "Yes, sir. She Is with Mrs. Leatherby-Smith." 
 "I thought so. It is unfortunate, for here is a lady, 
 a friend of Miss Bryden's, who through an accident 
 finds it very desirable that she should stay here all 
 night. You had better show^ her in to the house- 
 keeper, and ask that she be taken up to Miss Bryden's 
 room." 
 
 The footman looked very blank. 
 "I'm sorr}^ sir," he said, "but Mrs. Purkis, the 
 housekeeper, had permission to go out of town for 
 the night. It is as much as my place is w^orth to admit 
 a stranger when Mrs. Leatherby-Smith isn't at home." 
 "What! A friend of Miss Bryden's?" 
 "I'm afraid that wouldn't matter at all, sir." 
 "Well, then — er — a friend of mine?" 
 "Even then, sir. You see, Mrs. Leatherby-Smith is 
 a peculiar lady. She's more easily displeased than 
 
 pleased, sir, and " 
 
 "What's all this fuss about?" sharply inquired a 
 woman's voice, and an odd apparition made its appear- 
 ance in the dimly-lighted hall. 
 
 It was an old lady, in a bonnet which possessed a 
 personality as distinct as the wearer's. Over the griz- 
 zled curls that hung on either side a long, narrow face, 
 the bonnet seemed to nod at us with an intelligence 
 of its own, mingled of many features — feathers, flow- 
 ers, and satin bows. 
 
 "Who's a friend of Miss Bryden's, who wants to 
 stay here all night?" the new arrival demanded. 
 
 The footman stepped aside, his lips twitching, and 
 with a gesture indicated me. 
 
A MEETING NOT A COINCIDENCE 69 
 
 "A very pretty girl," remarked the old lady, with 
 unembarrassed frankness. 'And who may you be, my 
 dear?" 
 
 "Consuelo Brand," I responded. 
 
 If Sir George Seaforth had been Ignorant of my 
 name, he would know It now. 
 
 "I am Miss Smith," vouchsafed the apparition in 
 return. ''Plain Jane Smith; there's no Leatherby 
 about m.e, though I am the sister of Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smith's late husband. I have arrived unexpectedly 
 to-night, as my sister-in-law has yet to find out. I 
 was having my supper there, in the dining-room, when 
 I heard all this disputation. If you're a friend of 
 Miss Bryden's you shall stop here. I like Miss Bryden. 
 She's not as pretty as you are, but I dare say she's a 
 good bit cleverer. You needn't look so sour, John, 
 or James, or whatever your name Is. Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smlth Is always willing to please me, as you'll see for 
 yourself before I've been long In the house. Come In, 
 Miss Brand. I suppose these gentlemen don't wish 
 to stay here, too?" 
 
 "Now that Miss Brand Is safely settled, we will 
 bid her good-night," said Sir George Seaforth. 
 
 The old lady stared at him, screwing up her eyes 
 until her wrinkled face looked whimsically shrewd. 
 
 "Are you her brother?" she Inquired. 
 
 "Only a friend," explained Sir George. 
 
 "Humph! Well, good-night to you, gentlemen. You 
 need have no anxiety on your young friend's account. 
 She is quite safe with me." 
 
 Sir George Seaforth held out his hand. I took It, 
 
70 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 and felt mine warmly grasped. I thought he wished 
 the pressure to tell me that he was really my friend. 
 A moment more, and the door had shut the three men 
 out of my sight. 
 
 "Come into the dining-room with me," said plain 
 Miss Jane Smith. "I haven't finished my supper yet, 
 and I'm as hungry as a hunter. My sister-in-law won't 
 be home till nearly twelve, I dare say." 
 
 "Is Mrs. lyeatherby-Smith coming home to-night 
 then?" I inquired eagerly. "I thought — I was told 
 she was to be avv^ay till to-morrow%" 
 
 Miss Smith looked at the footman. 
 
 "She has gone to the theatre," he vouchsafed. "Miss 
 Bryden went with her, as a lady she had asked sent 
 word she was ill at the last moment. We are expect- 
 ing them home in about half an hour." 
 
 After all, then, Mr. Wynnstay had been wrong. 
 Either he had deliberately deceived me, for the purpose 
 which he had tried to carry out and failed, or else he 
 had misunderstood information really received from 
 Mrs. Leatherbj^-Smith. I was sure, whichever it might 
 be, that he was clever enough, if confronted with the 
 discrepancy, to make it appear quite natural that he 
 had been mistaken. 
 
 I only wished, in any case, that I had heard this 
 piece of news before his departure; for all that the 
 footman had said in his presence corroborated his 
 statements to me. 
 
 By this time we had entered the dining-room, and 
 I glanced wistfully at the tray appetizingly set forth 
 on the big table. Perhaps Miss Smith caught the 
 
A MEETING NOT A COINCIDENCE 71 
 
 hungry gleam in my eye, for she suggested without 
 delay that I should share her meal. 
 
 The footman (who ventured to inform his mis- 
 tress's eccentric sister-in-law that he was called 
 "Thomas") waited upon us, bestowing scanty atten- 
 tion on me, however, and showing, as only a servant 
 can, that but for Miss Smith I would have been a 
 person beneath his august consideration. 
 
 Revived by cold chicken and salad, I answered the 
 spinster's numerous questions, and only had time to 
 revert to my fear of Mrs. Leatherby-Smith when her 
 arrival was imminent. 
 
 "I do hope she won't mind very much. I hope she 
 won't think it horrid of me to come in and impose upon 
 her, and perhaps be vexed with poor Anne on my 
 account." 
 
 *'My dear Miss Brand, I am in the house," Miss 
 Smith dryly reminded me. "You have to learn that, 
 though my dear sister-in-law Caroline would be 
 ashamed to have me inside her doors, with the chance 
 that some of her grand friends might see me and con- 
 sider me a guy, if I were a poor woman ; as it is she 
 puts up with me and my clothes and my crankiness 
 because she expects that one day I'll leave her a for- 
 tune. Whether I shall do that or not remains to be 
 seen; in fact, it depends very largely on herself, as 
 she well knows. She will be intensely annoyed when 
 she finds that I have arrived, and she will wish me 
 in Jericho, or, still better, in my grave (provided the 
 will were all right), but she will pretend to be 
 delighted at the surorise. And when I say I insisted 
 
72 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 on your coming in, that I might be amused and saved 
 from dozing off in her absence, she will outwardly 
 smile on you, though within she will be abusing us 
 both, and may even resort to profanity. I suppose, 
 as long as she is civil, you don't mind what she thinks?" 
 
 "Not so very much," I replied doubtfully, starting 
 as I spoke at the imperious ringing of the door bell, 
 which caused Thomas almost to fall over his own 
 smartly-shod feet in his anxiety to answer it. 
 
 "What ! Miss Smith in the dining-room, and another 
 lady?" exclaimed a sharp voice in the hall. Then, 
 with an accompaniment of rustling silk and satin, a 
 figure blazing with jewels swept in the room. 
 
 The old lady, who did not deign to rise for the 
 greeting, was overwhelmed with embraces. I had 
 jumped up guiltily, feeling much like a detected thief, 
 and gazed anxiously about for Anne; but she had not 
 followed her employer into the room. I dared not 
 speak, or go in search of her, but stood humbly waiting 
 the cessation of endearments. Fully a minute must 
 have passed before Mrs. Leatherby-Smith turned an 
 acid smile on me. 
 
 She was big, and florid, and formidable, with a 
 skin that looked as if it might be one size too small 
 for her massive face and as much of her body as a 
 low-cut gown generously displayed. 
 
 "How do you do?" she remarked, with an evident 
 effort to be civil. "You are a friend of my dear sister 
 Jane's, of course?" 
 
 "She's a friend of mine since half an hour ago, for, 
 like most ugly old women, I like pretty faces and sweet 
 
A MEETING NOT A COINCIDENCE 73 
 
 voices," explained the dear Jane. "But she came 
 here to see your companion, that nice honest girl Anne 
 Bryden, and I insisted that she should come in." 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" 
 
 Mrs. Leatherby-Smith froze visibly. Her light eyes 
 snapped, but her voice still smoothly did honour to the 
 rich relative. 
 
 "It is rather late for a visit to Miss Bryden ; but, of 
 course, if you think best " 
 
 "That's what I told her," calmly interpolated Miss 
 Smith. 
 
 "Thomas shall call Miss Bryden. She can come 
 down for a few minutes, I suppose, though she has 
 just gone up to her bedroom. You — er — live in the 
 neighbourhood, Miss Miss " 
 
 "Brand," finished the spinster. "No, she's been tell- 
 ing me she lives in Peckham. She's had a little trouble 
 at home, and I assured her that you would be quite 
 pleased she should spend the night here with her 
 friend." 
 
 Mrs. Leatherby-Smlth's soul writhed under that 
 tight skin of hers. 
 
 My frightened eyes could almost see its convulsions. 
 
 "Really! I " she began "really, I don't see 
 
 that I am called upon to entertain my secretary's 
 friends whenever they have trouble at home and 
 choose to make a convenience of my house. I am sur- 
 prised at Miss Bryden. She and I are not on such 
 terms that " 
 
 "Hoity toity, don't blame Anne Bryden!" ejaculated 
 the old lady, her quaint curls shaking like a peal of 
 
74 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 bells. "If anybody's to be hauled over the coals, 
 Caroline, haul me. Though I tell you frankly I'm 
 not fond of being scolded, when I think I've acted for 
 the best. Send the girl out into the street, by all 
 means, if you grudge her half Anne Bryden's bed, and 
 a bit of bacon in the morning; but if you do, as I'm 
 responsible for her being here, I'll go with her. I dare 
 say we can get accommodation at a hotel in the neigh- 
 bourhood, if it is nearly twelve o'clock." 
 
 But Mrs. Leatherby-Smith was ready to atone with 
 tears for offending her dear Jane ; Jane had quite mis- 
 understood her; she had been taken by surprise, that 
 was all. Of course, the young person was welcome 
 to stop, if she liked — one night, two nights — as many 
 nights as Jane desired. Thomas should take Miss — 
 er — Brand to Therese, the French maid, who would 
 show her up to Miss Bryden's room at once. 
 
 Yes, that would be best. Then Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smith and dear Jane could have a little quiet chat, 
 undisturbed. 
 
 Before I fairly realized what had happened, I had 
 been swept out of the room with a tidal wave of foot- 
 man, and was mounting the stairs. From an open door 
 on the first floor issued, in answer to Thomas's call 
 of "Ma'mselle," a neat Frenchwoman, who, with criti- 
 cism in her eye, consented to conduct me further. 
 
 Anne's bedchamber could not have been higher up, 
 unless it had been built like an excrescence on the roof. 
 It was surrounded by servants' rooms, as I guessed 
 from an adjacent sound of snoring, which could only 
 have proceeded from the lungs of a professed cook. 
 
A MEETING NOT A COINCIDENCE 75 
 
 Therese's tap at the door caused it to be thrown 
 suddenly open, and there stood Anne, already half 
 undressed. 
 
 "Good gracious — Consuelo Brand!" she ejaculated. 
 
 "Is it you, or your ghost?" 
 
 'Tm not quite sure," I answered, rather tremulously, 
 as she stepped aside to let me in, for I had gone through 
 a great deal in the past seven or eight hours. 
 
 "Does Mrs. Leatherby-Smith know you're here?" 
 
 The whole history of Anne's relations with her em- 
 ployer v\ ere in the anxious tone of her voice, the wor- 
 ried look in her eye. 
 
 "Yes. She sent her maid up with me. Oh, Anne, 
 I have so much — such extraordinary^ things to tell you." 
 
 "Sh!" she whispered. "Let me peep first and see 
 if Therese is listening at the keyhole." 
 
 I did not sleep much that night, and neither did 
 Anne. After I had told her the story of my adven- 
 tures since our parting, we did not talk a great deal; 
 but there were certain of her comments on my story 
 which made a deep impression on my mind. As for 
 my experience with Mr. Wynnstay, her practical com- 
 mon-sense scorned my sensational imaginings. Of 
 course, it was nonsense about his having been disguised 
 as a clergj^man all those years ago, or the clergyman 
 being disguised at present as Mr. Wynnstay — if I liked 
 to put it so. 
 
 Plenty of people had eyes that did not match in 
 colour. Anne's mother had once had a German waiter 
 
76 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 in the Bloomsbury boarding-house like that. Besides, 
 she herself had seen a woman in the street not long 
 ago with a blue eye and a brown eye. It was uncom- 
 mon, but not so wonderfully rare as I seemed to think. 
 No doubt all that business of the mirror had been a 
 sort of nightmare while I was fainting. I had glanced 
 up just as I was about to slip off into unconsciousness, 
 seen Mr. Wynnstay coming with the eau de Cologne, 
 as he had afterwards suggested, and then Imagined 
 everything else. 
 
 All this part of my tale, however, Anne seemed in- 
 clined to dismiss as of comparatively little importance. 
 Oddly enough, it appeared to me, she was far more 
 struck by my second meeting with Sir George Sea- 
 forth, and the fact that he should be Sir George Sea- 
 forth at all. 
 
 "It looks as If Fate had a hand in it," she said with 
 a sigh — her face pale and weary in the bright moon- 
 light that streamed through the uncurtained window, 
 for we were talking in bed. "First we hear of him at 
 that Lady Sophie de Gretton's" — Anne was fond of 
 prefacing a name she did not fancy with a disdainful 
 "that" — "then we meet him in the street, and he 
 saves you from being run over, without our knowing 
 who he is. Again, the same night, he comes to your 
 rescue, when you fancy yourself in danger (not that 
 I think you really were), and you find out that he 
 Is the very man Lady Sophie de Gretton wanted to 
 keep you from meeting." 
 
 "We don't know that it was so at all," I retorted, 
 defending the absent. 
 
A MEETING NOT A CG^NCIDENCE 77 
 
 But Anne did not seem to hear. "I wonder why \ 
 
 some women should have everything," she murmured, i 
 
 "and others — nothing?" * 
 
 "What do you mean, dear?" I questioned. 
 
 She did not answer, and I could see her eyes staring 
 into the moonlight, oblivious of me. It was these 
 last words of Anne's which did as much as anything 
 else to keep me waking that night. \ 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT 
 
 In the morning she was more like herself, and only 
 laughed when I proposed telegraphing to ask Lady 
 Sophie de Gretton if I might go to her that day, 
 instead of the next. 
 
 'Til lend you the money gladly, Con," said Anne 
 dryly — for without this favour I should not have been 
 able to send a wire — "but I don't believe for a moment 
 that Lady Sophie meant a word she said. I know a 
 lot about her — things I've had to read aloud in the 
 society papers since I've been with Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smith ; and then the vulgar, pushing set that come here 
 are always chattering about the aristocracy, pretending 
 they've intimate friends among them whose secrets 
 they're acquainted with. I've often heard Lady Sophie 
 de Gretton's name, and though some of the things may 
 have been gossip, others must have been true." 
 
 "What have you heard that makes you think she 
 didn't mean me to take her invitation seriously?" I 
 persisted, trying to look indifferent, though my heart 
 was heavy and afraid. 
 
 I had burned my boats behind me when I left Peck- 
 ham, and without Lady Sophie's hand to help me out 
 78 • 
 
THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT I9 
 
 ©f the water, ft seemed to my inexperience that I must 
 surely drown. 
 
 "Well, you may have guessed that when she first 
 spoke to us in the Park I didn't believe that she told 
 the truth in announcing herself as Lady Sophie de 
 Gretton. I thought the woman was an impostor, who 
 had borrowed a well-known name to deceive us, for 
 some horrid reason or other. But you would go home 
 with her. I couldn't let you two march off alone, 
 and when I saw the house and heard the servant calling 
 her 'my lady,' I knew she couldn't have been lying. 
 She- was Lady Sophie de Gretton, and being Lady 
 Sophie de Gretton, it seemed all the more sure that 
 she wouldn't want to be bothered with a long visit from 
 a poor girl like you." 
 
 "She — she explained," I put in shyly. 
 
 For to remember that flattering explanation made me 
 appear conceited. 
 
 "Y^. No doubt she did admire you, and think she 
 w^ould like to see how you would look dressed up in 
 smart clothes. Then she got talking on, till she'd com- 
 m'itted herself rather farther than she intended, hoping 
 you'd have sense enough to take it as a joke. But 
 you didn't, and you saw at the last how she was in 
 a furious hurry to get rid of us. I'll bet you'll never 
 have so much as an answer to your telegram." 
 
 "Surely, for her own sake, she wouldn't " I 
 
 had begun desperately to protest, when Anne cut me 
 short. 
 
 "Wait, my child. Let me tell you something about 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton. She's the daughter of an 
 
8o MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Earl — Lord Sandlej'', who was always going in for 
 theatrical speculations on a tremendous scale. At last 
 he was ruined, and went bankrupt, or something, so 
 that Lady Sophie, who was a girl then, found her 
 chances of marrying well in danger of being spoiled. 
 She hung on for a long time, and didn't *go off' — 
 those are the words of one of Mrs. Leatherby-Smith's 
 friends — till at last, rather than be an old maid, she 
 took a Mr. de Gretton, who came of a good family, 
 but had very little mone3\ When he died, about ten 
 or a dozen years ago, she was left poorly off, and was 
 at her wits' ends to know how she could retain her 
 position in society. She had a house, and that was 
 about all — nothing to keep it up with. However, rhe 
 got on — and do you want to know how?" 
 
 "Yes," I returned feebly. 
 
 "Well, she began to be famous for presenting heir- 
 esses from America or the provinces, and introducing 
 them to her set. Generally they made good marriages, 
 and those 'in the know' — as Mrs. Leatherby-Smith 
 says when she forgets not to be vulgar — are certain 
 that she got at least a thousand pounds a season for 
 every girl she presented, sometimes a lot more. Now, 
 if that's her metier, does it stand to reason that she 
 would hamper herself by taking you about, and pay- 
 ing for every dress and pair of shoes you had to your 
 back?" 
 
 "I don't wear shoes on my back," I retorted with 
 some asperity, which cloaked dismay. "Very likely 
 there isn't a word of truth in all this gossip ; and, any 
 way, why didn't you tell me yesterday?" 
 
THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT 8i 
 
 ^'Because you wouldn't give me a chance, my dear 
 child. Don't you think I saw that you were determined 
 not to talk of her? You didn't want to be discour- 
 aged, and you were afraid Fd try to set you against 
 her. I didn't suppose then that you'd go home and 
 break off with Mrs. East. I thought that by the time 
 you got to Peckham you'd begin to look on Lady 
 Sophie's wild propositon as a romantic but impossible 
 dream. Of course, if she were a very rich and philan- 
 thropic woman she might really be contemplating the 
 idea of adopting you simply because she saw you were 
 so beautiful as to be worthy of better things. But 
 Fm not mistaken in the main facts about Lady Sophie 
 de Gretton, any way, and, believe me, she's not the 
 woman to be capable of a purely unselfish and quixotic 
 act." 
 
 I was silent, and, Fm afraid, a little sulky; for 
 Anne's words had buried me under a mountain of 
 depression. 
 
 "I don't want you to think Fm just nasty and 
 jealous," Anne went on. (I would never have dreamed 
 of fancying her so ; it seemed odd to me that she should 
 suggest such an idea.) ''But I must be honest for 
 your own good, and say that if you expect anything 
 from that little adventure of ours in the Park yes- 
 terday you'll be laying up disappointment for yourself. 
 Wire Lady Sophie if you like; but I advise you to 
 write at the same time to Mrs. East, and hint that, 
 if she cares to let bygones be bygones, you might be 
 willing to go back." 
 
 "Whatever happens, I won't do thktV I exclaimed 
 
82 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 emphatically. "I only stayed there so long out of habit, 
 I think — a habit of repression. She was my one living 
 relative, though a distant one; and as I went to her 
 house when I was only fourteen, I have stupidly grown 
 up taking it for granted that I must remain there. Of 
 course, I'm not well-educated, according to conven- 
 tional ideas of a girl's education, but dear mother taught 
 me faithfully, splendidly, till she died, and I have read 
 all I could whenever I could beg, borrow, or buy a 
 book worth reading since, so that I might at 
 least hope to get a situation as nursery-governess. I 
 can sing, too. You know what a glorious voice 
 mother had, and what pains she took with me. 
 Even though I've had little enough chance to practise, 
 I might get taken on in the chorus of light 
 opera " 
 
 "Whatever you do, don't try the stage, Con," said 
 Anne, ''You're too young, too lonely, too pretty, and 
 too poor for that." 
 
 "Well," I cried despairingly, "for the present I 
 don't trouble. I mean to give Lady Sophie de Gretton 
 the benefit of the doubt." 
 
 "H'm! the benefit of the doubt," incredulously 
 echoed Anne. 
 
 Before breakfast Anne and I went out together, 
 walking almost in silence to the nearest telegraph- 
 office, where Anne's shilling paid for my long message 
 to Lady Sophie de Gretton. 
 
 I dreaded the meeting with Mrs. Leatherby-Smith, 
 even though I might hope for countenance from my 
 self-appointed advocate, Miss Smith. But Anne ex- 
 
THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT 83 
 
 pressed the opinion that it would be unwise for me 
 to absent myself from the breakfast table. 
 
 "Mrs. Leatherby-Smith will want to ask questions," 
 she said, ''and if you're not there to answer them, she'll 
 think there's something wrong. For my sake, if not for 
 your own, you'd better face the music." 
 
 I faced it. Mrs. Leatherby-Smith did ask questions. 
 Breakfast consisted of questions and answers, with a 
 little tea and toast thrown in out of charity by a 
 footman, who scorned my blue serge with a scorn even 
 deeper than his mistress's. 
 
 Before the meal was over Mrs. Leatherby-Smith 
 knew all that I knew about my future prospects with 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton; how her drawing-room was 
 furnished, what she had worn, and what she had given 
 us for tea. Anne had not mentioned the adventure 
 on coming home, not being encouraged to private con- 
 fidences by her employer; nevertheless, Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smith chose to resent her secretary's taciturnity on this 
 occasion. It was very secretive of Anne to have kept 
 such a matter to herself. 
 
 Of course, there was little chance that Lady Sophie 
 would really answer my telegram or take any further 
 notice of me now that yesterday's mood had had time 
 to pass. 
 
 In fact, though Mrs. Leatherby-Smith refrained 
 from giving such a reason, the truth was that she was 
 pricked to curiosity. She desired me to remain, that 
 she might know without delay whether I were to be 
 discarded or taken up by so important a personage as 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton. Though she, Mrs. Leath- 
 
84 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 erby-Smith, might have been able to buy and sell the 
 Earl's daughter — who had only married a commoner, 
 after all — within her small soul she knew that the set 
 in which Lady Lady Sophie moved, by right of birth 
 and breeding and long association, was as far beyond 
 her reach as the Mountains of the Moon. 
 
 I was only nineteen, and far from being a woman 
 of the world, but I was shrevv'd enough to guess that 
 Mrs. Leatherby-Smith was holding me in her hand, 
 as a balance. Down I would go, till I was worth my 
 weight in gold, if Lady Sophie telegraphed that I was 
 to repair at once, anticipating our arrangement. But, 
 on the contrary, were Anne's and her own gloomy 
 prophecies fulfilled by silence on Lady Sophie's part, I 
 would fly up, a mere feather-weight in Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smith's estimation — a pitiful feather, to be blown out 
 of doors, whither mattered less than nothing. 
 
 As for Miss Smith, she was in a different mood this 
 morning: thoughtful, non-talkative, willing to listen, 
 but inclined to say little. Breakfast ought not to be 
 a conversational meal, she considered. Afterwards, 
 however, while Mrs. Leatherby-Smith and Anne were 
 busy with letter-writing, she asked me to hold the yarn 
 for her knitting as she wound it ; and during the prog- 
 ress of the task, in which she did not hurry, I thought 
 she endeavoured to help me forget my anxieties by 
 chatting about her home in Dorsetshire, her cats, her 
 dogs and her Brazilian monkey. 
 
 It was half-past eight when I had sent my telegram, 
 and in my mind, as the hours passed on, there was a 
 constant undercurrent of calculation. Suppose it had 
 
THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT 85 
 
 been delivered in Park Lane at nine, Lady Sophie 
 might still have been sleeping; but surely she would 
 be awake by ten. If she sent an answer off at once, I 
 ought to have it before eleven. 
 
 But eleven came and went, and though I had started 
 many times, thrilling all over at the sound of the door 
 bell, there was no message for me. At twelve Mrs. 
 Leatherby-Smith came into the library, where her sis- 
 ter-in-law and I were sitting, to insist upon Miss Smith 
 accompanying her on a shopping expedition. 
 
 "You haven't heard from Lady Sophie yet, I see," 
 she remarked to me with a little sneer. "Oh, well, 
 you can stop till after luncheon. I should say that if 
 three o'clock passed without your hearing, you might 
 as well give up hope. By the way, Mr. Wynnstay, 
 from Holland Park Mansions, has been in to inquire 
 after your health. I understood from Miss Bryden 
 that you had been there by mistake, and he had brought 
 you to my house, supposing I was away for the night. 
 I don't know^ how he came to fancy that from what 
 I said when I happened to meet him yesterday after- 
 noon ; however, that's not the question now. Why was 
 I not told that you were taken ill and fainted at the 
 Mansions ?" 
 
 "I thought it of so little consequence to you," I 
 excused myself. 
 
 "It was rather peculiar. It ought to have been men- 
 tioned. Mr. Wynnstay's account of the matter quite 
 took me by surprise. He is an extremely able man — 
 some friends have lately recommended me to employ 
 him as my solicitor — and most benevolent as well. He 
 
86 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 requested particularly that I should let him know 
 how you got on, and I would have told him of your 
 hopes from Lady Sophie de Gretton, had it not oc- 
 curred to me that it would be rather premature to 
 do that. He might laugh in his sleeve at me to-morrow, 
 if I had seemed to believe for a moment that she 
 would keep her word. Solicitors know the world so 
 well!" 
 
 "If Lady Sophie should send for me, please don't 
 tell Mr. Wynnstay," I pleaded. **You see, she might 
 not like the circumstances discussed, and would be dis- 
 pleased with any gossip about me." 
 
 **You may be sure I would do nothing which could 
 possibly offend Lady Sophie, if you should go to her," 
 said Mrs. Leatherby-Smith, visibly bridling; "though 
 it's too late for there to be much chance of that now." 
 
 Breakfast was the only meal which Anne Bi-yden 
 ate with her employer. Her luncheon was served in 
 the room where she and Mrs. Leatherby-Smith at- 
 tended to the latter's correspondence, and we shared it 
 to-day. There was but a scant supply for two healthy 
 young women ; fortunately for Anne, however, a chok- 
 ing sensation in my throat prevented me from eating. 
 It was half-past one, and there was still no word from 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton. Hope died hard in my heart, 
 but it was dying now. 
 
 Luncheon for Mrs. Leatherby-Smith and her guest 
 was at two, and they returned just in time for it, inter- 
 rupting our humble meal to inquire if I had had a 
 telegram. No? Ah, well, Mrs. Leatherby-Smith had 
 told me so. "Put not your trust in princes." That 
 
THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT 87 
 
 was a good text to remember in such circumstances as 
 mine. What did I now intend to do? 
 
 I had hardly decided. Anne had lent me a sovereign, 
 and had given me the address of an employment agency 
 to which she thought I might apply. But would Mrs. 
 Leatherby-Smith be willing to let me stop an hour or 
 two longer ? It was just possible that even yet 
 
 "Of course you're willing — eh, Caroline?" prompted 
 Miss Smith. 
 
 And, having followed her sister-in-law's lead with a 
 comparatively good grace, the mistress of the house and 
 her visitor left us in peace while they went down to 
 luncheon. 
 
 Three o'clock, and still no message. I no longer 
 hoped now, and, deeply chagrined, deeply humiliated, I 
 was in Anne's room, putting on my hat, when The- 
 rese came to summon me to the drawing-room. 
 
 Mrs. Leatherby-Smith and Miss Smith were going 
 out for a drive in the Park. They would be gone all 
 the afternoon till time to return and dress for dinner, 
 and Mrs. Leatherby-Smith had some instructions for 
 Miss Bryden to carry out during her absence. She 
 also wished to see Miss Brand, who would doubtless 
 have taken her departure before Mrs. Leatherby-Smith 
 should come home. 
 
 So here was an end of it all. Mrs. Leatherby-Smith, 
 despite her ill-nature and pompousness, was quite right, 
 I struggled to assure myself. Lady Sophie de Gretton 
 had thrown me over — ^whistled me down the wind — 
 and as it was now useless to expect a telegram, there 
 was ne longer anything to keep from me. 
 
88 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 The sooner I left this house, the better for everyone 
 concerned; and Mrs. Leatherby-Smlth was not to be 
 blamed for hurrying me, as she could not have known 
 that her hints would not be needed — that I was already 
 preparing to rid her of my presence without the goad 
 of her urgings. 
 
 Anne had not been as sympathetic last night and early 
 this morning, while I still had hope, as I had usually 
 found her; but now that there was no more chance 
 of my visit to Lady Sophie, my meeting with beautiful 
 girls in pink muslin and soldierly young men with clear- 
 cut, brown faces, she was kind, as of old. We went 
 downstairs hand-in-hand, Anne to learn in the drawing- 
 room what work was expected of her in the afternoon, 
 I that my misfortunes might be exulted over. 
 
 "Of course, the idea was quite ridiculous from the 
 first," said Mrs. Leatherby-Smith. "I trust it may be 
 a lesson to your pride, Miss Brand. There is that 
 to be thankful for; and then, you have certainly had 
 a night and nearly a whole day of such comfort and 
 — er — luxury as you would not have been able to enjoy 
 if your curious adventure had riot led you to leave 
 home. I hope. Miss Brand, that you will find a situa- 
 tion without too much difficulty. And now we must 
 bid you good-daj^" 
 
 "Good-day — and thank you," I echoed dolefully. 
 
 She did not offer her hand. 
 
 "Good-bye, Miss Smith." 
 
 Out came a bright yellow glove, half an inch too 
 long in the fingers. 
 
 "Look here, my dear," exclaimed the old lady 
 
THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUDT 89 
 
 briskly: "I haven't been saying much to-day, but I've 
 been thinking a good bit. And before I bid you good- 
 bye — or get off those queer words the French use when 
 they mean 'till we meet again' — I've got a proposal 
 to make to you." 
 
 As she spoke, and I looked at her questioningly, 
 there came a ring at the front-door — an imperious rap- 
 ping of the knocker. 
 
 'Tady Sophie de Gretton," solemnly remarked 
 Thomas. 
 
 The announcement, the lady's entrance, swept over 
 us like a wave. At its ebb, Mrs. Leatherby-Smith was 
 mentally prostrate on the sands of surprise; I, pale but 
 exultant; Anne and Miss Smith, the only members 
 of the little company not cast high and dry, their out- 
 works shattered. 
 
 "How de do, my dear," inquired Lady Sophie with 
 comforting commonplaceness, taking my hand in a 
 pearl suede palm, and giving it, in an easily uncon- 
 scious manner, the very latest thing in shakes." I came 
 the moment I could after finding your wire. So glad 
 to get you a day or two sooner than we expected." 
 
 She glanced toward the two elder women, one of 
 whom was presumably my hostess. I murmured some- 
 thing, and Lady Sophie responded with a careless court- 
 esy which, despite its affability, somehow^ contrived to 
 place the gorgeous Mrs. Leatherby-Smith and her good 
 sister-in-law on a plane as far removed from her own 
 as Saturn's from the earth. 
 
 It was the sort of thing to which one must be born, 
 since it could not be achieved by practice ; but my mali- 
 
90 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 cious imagination painted Mrs. Leatherby-Smlth assid- 
 uously cultivating it in future for the undoing of her 
 best-hated friends. 
 
 "So kind of you to be nice to the litle girl, and 
 to keep her for me, Mrs. L — er — Leatherby-Smith," 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton went on, with the air of one 
 graciously accepting a personal favour, as she patted 
 the back of my hand, which instinctively clung to hers. 
 
 '*Mrs. Leatherby-Smith didn't think you would 
 remember me. I was just going away," I could not 
 resist the temptation of saying. 
 
 My hostess, who had been on the point of an eager 
 response, visibly wilted; and I repented my vengeful- 
 ness ; for, after all, I had eaten of her bread and saltc 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 I UNDERSTUDY CINDERELLA 
 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton turned her attention ex- 
 clusively to me, appearing not to hear Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smith's pathetically expressed hope that she would sit 
 down, keeping us therefore all standing — with the 
 exception of Miss Smith. 
 
 I suppose Miss Smith would have stood for the 
 Queen, but she certainly did not see the necessity of 
 doing so for Lady Sophie de Gretton, even though this 
 was the first "title" that had ever entered her sister- 
 in-law's doors. 
 
 "As bad luck would have it," Lady Sophie was say- 
 ing, "I had an 'early whim' this morning. It was 
 going to be a very busy day, and something waked 
 me at seven — so, as I couldn't sleep again, I break- 
 fasted in my room before eight, and was out of the 
 house by half-past. I accomplished a siege of fitting 
 at the dressmaker's, a massage woman who is such a 
 brute that she won't come to one's house, three sales 
 and a charity visit, got home to luncheon at two, found 
 your wire, and — here I am. You and I have oceans 
 to do before Lady Dunbar's ball to-night" — I could 
 almost feel the thrill that went through Mrs. Leath- 
 erby-Smith's ample person at this magnificent an- 
 nouncement — "oh, you're going, of course; I've ar- 
 
 91 
 
92 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 ranged all that. So now, I think, if j'ou are ready, 
 my child, we had better be off." 
 
 "I am quite ready," I answered with alacrity. And 
 then I turned to Mrs. Leatherby-Smith. "Thank you 
 for your kindness in letting me stop," I said, as little 
 stiffly as I could. 
 
 She took my hand and pressed it between her two 
 large ones, in the clasp of which it temporarily disap- 
 peared, as Jonah disappeared in the jaws of the whale. 
 
 "It has been a pleasure, I assure you," she ejaculated, 
 having the grace to turn a deep, beet red. "If I have 
 been able to do you a slight kindness, dear Miss Brand" 
 — how well she remembered my name, of a sudden! 
 — "you can more than return it by coming to see us 
 sometimes. Miss Bryden and me, to tell us all about 
 your gay doings. Of course, we shall probably meet 
 at the houses of Lady Sophie de Gretton's friends" — 
 Lady Sophie's face doubted this supposition — "but that 
 is different. Drop in to lunch or tea whenever you 
 like; you'll aWays be welcome, and — it would be a 
 great pleasure to me if Lady Sophie found time to 
 come with you." 
 
 "So kind of you," breathed Lady Sophie, gazing out 
 of the window. 
 
 "And I am thinking of giving a little dinner-party 
 before Ascot. I shall send you both invitations. 
 There will be some very distinguished people. No 
 doubt. Lady Sophie, you will know most of them. If 
 you — if you are disengaged — indeed, any evening you 
 should be free, if you would name it — the invitations 
 are not yet out — I " 
 
I UNDERSTUDY CINDERELLA 93 
 
 "Thank you so much; quite charming of you. But 
 unfortunately Fm such a busy woman. I'm afraid 
 there's something on for every night till Henley; and, 
 of course, this dear child will go everjm^here with me. 
 Later, perhaps — ah, yes, very pleased. Good-bye." A 
 hand-shake which made Mrs. Leatherby-Smith's valued 
 pump-handle affectation appear antediluvian. 
 
 I had gone to Miss Smith. 
 
 "You were very, very kind to me," I said gratefully. 
 "I don't know how to thank you enough. I hardly 
 see what I should have done last night if you hadn't 
 been so good." 
 
 "I liked you," brusquely responded the spinster. 
 "I've generally found, in spite of all nonsense to the 
 contrary, that pretty girls are better inside as well as 
 out than ugly ones, A beautiful soul oozes through 
 the pores, so to speak, and naturally the face is beau- 
 tiful too. That's why I'm drawn to handsome people. 
 And look here" — she spoke with purposeful distinct- 
 ness which attracted Lady Sophie's eyes and ears — 
 "things seem to be turning out all right for you; but 
 you don't know how the story'U end yet. If you ever 
 need a friend, here's my address." She took an old- 
 fashioned glazed visiting-card from her case. "Don't 
 forget it, and understand that I shan't forget you, or 
 the welcome I promise you if you should want it. I'm 
 a plain woman ; I hardly know what Park Lane looks 
 like, and I can't take you to any balls nor to Henley; 
 but bread's as good as cake when your stomach's empty, 
 my dear. Good-bye, and good luck. I don't grudge 
 you all the fun you can get ; I was young once." 
 
94 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 I thanked her genuinely, and put the quaint piece 
 of pasteboard away In my shabby purse as she watched 
 me. But my heart was h"ght, and anticipations of a 
 wonderful future frothed in my head like champagne. 
 I did not dream that I would ever care to look at Miss 
 Smith's visiting card again, save as a souvenir of a 
 stranger's kindness. But queer combinations are 
 shuffled with the cards of Fate. 
 
 Anne and I bade each other farewell, and a lukewarm 
 Invitation that she would lunch with me some day 
 was understood to have dropped from Lady Sophie's 
 lips. I was at a loss to comprehend my patroness. 
 
 Why did she desire my companionship, "my dear" 
 me, and pat my hand with the right glove of friendship, 
 while putting Anne Bryden — who was at least as 
 highly placed, socially, as I — politely behind the pale? 
 The subtle differences In her manner formed part of 
 the mystery, and, even while I resented them, captured 
 my imagination. 
 
 I wanted to know — there was scarcely anything that 
 I did not want to know; and I looked forward with 
 boundless curiosity, boundless Interest, to the rising 
 of the curtain on the first act of my new life. 
 
 A smart little brougham waited w^Ith conscious su- 
 periority at the gate. There was a dignified coachman, 
 and the groom bore a striking resemblance to 
 the footman who had admitted me yesterday to 
 fairyland. 
 
 For nineteen years, and up to this moment, I had 
 considered a hansom cab the height of luxury, splendid, 
 but unobtainable; yet curiously enough I now sank 
 
I UNDERSTUDY CINDERELLA 95 
 
 back on olive green satin cushions with a peaceful sense 
 of being in my natural element. 
 
 "This is a victoria day — far too hot for a broug- 
 ham," observed Lady Sophia. "But I am a very poor 
 woman, my child, and have to make up for poverty 
 by preternatural shrewdness. If you can only possess 
 one vehicle, let it be a brougham, practicable though 
 not pleasant for all weathers ; and a have a pair of foot- 
 men who will submit, by a lightning change, to trans- 
 form themselves into coachman and groom — one gawky 
 youth in livery left at home to answer the bell and 
 be bullied by the cook. No one except a very clever 
 woman could drive such a four-in-hand, I assure you, 
 my dear; but the exigencies of my life have superin- 
 duced cleverness. I hope you won't need to cultivate 
 it; it is very wearing, and makes wrinkles. The 
 recipe for retaining an agreeable dulness is — 
 to marry a rich man. This I am going to lead in- 
 sensibly up to your doing by driving at once to Wool- 
 land's." 
 
 I laughed : "I don't see the connection." 
 
 "No? That is very pretty and innocent of you. But 
 do you realize that, as it is now four o'clock, we 
 have exactly three hours in which to turn a — I beg 
 your pardon, my dear — the prettiest of Cinderellas into 
 a princess?" 
 
 "I knew you had a wand," I ejaculated. 
 
 Lady Sophie held up a dove-coloured purse that 
 matched her dress. 
 
 "And here it is — the wand that wields a magic sway 
 over the whole world." 
 
96 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 I felt my cheeks burn, for I had not understood her 
 whole meaning before. 
 
 "Oh!" I stammered. "You are very good, but — but 
 I couldn't let you ; I " 
 
 To my surprise — for she was not a woman to blush 
 easily — Lady Sophie changed colour, and looked oddly 
 conscience-stricken. 
 
 "Don't be too grateful," she broke in abruptly. 
 "What I shall do for you Is nothing, really — only a 
 pleasure. Please believe that always, whatever may 
 happen in future, whatever people may say to you of 
 me. I am happy to-day, and It is you who have made 
 me so. This — this episode brings a certain spice Into 
 my life, and — I am truly your friend. You can take 
 everything which you and I will buy to-day with a 
 light heart." 
 
 "But," I ventured, fearing to be rude, yet not quite 
 satisfied, "you said just now you were a poor woman, 
 and " 
 
 "I am seldom too poor to Indulge myself. I only 
 economize In necessaries, not luxuries, which are too 
 interesting to deny one's self." 
 
 Her words were m.erry, yet her expression was wor- 
 ried, and there was a little nervous line between her 
 keen eyes. She was concealing something from me, I 
 knew ; but even If I Vv'ould have questioned her I could 
 not. The brougham had drawn up before WooUand's, 
 and the footman-groom was opening the door. 
 
 During the next three hours I felt more than ever 
 like the creature of a dream. I, who had endured the 
 gift of two second-hand dresses from Mrs. East in the 
 
I UNDERSTUDY CINDERELLA 97 
 
 course of each year, and been conventionally thankful ; 
 I, who had worn stays bought in a Peckham sale for 
 two shillings and threepence-halfpenny, stockings that 
 came off brown on my feet, and pink flannelette 
 petticoats ! 
 
 I, who had survived these experiences, suddenly to 
 find m.yself let loose among lingerie of pale tinted silk 
 and laced cambric, shoes far superior to the famous 
 glass slippers, cobwebby silken hose, petticoats that 
 might have been ball-dresses, hats that framed my 
 face as if it had been a picture, and last, 
 but by no means least, frocks beyond dreams dreamed 
 in Peckham. 
 
 "Of course, these gowns are only ready-made make- 
 shifts," explained Lady Sophie; "but they will serve 
 you until you have something better, and it's fortunate 
 that you have such an easy figure to fit, or we should 
 have been in a fidget about to-night." 
 
 "Am I actually going to a ball with you?" I ques- 
 tioned dazedly. "But I can't have been invited." 
 
 "I sent a note to Lady Dunbar after luncheon, 
 before I started out to find you, asking if I might 
 bring a young friend who was unexpectedly coming to 
 stay with me ; and, of course, she will answer that she's 
 delighted. There'll be a note waiting for me when 
 we get home. And speaking of home, it is quite time 
 we started. I think we have everything that's abso- 
 lutely essential, and it is nearly seven o'clock. Din- 
 ner's at nine — just you and I alone (I got out of a 
 stupid engagement with an old friend), and you ought 
 to have an hour's rest. I want you to be fit and fresh, 
 
98 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 for I'm counting on your first appearance to be a great 
 success." 
 
 I had never been to a dance In my life. 
 
 "Suppose," I ventured, when w^e were rolling to- 
 ward Park Lane in the brougham, "that I should do 
 something clumsy, and — and disgrace myself?" 
 
 "You are a lady, my dear. No woman, be she 
 duchess or queen, can be more. Don't think I've 
 embarked upon this experiment without studying your 
 accent and your manners, for my reputation is at stake 
 in a certain quarter." 
 
 "I wonder what you mean?" I pondered aloud. 
 
 "Don't wonder; there's no time for wondering. I 
 forgot to ask — but you look as if you knew how to 
 dance. It's decidedly important for a debutante." 
 
 "My mother was an exquisite dancer," I answered 
 rather proudly. "She taught me, because she used to 
 say that, even if I never needed it as an accomplish- 
 ment, it would make me easy and graceful. I don't 
 know if it has; but I can dance well — all except the 
 new-fashioned things w^hich have come in since then." 
 
 "Good. My mind's relieved. Some day you must 
 tell me anything you are willing to tell about your 
 mother, your past, and your life in — Peckham, I think 
 you said? But now we have other matters to occupy 
 our minds. My dear girl — I shall call you Consuelo — 
 do you realize that a great deal depends upon to- 
 night?" 
 
 I gazed at her, frightened. We were just driving 
 into Park Lane. 
 
 "Luckily," she went on, almost as if speaking to 
 
I UNDERSTUDY CINDERELLA 99 
 
 herself, "the last Drawing-room of the season is over, 
 so that there is the best of excuses for not presenting 
 you. Otherwise it would have been awkward, for 
 such searching questions are asked, and if they can't 
 be satisfactorily answered, there's an end. As it is, 
 there are no obstacles in your way, and you have the 
 ball at your feet — for with a girl as pretty as you are, 
 plenty of men — men worth having, too — care nothing 
 about a dot. You must make hay while the sun shines; 
 and, by a natural phenomenon, the sun will begin shin- 
 ing to-night. Trust me for facing you the right way 
 at the start, and — here we are at home." 
 
 Such things as I was to wear at the ball we had 
 prudently brought with us in the carriage, and the 
 *'gawky youth" of whom Lady Sophie had spoken (he 
 seemed rather a splendid person to me) assisted a 
 French maid in carrying the various parcels to my 
 room. 
 
 And what a delicious room it was ! I had never seen 
 anything like it, and I could hardly believe that I was 
 to occupy it during the vaguely indefinite elysium of my 
 visit in Lady Sophie de Gretton's house. No greater 
 contrast could be imagined between its lovers'-knotted, 
 convolvulus-wreathed chintzes, its water-color sketches, 
 its bookshelves, its dainty silver-spread dressing-table 
 and mirrors, and the grim, brown, dingy space between 
 four uncompromising walls that I had shared with the 
 children of Mrs. East. 
 
 I splashed in a bath-room adjoining my own room; 
 I was clad in silk and lace and nainsook; a blue robe 
 de chambre was slipped on by the smiling Adele; I 
 
loo MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 reposed on frilled pillows scented with lavender, and 
 arose refreshed, though I had been too excited to sleep. 
 
 While I rested my hostess had been coifed, and she 
 was free to superintend Ade]#ie- manipulations of my 
 gold-brown curly mop. The French maid had her will 
 of me at first, and decorated me seriously, as if I had 
 been a church on the eve of a feast-day; but when she 
 had finished. Lady Sophie impatiently bade her undo 
 the elaborate work. 
 
 ''After all. Miss Brand's own way is best," she de- 
 cided. ''She m.ust be regarded as a picture, I find, 
 never as a fashion plate. She has her own striking, 
 original st3de, and those loose natural waves, with the 
 careless knot, and a curl escaping here and there over 
 the forehead, are more in keeping." 
 
 I was thus saved forever from undulations and com- 
 plicated unspeakabilities. 
 
 We dined in tea-gowns — I in a smart new one ; and 
 afterwards there was the ball-dress to be put on. It 
 was all white, and it sparkled ; when I moved it looked 
 like the spray of a waterfall that glistened in moon- 
 light; and from beneath, with each step I took, there 
 was a rainbow flash from the buckles on little white 
 satin slippers. 
 
 "You will do," Lady Sophie pronounced; and she 
 laid down a string of pearls she had held up to my 
 throat. "Such a neck as yours was not meant to have 
 its line broken by paltry jewelery. It's like swan's- 
 down. What lashes those long violet eyes of yours are 
 blessed with, child! Your enemies might think you 
 darkened them and your eyebrows, they are in such 
 
I UNDERSTUDY CINpERELLA lo'i 
 
 contrast to your bright hair; 'but I knowbetter. That's 
 right, blush — it's very becoming, and 1 hope you won't 
 get out of the habit. Now, Adele, her cloak. It's nearly 
 eleven; I think we might be starting, for Lady Dun- 
 bar lives in Cleveland Square." 
 
 "By the way," she said, speaking suddenly out of a 
 reverie, when we were once more in the brougham, 
 "do you remember, before I spoke to you in the Park, 
 admiring a handsome girl in pink muslin, and wish- 
 ing that your lot in life might be like hers, even if 
 it were but for a single month?" 
 "Yes," I answered expectantly. 
 "Well, she's Miss Dunbar — the 'Honourable Diana* 
 she's a right to have her letters addressed — and it's 
 to her mother's house we're going to-night." 
 I sat up excitedly. 
 
 "Oh, Lady Sophie, how strange — how very strange!" 
 "Do you think so? I fail to see why." 
 "But you don't know all. They, Miss Dunbar and 
 her mother, didn't see me that time in the Park, but 
 afterwards, when Anne and I had left your house and 
 were waiting for an omnibus, their victoria passed 
 through Hamilton Place." 
 
 I went eagerly on, and did not cease until I had 
 told the story of the chase to Peckham, and the tele- 
 gram that had been sent before I lost sight of the vic- 
 toria and its occupants. Lady Sophie paid me the 
 compliment of listening thoughtfully. 
 
 "How exceedingly odd!" she commented. "Of 
 course, there might have been nothing in it; indeed, 
 I don't exactly see what there could be; but certainly, 
 
I02 MY LAP\ CINDERELLA 
 
 on the ,^acc of i^, fhe thing looks mysterious. What 
 could have taken Lady Dunbar down to Peckham, 
 unless she were following you? She's a peculiar 
 woman, but not as peculiar as that." 
 
 This unconscious criticism of the neighbourhood 
 struck my sense of humour, and I laughed. But I did 
 not mention the supposition that had been in my mind, 
 because for some reason, which I hardly analyzed, I 
 did not wish to speak of Sir George Seaforth. I knew 
 that, as the vision in pink was Miss Dunbar, my eluci- 
 dation of the puzzle had gone wrong, and I was cur- 
 iously glad ; but I could not bring myself to utter his 
 name in my present mood. 
 
 My heart was beating very fast, when the brougham 
 stopped before an awning and a long path of crimson 
 cloth. I think a young, untried soldier, about to fight 
 his first battle, must feel somewhat as I did at that 
 moment. 
 
 A knot of curious, shabbily-clad folk crowded as 
 near the crimson path as a big policeman would let 
 them. I saw^ girls dressed much as I had been, before 
 the touch of the magic wand, and a queer little thrill 
 went through me, under their frankly admiring gaze. 
 What was I that I should be here, in satin and film 
 of chiffon, while they were there, in sordid, undistin- 
 guishable stuff ? 
 
 What would they think if they knew that I was 
 more nearly akin to them than to the other radiant 
 butterflies that flitted before me and followed behind? 
 Would they still good-naturedly envy me, as they did 
 now, or would they, with a clearer vision than had 
 
I UNDERSTUDY CINDERELLA 103 
 
 been granted me, behold a dark precipice over which I 
 trifled, unawares? 
 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton's little house in Park Lane 
 was daintily pretty ; Lady Dunbar's big house in Cleve- 
 land Square was magnificent. Having passed through 
 a vestibule, and taken off our cloaks in* a room that 
 appeared to be all mirrors, we came out into a great 
 hall, marvellous with mellow^ pictures and tapestries, 
 brilliant with hundreds of wax candles in old-fashioned 
 crystal chandeliers, and having a wide marble staircase 
 that wound up to regions yet unseen. 
 
 I thought of Burne- Jones's "Golden Stair," a copy 
 of which I had once seen and never forgotten, for up 
 and down moved figures bright and fair as angels. 
 Among so many beautiful women, what was I ? Even 
 the men here were gorgeous in uniforms, or with orders 
 shining on ribbons that crossed the severe black and 
 white of their evening dress. There was at least one 
 Indian potentate, in native splendour, with a turban 
 that blazed with diamonds ; but nowhere did I see the 
 hostess or her pretty daughter. 
 
 I longed for, yet dreaded the moment. If I were 
 right, and Lady Dunbar had been actually moved to 
 emotion by the sight of my face as she passed it in 
 the street, I could not help thinking that she w^ould 
 be far more moved at beholding me under her own 
 roof, dressed, not merely clothed, civilized, chaperoned. 
 I stepped to distant music ; I felt that I was to be lead- 
 ing lady in the drama about to begin. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE FIRST ACT OF THE PLAY 
 
 We fought our way upstairs, but somehow we still 
 missed the hostess. Later I was to guess why. At the 
 top Lady Sophie met a number of people whom she 
 knew, and, having something to say to . her friends, 
 listened to a murmured request from a young Guards- 
 man, all moustache and monocle. What he said I could 
 not hear, but an introduction to me presently followed, 
 and I was borne away for a dance. 
 
 We had a waltz in a large ballroom, with a floor 
 which I agreed with my partner in thinking "heav- 
 enly," and then, as my idea of making conversation 
 had produced the remark that the night was very warm, 
 he proposed that we should seek a certain cool nook 
 known to him of old. 
 
 "Sit out the next with me and have an ice, won't 
 you?" he suggested. "Yon don't know what a jolly 
 place I'm going to take you to. Miss Dunbar says 
 Lady Dunbar always gives orders to have it locked 
 before a ball or dance, as for some reason or other she 
 doesn't care to have people going there ; but Miss Dun- 
 bar, who is no end of a rippin' girl, has bribed a servant 
 to leave the door open." 
 
 "Perhaps we oughtn't " I meekly began, in my 
 
 104 
 
THE FIRST ACT OF THE PLAY 105 
 
 ignorance that the rule of really "smart" society is to 
 do what one likes without regard to the feelings of 
 anyone else; but Captain Weyland hastened to cut 
 me short. 
 
 ^'Rather! You just trust me to look after you, Miss 
 Brand. It will be all right." 
 
 ''But won't Lady Sophie be expecting me to come 
 back at the end of the dance?" I uncomfortably 
 pleaded. 
 
 "Not she! She's too awfully rippin'. Come along." 
 
 And I went. 
 
 We walked down the length of a corridor, up some 
 steps, into a room, and on until we reached an odd 
 but beautiful space that looked down into a courtyard 
 below, filled with flowers. It appeared to be a com- 
 bination of conservatory, aviary, and boudoir; and I 
 could imagine why, if Lady Dunbar regarded the 
 prejudices of a few rare birds she kept there, she might 
 desire to lock out unsympathetic strangers. 
 
 Captain Weyland, who was rather a good-looking 
 as well as an impudent young man, ensconced me among 
 the cushions of a tete-a-tete sofa, and announced his 
 intention of setting forth in search of ices. There were 
 sure to be a lot going about (he alluded to them as if 
 they had been pilgrims), and he wouldn't be away 
 three minutes. 
 
 I hoped that he would be more, and when his back 
 was turned I settled myself to a hasty readjustment of 
 my disordered mind. I had hardly assured myself that 
 I really was Consuelo Brand, and no other, when I 
 heard the sound of voices behind a velvet curtain, em- 
 
io6 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 broidered with gold and silver in Japanese fashion, 
 which filled in one end of the room. 
 
 "It's locked, there's no danger of anybody being 
 there," said a woman in full, deep contralto tones. "I 
 always give orders that I can't have this one place dis- 
 organized; it's too near my own rooms. Tell me, 
 quick, all you have to tell. I must go back in a mq- 
 ment; already people must be wondering, though for- 
 tunately it's a crush. How can anyone expect to find 
 the hostess?" 
 
 I sprang up, anxious to make my unwelcome pres- 
 ence known, yet doubtful how best to do it, and more 
 than a little frightened, for there could be no doubt 
 that behind that curtain was the formidable Lady Dun- 
 bar — the heroine of the victoria. 
 
 "The girl may have the papers, or she may not," 
 responded a man, whose voice, low and cautious as 
 it was, sounded oddly familiar. "It all depends on 
 her knowledge of the escritoire. Myself, I should say 
 she knew nothing, or her knowledge would have 
 been used before this." 
 
 "That may merely mean lack of money, lack of self- 
 confidence, or friends. Great Heaven, that I should 
 be at the mercy of a creature like that! If only 
 you " 
 
 "Here's the ice!" triumphantly exclaimed Captain 
 Weyland. "I wasn't long, w^as I?" 
 
 Silence on the other side of the curtain. To face 
 my companion, I had to turn my back in that direc- 
 tion, and my spine seemed to creep under the sensation 
 that eyes were fixed upon it. Thank goodness, if eyes 
 
THE FIRST ACT OF THE PLAY 107 
 
 were peering, the fact that my back was turned and 
 that a sheltering screen intervened would prevent me 
 from being seen now and recognised later. 
 
 It was an effort to talk commonplaces and give the 
 thanks that were due for the ice. I had heard very few 
 words, and I could not patch them together for a 
 meaning, but they had a strange sound for a night of 
 festivity. 
 
 What girl had what papers? And if she had or had 
 not got them, what was that to me? The tantalizing 
 scrap of conversation which I had no right to overhear, 
 and had not meant to overhear, could not possibly con- 
 cern me, it seemed ; yet the mention of an escritoire had 
 touched a keynote. I had an escritoire, old-fashioned, 
 valueless, save for association. 
 
 The word "escritoire" had suddenly reminded me 
 that the poor piece of property which had come into my 
 possession through my dear mother's death had been 
 left at Happiholme Villa, unthought of, disregarded. 
 That I had forgotten it until this moment seemed like 
 neglect of my mother's precious memory. 
 
 My few miserable bits of wearing apparel were of 
 no importance. Cousin Sarah East might give them to 
 a dealer in rags for all I cared now; but the escritoire 
 was different. I ought not for a moment to have al- 
 lowed it's existence to slip my mind. 
 
 No doubt there were millions of escritoires in the 
 possession of millions of girls all over the world; but 
 the words spoken by the man's voice, representing an 
 unseen personality, lingered in my thoughts as I tried 
 to chat with Captain Weyland. I must go back to 
 
io8 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Happiholme Villa and reclaim the escritoire without 
 delay. 
 
 What if Lady Dunbar and her companion behind 
 the curtain had meant me ? Of course they hadn't! It 
 was ridiculous, and conceited too, to fancy it; but, at 
 all events, the subject they had discussed had been of 
 serious importance to them, and I would have liked to 
 know how they had stood the shock of our unexpected 
 interruption. 
 
 How dead the silence was behind the curtain ! Were 
 those two lingering, watching, listening in their turn, 
 or had they gone away? What if they should lift the 
 velvet folds and come into this room, to see who had 
 disturbed them, who had overheard? Lady Dunbar 
 would not care to think that the girl she had followed 
 in her victoria (if she had indeed condescended to 
 follow) was the eavesdropper, knowingly or not. 
 
 As Captain Weyland talked, other voices seemed to 
 hum in an ominous undertone near the portals of my 
 ear, though I was well aware they existed only in my 
 fancy; and having hurriedly disposed of half the pink 
 Ice peach he had brought me, I ungratefully said that 
 I must go back to Lady Sophie — already I had stopped 
 away too long. 
 
 "They haven't finished the dance after ours yet," 
 Captain Weyland reproached me, "and you promised 
 to, sit it out. However, we must try to find Lady So- 
 phie, if you're determined on spoiling my evening." 
 
 I denied this intention, but persevered in my resolve. 
 And though the Guardsman's eyes were not as observ- 
 ant as they might have been, with assistance from mc 
 
THE FIRST ACT OF THE PLAY 109 
 
 we contrived to discover my chaperon in a room ad- 
 joining the ballroom. We threaded our way towards 
 her, and having nearly sailed into port, were headed 
 off by a man who had discovered Lady Sophie almost 
 simultaneously. 
 
 He hurried to gain her side; I half drew back, biting 
 my lip, for the new-comer was none other than Sir 
 George Seaforth. Did I wish him to see me now, or 
 did I not? I was not sure; but the dew-spangled 
 cobweb of gauze over my breast was quickly rising 
 and falling. 
 
 It was too late to draw back, unless I were willing 
 to let Captain Weyland believe that I had changed 
 my mind, and decided to dance the next with him, as 
 he had requested. So I let him guide me on ; and then, 
 behind Sir George Seaforth's back, we paused for an 
 instant by instinctive mutual consent, to allow a sen- 
 tence to be finished before we should interrupt. 
 
 "If only it weren't too latel" he was saying, with 
 some feeling. "Just my luck, and serves me exactly 
 right, I suppose; but, for all that, it is rather hard 
 lines. If you could see what an angel of beauty she 
 was, you'd understand how absolutely she would have 
 filled the place " 
 
 "Ah, here's the little friend I was telling you of!" 
 interpolated Lady Sophie, who had caught sight of me, 
 with Captain Weyland, over Sir George Seaforth's 
 well-set-up shoulders. There was an inscrutable light 
 in her eyes, though her face wore its laziest smile. 
 "Consuelo, dear, you are very naughty to have stopped 
 iway so long. I was afraid you and Captain Weyland 
 
no MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 had not been able to find me. May I introduce Sir 
 George Seaforth?" 
 
 He turned, and we looked into each other's eyes. I 
 don't know what mine said, and I did not dare to try 
 to read his. Perhaps I could not if I would. But, 
 whatever else was there, I think surprise was the pre- 
 dominant emotion. 
 
 No, I was not engaged for the next waltz. The 
 lancers would be over in a moment. I felt that my 
 responses were prim and inadequate, my manner awk- 
 ward; for the first time I became painfully conscious 
 of my hands, and did not seem able to keep them from 
 fidgeting with my fan — that new, expensive fan which 
 it would be so disastrous to break. 
 
 Presently we went away together, leaving Lady 
 Sophie talking to an ample dowager, who wore plumes 
 on somebody else's hair. I was conscious that his eyes 
 were upon me, but I could not look up. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 MUST HE WHO BREAKS PAY? 
 
 It was a relief to begin the dance, and it was a joy 
 to continue, for Sir George Seaforth could waltz as few 
 men could. I was in a dream when it was over, and 
 he took me into the conservatory; a conservatory was 
 the conventional thing, I had heard, though I knew 
 nothing from experience. 
 
 "Why were you so surprised ?" I heard myself ask- 
 ing, and then felt that I should have preferred to say 
 anything rather than that. 
 
 Sir George Seaforth looked at me as if he w^ould 
 read my thoughts. 
 
 ''Why was I so surprised?" he echoed. "You mean, 
 when I saw that — ^you were you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why should I not have been surprised ? It was the 
 last thing in the world I expected. If I had thou^t 
 of it, I should have believed it far too good to be true." 
 
 "But you heard my name last night. If you had 
 remembered you might have " 
 
 "Remembered?" 
 
 He laughed in an odd way. 
 
 "I have remembered little else. Consuelo Brand! 
 It's not a name to forget, even if the owner — but you 
 III 
 
112 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 know what a peculiar manner Lady Sophie has of pro- 
 nouncing the letter r. I thought she said that the 
 — the friend who had come to visit her was Miss 
 Bland. I had just been telling her " 
 
 He paused abruptly, and frowned, as if he were 
 annoyed at his own indiscretion. 
 
 "Do finish the sentence," I pleaded, longing to know 
 what he would say, and recalling with a tingle of the 
 nerves each word Captain Weyland and I had caught 
 as we waited our turn to approach Lady Sophie. 
 
 Again he looked at me strangely, his gray eyes 
 wistful as well as searching. Suddenly it flashed back 
 to me how Lady Sophie had apparently tried to keep 
 us apart when he had called during Anne's and my 
 visit, and how Anne had surmised that he Vv-as "part 
 of the mystery." The expression of his face tended 
 to confirm this surmise of hers, and I would have given 
 much if it had been possible for me to frankly question 
 him. 
 
 If I had any power of judging character, he was 
 sweet-tempered, yet hot-tempered at the same time ; im- 
 pulsive, more than a little obstinate, and fond of having 
 his own w^ay — he had not that prominent chin, deeply 
 cleft in the middle, for nothing, I was sure — proud to 
 a fault, perhaps a bit conceited, headstrong, and quick 
 to draw himself within a shell of reserve if strangers 
 endeavoured to pass such barriers as he chose to erect. 
 Still, despite all this, somehow I was not in the least 
 afraid of him. 
 
 I felt that I might say almost anything without 
 danger of being misunderstood ; that, though it was not 
 
MUST HE WHO BREAKS PAY? 113 
 
 his nature to be either patient or forbearing, I might 
 count on his being both with me. It was not fear that 
 closed my lips, but a feeling which I could not have 
 explained, although without putting it into words I 
 understood it, and knew that it concerned only myself. 
 
 "I might finish my sentence in two ways," he said 
 slowly. "And both would be equally truthful. I 
 might pay you a compliment, or I might — I might say 
 something which would disgust you with me, and end 
 all chance of — the friendship I hope to win from J3\i 
 by-and-by. To do the first might offend you, and — 
 I confess I haven't the moral courage for the other." 
 
 "You puzzle me," I returned. "I don't understand 
 you." 
 
 "They say, when a woman understaqds a man he 
 can no longer hope to interest her. That is one of 
 the reasons why I'm glad you don't understand me." 
 
 "Then there are several reasons? You are certainly 
 rather mysterious. But everything is mysterious lately." 
 
 "Naturally, to you. Life is life, and you are a 
 debutante. I shouldn't wonder if this were your first 
 ball." 
 
 "I hope I haven't done anything dreadful to make 
 you guess it so soon. But it's true. Only two days 
 ago, if anyone had told me that I should ever go to a 
 ball, I should have thought they were mad, or making 
 fun of me." 
 
 I paused in the flow of my confidences, blushing 
 hotly ; for there was my duty to my benefactress, and I 
 did not think that Lady Sophie would care to have 
 the sordid past of her young guest known and dis- 
 
114 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 cussed. Perhaps the reason she had disliked the Idea of 
 our meeting yesterday was because she had not wished 
 Sir George to see me for the first time In my shabby 
 clothes. It had been for the sake of sparing my pride 
 that she had desired to keep us apart ; and In that case 
 there was no mystery at all so far as Sir George Sea- 
 forth was concerned. 
 
 Lady Sophie did not guess that destiny had seen fit, 
 for some playful purpose of its own, to thwart her 
 well-laid scheme, and perhaps I would never confess. 
 I could see no reason now why I should. Nevertheless, 
 even as It was, Sir George knew nothing of my former 
 circumstances, except that he had twice seen me yes- 
 terday poorly clad, and once in a position of some diffi- 
 culty. I might have been masquerading in my cheap 
 garments, for all that he could tell, and for Lady 
 Sophie's sake, though not for my own, I would check 
 my Impulse towards unnecessary confidences. 
 
 ''Didn't your people approve of dances?" my com- 
 panion encouraged me to go on. 
 
 '*Er — not for me, at any rate," I answered quite 
 truthfully, with a twinkle in my eyes. I imagined 
 Cousin Sarah East's attitude towards a request of mine 
 to attend such an entertainment. ''But I love it — oh, 
 how I love dancing! I was never so happy in my life 
 — at least, since my mother left me — as I am to-night." 
 
 "How many dances will you give me? I oughtn't 
 to be selfish, but do let me have six!" 
 
 ''Would th^t be the usual thing — really, truly? 
 You see, I don't know, so I must depend on you to 
 tell me." 
 
MUST HE WHO BREAKS PAY? 115 
 
 "Well, if you put me on honour, perhaps I'm ask- 
 ing too much for your first ball. But I think 
 I may beg for four with a clear conscience, if 
 you don't mind being good-natured and letting me 
 have them." 
 
 *'I like it!" I had exclaimed before I had time to 
 ask myself whether frankness were fashionable for 
 young maidens in society. "You dance so splendidly," 
 I compromised. 
 
 "Our step did suit, didn't it? I'm so glad. It seems 
 somehow like a good omen." 
 
 "Are you a soldier?" I asked abruptly. "You walk 
 like one, and, I fancy, dance like one, too." 
 
 "That's rather a sore point, but I don't dislike talk- 
 ing of it with you. I used to be a soldier; it was 
 my life, the thing I cared for most on earth. But I 
 had solemnly promised my father that when he died, 
 and I came into the title, I'd chuck the army and take 
 up his work, which meant to him all and more than 
 being a soldier meant to me. You see, he was awfully 
 interested in improving the condition of the working 
 people, and as charity begins at home, he had done a 
 lot for our tenants. I hoped he would live to be a 
 very old man, and I expected when I made that prom- 
 ise to get twenty more good years of soldiering at least ; 
 but he died — dear old governor! — quite suddenly a 
 year ago; and his last word to me was, 'Rem.ember!' 
 I knew what he was thinking of, and satisfied him that 
 I wasn't going to break my word. Now, I seem to 
 have told you a lot about myself. Won't you tell me 
 something of yourself, too? Fancy, I'd spent all day 
 
ii6 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 trying to think how I was to meet you again; and 
 here you are." 
 
 "My story isn't written yet; I am only in the first 
 chapter," I said demurely. 
 
 "Then I'm in that first chapter. What luck for 
 me. even if my part be but a small one! I hope, 
 though, I'm not going to turn out the villain of 
 the tale." 
 
 I glanced up at him as we walked slowly back to- 
 ward the ballroom. 
 
 "You don't look much like a villain." 
 
 A slight contraction drew his level dark brows to- 
 gether, and his lips were compressed, as if with a 
 thought that gave him pain. 
 
 "You mustn't judge by appearances," he said. 
 "There's disinterested advice to a debutante. If there 
 ever has been anything of the villain about me, I'm 
 going to set to work and write it out of my story to- 
 night. I wonder if one can do that? What do you 
 think? Does he who breaks alw^aj^s have to pay — 
 pay with the one immediate jew^el of his soul, the only 
 coin the gods will accept? But how could you have 
 an opinion on that subject, Miss Brand? Good music, 
 isn't it; and a jolly floor? We're just in time for this 
 gaiop. I wish it had been a waltz." 
 
 His arm slid round my waist, and I danced, feeling 
 more than ever puzzled, partly because of his question, 
 but more because of his quick change of voice and sub- 
 ject. We did not stop until the galop was over. Next 
 came the waltz that Sir George Seaforth had wished 
 for, and when it had ended, all too soon, I asked that 
 
MUST HE WHO BREAKS PAY? 117 
 
 he would take me to Lady Sophie. We would have 
 those other dances later, If he liked. 
 
 As we walked acrossed the room together I could 
 not help noticing that almost everyone seemed to be 
 particularly interested in us. They looked at me, and 
 looked again. In a lower rank of society I think the 
 gaze might have degenerated into a stare. 
 
 "I do hope my hair isn't coming down, or anything 
 the matter with my frock," I exclaimed almost beseech- 
 ingly to Lady Sophie, when we had reached her side 
 at last. 
 
 I had spoken in a low, distressed voice, but Sir 
 George must have heard the words, for his eyes and 
 Lady Sophie's met, and both smiled. 
 
 "It has begun," she remarked to him. Then, turning 
 to me, ''Don't be alarmed, dear; you are quite right. 
 Yours is a new face, that's all. People are wondering 
 who you are. I was talking with Lady Dunbar only 
 a few minutes ago — unearthed her at last! — and told 
 her something about you. She is quite curious to see 
 you now." 
 
 "There's Miss Dunbar," said Sir George Seaforth, 
 *Vith Captain Weyland." 
 
 A few seconds later a radiant being, a more beaute- 
 ous development of. yesterday's vision in pink muslin, 
 was speaking to Lady Sophie In a soft, sweet voice. 
 
 For the moment a classical profile was turned to- 
 wards me, and my fascinated eyes lingered upon its 
 cameo-like outlines. 
 
 She was even lovelier than I had thought her yes- 
 terday as she had leaned back by her mother's side in 
 
ii8 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 the victoria. And yet perhaps "lovely" was hardly 
 the word to describe this Honourable Diana, who 
 looked as if the earth were an iced cake for her care- 
 less fingers to pick to pieces and find all the best plums. 
 
 She was tall as her fabled namesake, and her perfect 
 features were of the aquilme type, her conspicuously 
 short upper lip thin and red as wet coal. The eyes, 
 which were absolutely of almond shape, and very large, 
 were as black as eyes ever are, and had heavy white 
 lids, darkly fringed above and below. The hair, elab- 
 orately dressed, and wound with a string of pearls over 
 the low forehead, was of an almost unnaturally bright 
 chestnut, appearing all the more vivid because of the 
 dead white of the beautiful face, smooth and colourless 
 as the petals of a pond lily. 
 
 Miss Dunbar said something commonplace and 
 agreeable to Lady Sophie, and then turned to me. 
 Lady Sophie had mentioned that she had a guest. 
 It was so nice of me to have come. Miss Dunbar 
 hoped that I had been dancing a great deal. Her 
 mother had said that she wished to meet me. I 
 was rather like someone she had once known — an old 
 friend now dead. Would I mind being introduced, if 
 there happened to be some dances I didn't fancy, so 
 that I wouldn't feel that I was wasting time? 
 
 My heart gave a little thump. It seemed to me 
 that a first conversation with Lady Dunbar could 
 hardly fail to be interesting. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 LADY DUNBAR AND A CATECHISM 
 
 The next dance was the "Washington Post," im- 
 ported from the States long since the days when I had 
 learned dancing from a skilled and loving teacher. I 
 therefore did not know it, and did not wish to take 
 a lesson in public, though Sir George Seaforth offered 
 to give it, and argued the point for some time. 
 
 I would go instead to Lady Dunbar, I said, and 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton's eyes sparkled with controlled 
 curiosity in anticipation of the scene at which she 
 would not be present. 
 
 ''Let me take you to Lady Dunbar," exclaimed Sir 
 George. 
 
 Miss Dunbar shrugged her white, lavishly-displayed 
 shoulders with the pettish air of a spoiled beauty. 
 
 ''How horrid of you to have forgotten that you 
 made me promise last week to dance the 'Washington 
 Post' with you! It isn't at all the proper thing for 
 me to remind you of It, but you know I'm not a par- 
 ticularly well-regulated young person, and I hate sit- 
 ting out. Miss Brand doesn't want to dance, and Cap- 
 tain Weyland loathes the 'Post.' Providence evidently 
 intended that he should guide her to my mother." 
 
 "Of course I didn't forget; I only forgot that this 
 was the 'Washington Post,' " asseverated Sir George 
 iig 
 
120 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Seaforth. "Awfully good of you to keep it. Don't 
 forget that the next is ours, Miss Brand." 
 
 He looked at me no more, as Captain Weyland said 
 agreeable things, and prepared to be my pilot between 
 the Scylla and Charybdis of the crowd. But for all 
 that, though Miss Dunbar had his eyes and his most 
 courageous attention — and she was beautiful enough 
 to hold both; probably far, far handsomer than I — I 
 had a curiously peaceful, blissful feeling that I kept 
 Sir George Seaforth's thoughts, and carried them away 
 with me across the room. 
 
 "Pretty girl. Miss Dunbar, isn't she?" remarked 
 Captain Weyland. "She's in splendid form to-night.'* 
 
 "She's handsomer than anyone I ever saw," I an- 
 swered. 
 
 "So a lot of people think. She's been no end run 
 after since she came out a year ago. She was quite 
 the beauty of last season, and has held first place this 
 season, too, without any trouble ; it's been a w^alk over 
 for her till now — everybody ravin' about her, most of 
 the best fellows danglin' on her line, and that sort of 
 thing, you know. Wonder if she won't shy at a rival ?" 
 
 "Has she one?" I asked. 
 
 "Has she one! That's pretty good, isn't it? I should 
 rather think she had — after to-night. It's been a 
 regular sensation." 
 
 "Dear me! Is the girl here, then? I'd like to see 
 her. It seems almost impossible that anyone could be 
 handsomer than Miss Dunbar." 
 
 "So she thought, I fancy. Look here. Miss Brand, 
 you come from Devonshire, don't you?" 
 
LADY DUNBAR AND A CATECHISM 121 
 
 "I don't — er — I mean no. Why do you ask?" 
 "Well, there are some Brands there, and — er — the 
 girls are so awf lly refreshin'ly Innocent In Devonshire. 
 Would you really like to see Miss Dunbar's rival at- 
 traction? ril show her to you at the end of this room 
 before we get to Lady Dunbar." 
 
 I thanked him. Now that I was sure my frock and 
 hair were above reproach, It was rather fun to have 
 people look at me as they did. I began to think that 
 I must really present quite a respectable appearance in 
 a pretty frock. 
 
 "There she is!" said Captain Weyland, stopping sud- 
 denly and bringing me to a standstill too. 
 
 My eyes travelled inquiringly, but without result 
 except for my own reflection in a huge mirror that ran 
 from floor to ceiling. I gave a little gasp, and — com- 
 prehended. 
 
 "How unkind of you to make fun of me!" I ejacu- 
 lated. 
 
 "Make fun? Ton my honour, I was in dead earn- 
 est; thought I was puttin' it rather nicely, too. My 
 word, Miss Brand, you're going to make havoc among 
 us for what's left of the season! As you are strong, 
 be merciful, I beg. And look in the society columns 
 of all the newspapers to-morrow if you don't believe 
 what I say." 
 
 Compliments are popularly supposed to be pleasant 
 
 fare for a woman, but these, coming after nineteen 
 
 years' fasting, choked me and sent the blood with such 
 
 a rush to my head that tears were forced into my eyes. 
 
 "There's Lady Dunbar," I said hurriedly. 
 
122 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 "Oh, you know her, then?'* 
 
 "Not to speak to. I — I've only seen her once be- 
 fore." 
 
 A moment after Captain Weyland was introducing 
 me, in such a manner that I guessed he must be an 
 old friend and favourite of J^ady Dunbar's, and he did 
 not neglect to mention, by way of making conversation, 
 that this was not the first time I had seen my hostess. 
 
 A flash of fire darted from her dark eyes to mine 
 at this announcement, so quickly that it might have 
 been a ray from the diamond tiara on her night-black 
 hair. 
 
 "Indeed?" she repeated. "I could almost be certain 
 that we had not met. Miss Brand. Yours is not a face 
 to forget, especially as it — recalls the past." 
 
 "We did not meet," I responded meekly. "I saw 
 you " 
 
 "Where?" with veiled eagerness. 
 
 For an instant I hesitated. If there were no other 
 mystery in the events of the past two days, she was 
 a mystery, or at least her apparent interest in me was 
 no less, and if I wished to fathom it (as I naturally 
 did) I must be wise as a serpent, harmless as a dove. 
 I must begin well, for never afterwards, if I made a 
 false start now, could I recover lost ground. 
 
 "It was in the Park, yesterday afternoon. You and 
 Miss Dunbar w^ere driving together, I think," was my 
 circumspect answer. 
 
 "Ah, was that all? How nice of you to remember 
 our faces through twenty- four hours! But, then, this 
 is surely your first season. I should like to have a 
 
LADY DUNBAR AND A CATECHISM 123 
 
 little talk with you, if you really don't mind missing 
 this one dance." 
 
 "I can't dance it," I bluntly replied. 
 
 **Run away, then, Jerry" — to Captain Weyland — 
 "like a good boy. I want Miss Brand to myself." 
 
 "I hope you won't be torn quite to pieces here, in this 
 whirlpool. But that's the penalty of talking with the 
 hostess. Tell me: you only saw me in the Park yes- 
 terday?" 
 
 I could not be guilty of a deliberate lie. 
 
 "I — fancied I saw you afterwards, but wasn't sure." 
 
 "Where was that?" 
 
 "Oh, in Hamilton Place at first." 
 
 "And after " 
 
 "I was going down to Peckham, and — I thought — I 
 couldn't be certain, of course." 
 
 Lady Dunbar smiled upon me ; but though her smile 
 was brilliant it was singularly cold — cold as moonlight 
 or mountain snow. 
 
 "It must have been I," she pleasantly admitted. 
 "My daughter and I work as hard as the rest of our 
 friends at amusing ourselves, but we try to do a little 
 something for others, too; and we occasionally 
 take a few trifles to a poor woman in Peck- 
 ham. We went to see her yesterday. So you 
 were going in that direction, too? Rather an 
 odd coincidence." 
 
 "Not as odd as it seemed," I remarked to myself, 
 considering I had lived there for five years. But aloud 
 I said nothing. I merely smiled a non-committal smile. 
 
 "So out of the way, Isn't it?" murmured Lady Dun- 
 
124 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 bar. "Though one doesn't grumble when it's for char- 
 ity, of course. Do you often go to Peckham ?" 
 
 "Rather often. But I don't expect to do so as fre- 
 quently in future," I made demure reply. 
 
 "Ah, you will be with my dear Lady Sophie for some 
 time. I am glad of that. Diana would like to know 
 you. You must get Lady Sophie to spare you to us 
 sometimes. You know, you look remarkably like a 
 friend of my youthful days — a very beautiful woman, 
 I may tell you. Her name was Margaret Sylvester. I 
 wonder if, by any possibilty, you are related to her?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "No, Lady Dunbar, I never even heard the name 
 before." 
 
 "I am disappointed," she declared. But, an odd con- 
 tradiction to the statement, her face cleared. 
 
 "If she had been even a distant relative of yours, 
 you could, of course, not have failed to hear of her.'* 
 
 I was tempted to say that I might easily have failed, 
 since I knew absolutely nothing of my relatives, save 
 Cousin Sarah East, of whom I knew too much. But I 
 remembered my mkier, which w^as to learn all I could, 
 and betray nothing. I therefore only remarked that if 
 I had heard so pretty a name as Margaret Sylvester, 
 I should not have forgotten it. 
 
 "I am surprised that Sophie de Gretton never spoke 
 of you to me before," Lady Dunbar continued, with 
 a weary note of irritation in her face, which she tried 
 in vain to subdue. "I suppose your people and hers 
 are old friends." 
 
 "I look like someone she used to know," I returned. 
 
LADY DUNBAR AND A CATECHISM 125 
 
 "Perhaps she, too, takes an Interest in me on account 
 of Margaret Sylvester." 
 
 I had meant to be so prudent, but if I had deliber- 
 ately worked up to this point, when I might disconcert 
 the enemy by throwing a bombshell into his lines, I 
 could not have succeeded more thoroughly. 
 
 Lady Dunbar was not a character in Adelphi melo- 
 drama, therefore she did not pant or start violently, 
 or, indeed, exhibit any other notable sign of discom- 
 posure. But she drew in her lips, and there was a 
 flicker of the sharply-cut nostrils, expanding and con- 
 tracting like those of a vicious horse. 
 
 "Has she said anything to make you think that, Miss 
 Brand?" 
 
 "No, It was merely my imagination." 
 
 "You have a vivid one. It must be a pleasure to 
 you. But surely your people " 
 
 "I am all my own people — at present." 
 
 What induced me to add those last two words I 
 do not know, but for some reason they pricked Lady 
 Dunbar as If I had stabbed at her with the tiny point 
 of a penknife. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 
 
 "In a day or two I will go to Peckham and take 
 away mother's escritoire from Cousin Sarah East's 
 house," I promised myself among my pillows at three 
 o'clock In the morning, after Lady Dunbar's ball. But, 
 needless to say, the Intention went to lay another 
 paving-stone In a place no well-brought-up young 
 woman ever mentions, except In church. 
 
 Life was a kaleidoscope, with each flowery turn of 
 the rainbow wheel m.ore brilliant than the last. I was 
 a success, It appeared, and every hour had its separate 
 engagement. There was a good deal of hard work 
 as well as pleasure; but on the whole It seemed an 
 easier thing to turn In a single day from a Peckham 
 nursery governess Into a butterfly of society than I 
 could have supposed possible; though perhaps, as my 
 patroness declared, that came of being a gentlewoman 
 to begin with. 
 
 Lady Sophie's place at the breakfast-table was 
 heaped with invitations each morning — invitations in 
 which I shared — and we accepted all that we could 
 undertake without actually Inducing immediate nervous 
 prostration. I must have had to talk, on an average, 
 with a hundred different people every day, and I won- 
 126 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 127 
 
 dered at myself as I saw how easily I picked up the 
 jargon of society. 
 
 I chatted about the book of the hour (which I had 
 glanced at as Adele brushed my hair) ; I exhaustively 
 criticised the De Reszkes and Madame Melba (whom 
 I had heard twice, when Sir George Seaforth gave us 
 his box at Covent Garden) ; I babbled of actors and 
 actresses whom I had never seen, and did not hesitate 
 to discuss the rival merits of horses for the not-far dis- 
 tant Ascot. 
 
 I even ventured, by the end of a week, to risk drop- 
 ping my g's, that one combined touch of nature 
 and affectation where the two extremes of society 
 meet. 
 
 In all this there was no time to think of Happi- 
 holme Villa, which seemed now to have belonged to 
 a past incarnation. 
 
 In the morning we slept or shopped, and Lady 
 Sophie's generosity to me was boundless. I dared 
 not express a wish lest it should be instantly granted, 
 and it appeared to m.e that her idea of poverty must 
 be an elastic one. In the afternoons we went to "at 
 homes" in the Botanical Gardens, or tooled out to 
 'Ranelagh on Sir George Seaforth's coach, or amused 
 ourselves in some other way, with a large contingent 
 of young men usually following in our wake. There 
 seemed to be a great many young men in this new 
 world of mine, and few of them had anything to do, 
 save amuse themselves and us; or if they had anything 
 else, they carefully refrained from doing it. But other 
 men might come, other men might go; there was 
 
128 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 always Sir George Seaforth. Lady Sophie de Gretton 
 said that he was a very, very old friend of hers. 
 
 In the evenings there was always somebody's dinner, 
 or Lady Sophie gave a small one of her own, perhaps 
 at Willis's Rooms or the Savoy, as her dining-room 
 was strictly limited. Afterwards there was the opera 
 or theatre, or two or three dances and a concert; so it 
 came about that w^hile this kaleidoscopic existence was 
 still a novelty, I thought no more of my mother's 
 property which should have been reclaimed from Peck- 
 ham ; and I drank deep of the sweet draught of flattery 
 which was held to my lips. 
 
 I loved the flowers which were sent to me because 
 they were "tribute," as well as because of their beauty. 
 I was inwardly pleased with the paragraphs in the 
 society papers, that described me as a ''radiant new 
 star that had just risen over the horizon." I experi- 
 enced a s'ense of intoxication when editors of women's 
 magazines wrote Lady Sophie asking permission to 
 reproduce my photograph, and fashionable photog- 
 raphers begged an opportunity of "taking me" for 
 nothing. 
 
 It was especially delightful to have a new rose named 
 after me; and there was a wicked joy in watching the 
 face of Miss Dunbar, who happened to be present when 
 the news of this compliment was broken to me by the 
 enthusiastic horticulturist, an eligible, if elderly, bar- 
 onet. Altogether, if I had time for self-examination, 
 I should have seen that the sudden change in my cir- 
 cumstances had flown to my head, that I was growing 
 vain and taking everything for granted, and that, when 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 129 
 
 the time should come, as maybe it soon would, for me 
 to be driven out from this land of enchantment, I 
 should be in a sad condition to catch up the thread 
 of my old existence where I had let it drop. 
 
 But weeks passed by, and Ascot came and went; 
 yet there had been no word, no hint, from Lady Sophie 
 that it was time my wonderful visit drew to a close. 
 One night, when I had been too tired to sleep, the 
 glamour passed away from before my eyes like a cloud, 
 as they stared wakefully into the darkness. I saw my- 
 self and my surroundings more as they really were in 
 relation to each other than I had yet done, shivering 
 as if a cold wind had nipped me. 
 
 Next morning, at a late breakfast, when the footman 
 had left us alone over tea and toast and strawberries, 
 I spoke to Lady Sophie. She had been sorting out 
 a new batch of invitations, some of which would be 
 accepted, others which were undesirable, or could not 
 by any means be fitted in, and some which were for 
 very far ahead. 
 
 "Maybe I won't be with you then," I said uneasily. 
 
 "Not with me ! Why, you surely haven't been mak- 
 ing independent plans for Goodwood?" 
 
 "No, of course not. But I can't keep on visiting 
 you for ever." 
 
 Lady Sophie bit her lip, and looked vexed or uncom- 
 fortable, I was not sure which. 
 
 " We did not put any limit on the visit when we 
 first arranged that you should come, so far as I can 
 remember, dear," she replied, interesting herself in the 
 union of a strawberry and some Devonshire cream. 
 
130 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 ''You did ask me if I would be willing to throw 
 everything over for the sake of a fortnight. It was 
 early in June then, and now it's the first of July." 
 
 ''Oh, but that was a joke. I thought you quite 
 understood. You will stop with me till the end of 
 the season, of course. There's Henley in a day or 
 two, and, as I was just telling you. Sir George has 
 asked us for his house-party at Goodwood. Then 
 comes Cowes — 3'ou're so fond of the water, you'll 
 enjoy Cowes. And that reminds me: we must see 
 about )'our frocks at once. After that — well, who 
 knows just what may happen?" 
 
 "That's just what worries me?" I said. "Who does 
 know? I am accepting so much from }^ou, dear Lady 
 Sophie. If I had been a princess, instead of a poor 
 little waif, you couldn't have done m.ore. I dare not 
 think what you must have spent on my clothes; and 
 —and lots of other things." 
 
 Her face contracted with an odd little spasm of 
 the nerves, as it often did if I alluded to her many 
 kindnesses. 
 
 "Doesn't it seem to you that I ought now to begin 
 looking the future in the face, and preparing to meet 
 it? Of course, I am more than happy with you, and 
 I have never got over the feeling of being in fairyland, 
 as if I'd lifted a stone under a hollow tree, and gone 
 down a thousand steps, like the children in the Ger- 
 man story-books. But they always had to go back to 
 the real world after awhile, and so must I. Hadn't I 
 better see some agent for governesses, and ask " 
 
 "I don't think it wjjl be necessary," replied Lady 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 131 
 
 Sophie dryly. "I took a great fancy to you when I 
 first saw you, as I explained; and during these weeks 
 that you have been with me I have grown very fond 
 of you — even more fond than I supposed possible, with 
 such a selfish woman as I confess to being. Still, I 
 can't keep you for ever, as you remind me, and it 
 is only right that you should look to the future. But 
 has it never occurred to you, my child, that you will 
 have many opportunites of remaining forever in the 
 world to which I've introduced you?" 
 
 Vain as I had become, I had not yet outgrown the 
 habit of blushing. 
 
 "You mean — oh, of course, I know what you mean, 
 though it seems horrid to talk of it." 
 
 "You have had several proposals already, dear," 
 Lady Sophie continued, with no hesitating timidity on 
 her part: "not quite what I should have cared for you 
 to accept, perhaps; but they are only an earnest of 
 what are sure to come. If I cared to mention 
 
 names 
 
 "Oh, don't — don't, please," I broke in, with a face 
 that felt scarlet. 
 
 "Well, I won't!" said Lady Sophie. "But there's 
 one thing I'd better say, once for all, and have it done 
 with. If you have half the good sense I've tried to 
 inculcate in j^ou, you'll choose a rich man. It's just 
 as easy to fall in love with a man who has money as 
 with one who hasn't. People have got the impression 
 that you are an heiress " 
 
 "How dreadful!" I exclaimed. "I don't see why, 
 except for the pretty dresses you have " 
 
132 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 "I have played our cards as judiciously as I knew 
 how, my child. You are the daughter of a dear dead 
 school friend of mine, and have lived all your life 
 buried in the country with guardians who were very 
 strict in their ideas. There's m.ore or less truth in 
 all that ; quite enough truth for society, on the principle 
 that it's wrong to cast pearls before — well, you know 
 the rest. I have been reserved, yet not secretive, in 
 my way of speaking of you, and naturally, people 
 haven't gone so far as to ask direct questions, except 
 Valencie Dunbar, who has certainly taken the most 
 morbid interest. Why I can't guess, unless through 
 jealousy for Diana; and the slight mystery that sur- 
 rounds your antecedents has only heightened the at- 
 traction. I'm afraid that I don't often take up pen- 
 niless girls, and put myself to much trouble on their 
 account, so that you can understand why gossip has 
 accredited you with a fortune of your own. You are 
 very beautiful, uncommonly fresh and original, and 
 bewitching; still, you mustn't let vanity blind you to 
 the fact that ineligibles may seek the heiress; eligibles 
 are the only ones you can safely count on as disinter- 
 ested. By the way that half the women in London 
 hate you already (with Diana Dunbar at the head of 
 the list), I should fancy that in a few weeks more you 
 might almost have your pick among the men they all 
 want." 
 
 I thought of the one man I wanted, and dared 
 not hope wanted me, lest I should expect too much 
 of lavish destiny ; and for fear that Lady Sophie should 
 speak his name, and break the sweet spell of silence 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 133 
 
 with a jarring note like a snapped string on a violin, 
 I hurried to change the subject. Whether or no fate 
 were in it, I know not, but the words which sprang 
 into my mind and got themselves uttered concerned the 
 escritoire and the neglected visit to Peckham. 
 
 *1 needn't make any trouble, you know, for I'd go 
 alone, of course, in an omnibus," I meekly suggested. 
 'Then, if you wouldn't mind my having the escritoire 
 here — or I could store it somewhere, perhaps." 
 
 Lady Sophie had listened attentively to my account, 
 given for the first time, of what I had overheard behind 
 the curtain at Lady Dunbar's, and though she agreed 
 with me in thinking that the words regarding an escri- 
 toire had only seemed to concern me by a mere coinci- 
 dence, she saw no reason why I should not retrieve 
 my one valued possession from the stronghold of the 
 Easts. 
 
 ''You can have it in your room," she said. *'And 
 you shan't go in an omnibus. I thought, when I first 
 proposed your coming here, that it would be well not 
 to call for you in my own carriage, as we did not 
 want the whole neighbourhood roused to curiosity, and 
 trying to find out where you were going. But it is 
 rather different now. You have established your posi- 
 tion, and at worst, if by any possibility Peckham gos- 
 sip could penetrate to Mayfair, it would hardly 
 be believed. My little hints as to your past are too 
 thoroughly grounded; and it seems to me that, after 
 your cousin's treatment of you, it would be amusing 
 to descend upon and overwhelm her with all the gran- 
 deur we can muster. I am rather fond of amateur 
 
134 MY LADY CLNDERELLA 
 
 theatricals, when no bothering rehearsals are re- 
 quired. 
 
 "You did overwhelm Mrs. Leatherby-Smith," I said, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Yes, the vulgar creature. I did it with set pur- 
 pose. If she'd been nice to you, we would not only 
 have martyrized ourselves by accepting her stupid invi- 
 tation for dinner, which came a fortnight ago, but 
 she should have been asked here — on an off-day, 
 when no one else was coming. She never would have 
 finished talking of it as long as she lived. But she 
 bit off her ow^n head.. I'm sure her mouth looked liter- 
 ally big enough to do it. As for your friend Miss 
 Bryden, she really shall come to you some time when 
 we're not too busy. It ought t9 make her worth ten 
 pounds a year more salary to the Smith woman. How- 
 ever, to return to Peckham ; you shall go this morning, 
 as it's too dark and rainy for your new photographs 
 to com.e out well, if you kept your appointment; the 
 artificial light's so horrid. But perhaps you wouldn't 
 mind driving down alone in the brougham, leaving me 
 first at Madame Escourt's. I should feel twice the 
 woman I do now after an hour of her electric massage." 
 
 All the naughty vanity which had been growing up 
 in me during the past few magical weeks took fire at 
 the thought of appearing at Happiholme a la princesse. 
 I well-nigh forgot the importance of my errand there, 
 in thinking of the impression I should make, and I ran 
 eagerly upstairs to get ready the instant that Lady 
 Sophie had risen from the table. 
 
 We had breakfasted in dainty muslin dressing- 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIIn SARAH 135 
 
 gowns, as no eyes but those of the servants would 
 behold us, and a particularly late night entitled us 
 to self-indulgence; but I was childishly fastidious in 
 the matter of making my toilette for Peckham. 
 
 Finally I selected a smart little tailor frock of blue 
 cloth, with a toque to match, such as no eye in Cousin 
 Sarah East's street had ever looked upon. I should 
 have liked an elaborate foulard; but the rain raised 
 limitations, and since my transplantation I had begun 
 to study appropriateness as never before. 
 
 When I was ready, I glanced at my mirrored re- 
 flection, and smiled to think how different was this 
 girl from the one who had driven forth from Happi- 
 holme Villa a month ago. 
 
 Lady Sophie had insisted from the first on my ac- 
 cepting an allowance of pin-money, despite the constant 
 flow of presents which never ran dry, therefore I was 
 never quite penniless; and now, when I had dropped 
 her in Bond Street, I consulted the contents of my blue 
 monogrammed purse. 
 
 I was the proud possessor of one pound and several 
 odd shillings, part of which sum I determined to spend 
 upon gifts for the three juvenile Easts. I stopped the 
 brougham at a toy-shop, again at a confectioner's, and 
 finally went on my way with the articles which I 
 remembered hearing the children say they w^ould prefer 
 to all others, reposing on the seat beside me. I felt 
 rich, happy, fortunate; I could afford to forgive and 
 forget, and my heart was soft even toward her who 
 had persecuted me of old. 
 
 How strange it was to see again the dull gray 
 
136 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 streets, once so familiar ! Though five weeks ago they 
 had walled in my existence, Maj^falr and Belgravia ap- 
 peared now far more homelike. 
 
 I glanced at the little enam.elled watch which had 
 been a present from Lady Sophie, and discovered that 
 the Easts would be about assembling for their mid-day 
 meal by the time I could reach the house. But I 
 was not sorry for this, as they were the more sure 
 to be at home. My calculations told me also that 
 Mr. East was likely to have returned from his travels, 
 and be at rest for a few days in the bosom of his 
 family. I was safe now from his furtive impertinences, 
 therefore I was pleased that my audience should be 
 increased by one. 
 
 The brougham turned into the ugly street, which 
 the coachman had found only through haughty in- 
 quiries, and drev/ up before the house. Down sprang 
 the groom, opened the gate, ascended the steps — "ran 
 up" would be inadequate to express William at his 
 best — and made use of the knocker with dignified in- 
 sistence. Since he must come to such a place, let it 
 be over quickly. 
 
 Matty, the mald-of-all-work, answered the summons, 
 capless, smudged, with samples of the week's menu on 
 her apron. At sight of groom and brougham she 
 gasped, strove in vain for one crucial moment to col- 
 lect her scattered senses, collapsed utterly, and fell 
 back upon Mr. East, who had shuffled (in dressing- 
 gown and slippers) to the rescue. 
 
 Oh, yes, Mrs. East was at home; and the door of 
 the brougham was thrown open for me by the liveried 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 137 
 
 one with a flourish. One might almost have thought 
 that he appreciated the humour of the situation, and 
 meant to play his part in it for all that it was worth. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. East?" I Inquired on the 
 threshold, extending a perfectly gloved hand. 
 
 I was conscious that a faint aroma of violets, an 
 indescribable atmosphere of daintiness, breathed from 
 me, counteracting the frank declaration of fried steak 
 and onions in the passage. I rustled silkenly as I 
 moved; I was a being from a different world; yet, as 
 I looked round, the house seemed haunted by ghosts of 
 myself — shabby ghosts, with falling hair, carrying the 
 squalling baby; cooking gliosts, taking Matty's place on 
 her day out; crying ghosts, nagged into tears by Mrs. 
 East's ill-temper. 
 
 The image of her vrhlch my mind called up only 
 preceded the reality, for she appeared at the top of 
 the basement stairs, puzzled, perspiring, ready to be 
 wrathful. But the sharp words were strangled at 
 birth. 
 
 "How do you do?" I repeated to her. "Oh, don't 
 shut the door, if you please. William is just bringing 
 up a few little presents I have for the children." 
 
 As I spoke, William reappeared, and with conde- 
 scension delivered my parcels into Mr. East's nervous 
 hands. The front-door closed ; we walked towards the 
 dining-room, the lady of the house being understood 
 to mxurmur something indistinct, which sounded like 
 "Well, I never!" 
 
 Within were the children, the baby tied into a high- 
 chair at the table, though the mid-day dinner had not 
 
138 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 yet ceased to frizzle on the kitchen range. I bestowed 
 a soldier cap, sword, epaulettes, and belt upon Jimmy, 
 who forthwith went into spasms of delight; a French 
 doll was dealt out to the more conservative Emmy, 
 who w^atched her mother for a clue to behaviour; a 
 woolly sheep that said "Baa" was pressed upon the 
 baby; and a box of sweets was laid on the shrine of 
 all three. 
 
 "I haven't come to stop long," I announced, strug- 
 gling against the old spell of servitude and habit that 
 would fain have prostrated me even now. "Don't let 
 me keep you from your luncheon" — with a faint em- 
 phasis — '"'I only want to make arrangements for reliev- 
 ing you of some of the luggage I left here, which, of 
 course, you w^ould like to be rid of." 
 
 "Well, you do look a toff!" Mr. East ejaculated 
 admiringly. "I say, have you gone on the stage?" 
 (He pronounced it "stayge.") 
 
 Cousin Sarah gave vent to a sound which it would 
 be vulgar, but appropriate, to describe as a snort. 
 
 "Don't ask questions, Henry. The young lady may 
 consider you indiscreet, having kept her best friends 
 and only relatives in ignorance for so long as to what 
 had become of her." 
 
 "I didn't think, from what you said when you sent 
 me away, that you would be very anxious," I returned, 
 quaking as of yore under the glare of the boiled goose- 
 berries. 
 
 "I hope that I attend chapel regularly every Sun- 
 dayj" retorted Mrs. East; and no doubt the remark 
 was intended to be relevant. "I know what is due 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 139 
 
 to m^' religion, and I have hoped that you might come 
 to no bad end." 
 
 *1 am very happy, thank you, visiting Lady Sophie 
 de Gretton, at her house in Park Lane," I reassured 
 her. "She invited me the day I went away from here; 
 but you wouldn't let me tell you." 
 
 "Wouldn't let you, indeed!" repeated Cousin Sarah. 
 "The ingratitude of some people! You can have your 
 box, I'm sure, with pleasure; you needn't be afraid 
 that anything's been touched, except your everyday 
 frock, vrhich I thought best to give to Matty, with 
 some underclothing that came back from the wash, and 
 a white cotton blouse which has been made over for 
 Jimmy." 
 
 "Had I anything beside? But it wasn't the clothes 
 I wanted, thank you. It was mother's escritoire. I'll 
 lock up the drawers, and then Carter Paterson " 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. East looked at each other. Jimmy 
 began to splutter inarticulately, but was instantly sup- 
 pressed by a box on the ear from his mother. 
 
 "It is not convenient for me that you should go 
 up to the room where the escritoire is to-day," said my 
 relative. 
 
 Her husband's eyes grew large, and his lips pursed 
 themselves into a whistle; but Henry East knew his 
 position in the family too well to put on commercial- 
 traveller airs of independence at Happiholme. 
 
 I was torn by sudden apprehension. Something had 
 happened during this period of my neglect to the one 
 poor souvenir which I had of my mother. 
 
 "Will you have the escritoire got ready yourself, 
 
I40 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 then," I asked, "If I tell Carter Paterson to call this 
 afternoon?" 
 
 Mrs. East was very red in the face and breathing 
 hard. 
 
 "I can't bother myself about trifles at such notice," 
 she protested. ''Some day, when I've nothing more 
 important to do, I may be able to see to it. You don't 
 want that ugly old escritoire any more than a cat wants 
 two tails. It's just your aggravatingness." 
 
 *'I do want it! I must have it!" I courageously 
 insisted. "If you can't promise what I ask, I must 
 go up now " 
 
 "WTiose house is it?" demanded my cousin Sarah, 
 planting her expansive person before the door. "I 
 tell you I won't have you going upstairs. You've no 
 right. If you try, I'll have you turned out by a 
 policeman for trespassing — yes, I will, Henry East. 
 Don't you look at me like that! You shall have the 
 escritoire when I'm good and ready, and not a minute 
 before." 
 
 I gazed at her helplessly; and Indeed I felt helpless, 
 for I did not know what to do. I had always been 
 afraid of Cousin Sarah East, and I was afraid of her 
 now ; for I found that it took more than a smart frock 
 and a brougham to deliver me from a mental yoke of 
 bondage. If I tried to defy her, and fight my way 
 through, there was no doubt that I should be routed 
 with great slaughter. 
 
 She would not hesitate to seize me by my gown, 
 and rend it off my back, in defence of her fortress; 
 which would be ignominious for me, and avail nothing 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 141 
 
 to the cause. Mr. East, though he might be with me 
 in spirit, would be passive in body; and I could not 
 well call William to my succour. After all, it seemed 
 that I had come in vain, and must retire vanquished. 
 
 To add to m.y embarrassment, at this moment of 
 indecision Matty brought in the dinner, piled with 
 great skill on one tray, several sizes too large for her 
 workworn hands. At sight of me, transformed from 
 Cinderella to the princess, her nervous attack returned, 
 and she would have dropped the paraphernalia of the 
 feast had not her master sprung to save it while her 
 mistress shrieked. The scene degenerated to farce- 
 comedy; with the steam of steak and onions in my 
 nostrils, I could not continue the argument in justice 
 to myself, and I retired with such dignity as I had left. 
 
 "I will send Carter Paterson this afternoon," I 
 said, "and if the escritoire is not then ready, I must 
 — er — I will take steps " 
 
 I nearly tumbled over the door-sill in backing out 
 for my exit, regained my balance, and found myself 
 in the passage with the dining-room door slammed in 
 my face, before I quite understood what had happened. 
 
 I did not know what the dubious expression on 
 the features of William signified until he had enclosed 
 me in the brougham ; but then I guessed, for there was 
 Jimmy East crouching on the floor. 
 
 *'Oh, don't put me out, Con," he pleaded. "The 
 Johnny wasn't goin' to let me in, but I said I was 
 your best friend, and you'd told me to come. You see, 
 'twas my only chance to get at you by yourself, and 
 IVe got the importantest thing to tell you." 
 
142 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 "Your mother will be dreadfully angry with you, 
 and me too, Jimmy," I objected. 
 
 "I don't care. It's always something — might as well 
 be one thing as another. Besides, she won't know^ I'm 
 with you. She'll just think I hooked it when she 
 wasn't lookin', for she was mad with me this mornin' 
 for stickin' up for you, and I wasn't to have had my 
 dinner any how, 'cept a piece of bread. Let me go 
 with you a little way, then I'll jump out and run 
 home." 
 
 "I'll tell you what we'll do!" I cried. "We'll have 
 luncheon together somewhere. Just a short lunch, for I 
 shouldn't like to keep the carriage waiting too 
 long." 
 
 Jimmy looked ecstatic, and could scarcely speak for 
 joy. When we came to a pastrycook's of respectable 
 appearance — a place I, in common with the little boy, 
 had once regarded as quite a palace of luxury — I rang 
 the electric bell, w^hich informed the coachman that I 
 wished to stop. Jimmy and I got out, and presently 
 were seated at a damp table, which imitated marble, 
 with heaped-up plates of vanilla ice and strawberries 
 before us. 
 
 "Now, my dear manny, kindly don't choke yourself 
 to death until you have told me that 'importantest 
 thing,' " I warned my companion. 
 
 "It's about your eskertore," carefully pronounced 
 Jimmy, with his mouth too full for utterance. "Ma 
 told you — well, what you used to call a 'tarradiddle,' 
 because it wasn't polite to say 'lie.' The eskertore isn't 
 upstairs in our room any more, at all." 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 145 
 
 "What's become of it?" I questioned eagerly. 
 
 "Well, it's an awful long story, for there's such a 
 lot of other things mixed up in it, you know." 
 
 I wished that I did know ; but I had to bide Jimmy's 
 time in simulated patience. 
 
 "Will you begin at the beginning, then, dear," I 
 suggested, "and tell it that way? I'll try not to inter- 
 rupt." 
 
 Jimmy nodded, and swallowed manfully. 
 
 "The beginning was just after you went out of 
 the house that evenin'. My goodness! it seems 'most 
 a year ago, but I s'pose it can't be, eh ? Anyhow, ma 
 went tearin' round just like a chicken what's had its 
 head chopped off and ain't quite sure it's dead. She 
 dumped the baby on the bed and ran to the front- 
 room to look outer the window after you. She didn't 
 think at first you'd truly gone. But bimeby she came 
 back, and then she started throwin' your things on the 
 floor. At last she opened the drawers of your esker- 
 tore. 'Twasn't locked, though the key w^as stickin' in 
 it, as it always was. She read some letters that was 
 there in a bundle, and slapped me because I said she 
 was a sneak." 
 
 "They were only letters from Anne Bryden and her 
 mother," I laughed bitterly. "I had no one else to 
 write to me, my little champion." 
 
 "Anyhow, she tore 'em up and stamped on 'em. 
 Then she stood lookin' at the desk in a queer sort of 
 way, with her eyes snappin'. 'I won't have the thing 
 here, takin* up house room for nothin',' says she. 
 (Jimmy was a born mimic.) 'What I'll do is to sell 
 
144 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 it to Sam Moss, the old furniture dealer, round the 
 corner.' " 
 
 I had nearl)^ cried in wrath; but I remembered my 
 promise not to interrupt. 
 
 "She said first I was to run over to his shop, and 
 ask him to come and look at it straight off. But then 
 she changed her mind, and thought she'd go herself, 
 because she wanted to see if he had anything she'd 
 like to change it for. She put on her hat, and never 
 knew Emmy and me had come along, till we was all 
 at the shop. You know how late old Moss keeps open 
 nights, but he'd have been shut up in ten minutes. Ma 
 told him what she wanted, and when she'd described 
 the eskertore. Moss said it wouldn't be much good to 
 him; he hardly ever got asked for that sort of desk; 
 but to please a neighbour she might have a big stand- 
 ing-lamp with a torn red shade that was in a corner 
 of the shop; that is, if the eskertore was as good as 
 she said it was when he saw it. 
 
 "Ma was awful pleased about the lamp, for she'd 
 always wanted one, and she made Sam Moss go home 
 with her that minute, while his w^ife looked after the 
 shop. Em and me went up in our room when ma 
 took Moss there to see the desk, and his eyes kind 
 of lit up, though I could tell he didn't want ma to 
 know he was pleased. He'd said before he couldn't 
 send for the thing that night, but he changed round, 
 and told her he'd have it fetched at once. The boy 
 who came with the hand-cart should bring the lamp 
 at the same time. 
 
 "When he w^nt I ran after, and told him he'd be 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 145 
 
 a bad man if he took that eskertore, 'cause It was 
 yours, and not ma's to sell. But he shrugged up his 
 fat shoulders, and grinned with his yellow teeth, and 
 said that was ma's business, not his or mine, and little 
 boys should be seen and not heard. What an old stupid 
 not to know that's for girls, not boys! Anyhow, he 
 had the desk fetched away, though I made a row, and 
 got sent to bed without my supper. I tell you, I cried 
 'cause it was the first time I could ever remember when 
 you hadn't let me say my prayers by your knee, and 
 tucked me in afterwards, and kissed me good-night. 
 But ma never knew that I so much as snivelled." 
 
 "Dear old loyal Jim!" I exclaimed. ''Thank you 
 for telling me all this; for now the only thing I have 
 to do is to go to Moss's and buy back the escritoire. 
 I'm sure the lady I'm visiting will do that for me; 
 and, as the man only bought it to please your mother^ 
 he can't charge so very much." 
 
 "I bet that was a 'tarradiddle,' too! But you 
 haven't heard all my story yet. Con ; the queer part's 
 to come. It began next morning. I was wheeling 
 baby in the pram up and down in front of the door, 
 w^hile ma did some of the work that used to be yours 
 (and pretty sick she was about it, too), when an old 
 gentleman drove up in a hansom. He didn't seem quite 
 sure of the house at first, but looked all round, and 
 when he saw me he asked if I knew a young lady 
 named Brand. I said I did, that you v/ere my cousin, 
 though my mother didn't like you called so, and that 
 you'd gone away the night before. Where had you 
 gone? said he, and gave me a shillin'. I didn't know. 
 
146 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 said I, and put the shillin' in my pocket. Then he 
 inquired if my mother was in. He wouldn't give any 
 name, but said he had 'portant business, and I took 
 him in the parlour. Ma dressed herself before she 
 came down, so I talked to the man, and he asked 
 me a lot of questions, mostly about you. When ma 
 opened the door, I made as if I was going out, but 
 while she said 'How de do?' and neither of 'em was 
 lookin', I just slipped under the table — the one with 
 the long red cloth — and I heard everything." 
 
 "What was the gentleman like?" I inquired. 
 
 "Pretty old, with nice clothes, and a tall, shiny hat, 
 and gold watch-chain. Oh, he'd got spectacles with 
 gold rims, too! — dark sort of spectacles, that wouldn't 
 let you see his eyes very well. And side-whiskers gray 
 like his hair." 
 
 "Mr. Wynnstay!" I muttered below my breath. 
 
 And my interest in Jimmy's narrative increased. 
 
 "What's a solicitor?" suddenly queried the little 
 boy. "Oh, only a lawyer! Well, that's w^hat the old 
 gentleman was. He told ma, and said that he was 
 looking for someone named Brand, because there 
 might be — might be 'something to her 'vantage.' Ma 
 pricked up her ears, and began to talk about how 
 much she'd done for you ever since j^our mother died; 
 and if there was any money coming to you, she ought 
 to have some of it. The old gentleman was very 
 polite, and said he thought so, too. It all depended 
 on whether you had papers to prove what 'branch of 
 the fam'ly' you came down from, or something like 
 that — only fam'lies don't grow on branches, do they? 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 147 
 
 "He asked ma if you had a lot of old letters and 
 fam'ly papers, and she shook her head; she was sure 
 you hadn't anything of the kind, or she'd have known 
 about it long ago. Your mother, when she was alive, 
 was always hintin' about great things that might be 
 comin' to you in the future; but ma hadn't believed 
 a word of it. Your mother never had a penny to 
 bless herself with after she came back from Australia, 
 or America, or somewhere, a widow with one little 
 girl, and her nice looks and her health all gone. 
 
 "Perhaps ma was mistaken, the old gentleman said, 
 so pleasant and soft. Maybe you'd had papers put 
 away in some box or piece of furniture. Wasn't there 
 anything of that kind you'd taken with you or left 
 behind at our house ? There was a eskertore, ma told 
 him ; but she'd searched every drawer when you'd gone, 
 and there was nothing except a few silly letters from 
 a girl you knew, called Bryden. 
 
 "The old gentleman kept playin' with his hat; I 
 could see him from under the tablecloth, but once in 
 a while he'd look up through the glasses awful sharp. 
 He looked up like that when ma spoke about the 
 eskertore. He asked if ma'd let him see it, because, 
 he said, there might be some crest (whatever that is), 
 or other sort of mark, which would tell him whether 
 you belonged to the right family, and might come in 
 for a little money bimeby. 
 
 "Ma hummed and hawed, feelin' pretty queer to 
 think she'd sold your desk, I bet; but she wouldn't 
 tell what she'd done. It was yours, she said, and 
 she didn't know if she ought to show it without your 
 
148 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 consent. But didn't she just jump when he cried out 
 he'd give five pounds for only a look at the thing. 
 That old lamp she'd got couldn't have cost more 'n 
 a pound when 'twas new, so it served her jolly well 
 right ! I wondered whatever she would be up to next ; 
 but she sat still, thinkin' ; and then, saj^s she, if he'd 
 wait a few minutes, she'd try and arrange for him to 
 see the eskertore. 
 
 ''Then I knew what she meant to do: she was goin' 
 round to, Sam Moss's to buy the desk back. She 
 went out of the room, and bimeby I heard the front- 
 door shut, awful sly. The man might have seen ma 
 slip past if he'd looked out of the window, but he 
 didn't; he just walked up and down, with his hands 
 behind his back, and once in a while he said something 
 to himself that I couldn't hear, only just the word 
 'luck.' 
 
 "Ma was gone a long time, and I got thinking to 
 myself, maybe Moss wouldn't let her have the desk 
 back, and she'd be ashamed to tell she'd sold it, and 
 then the old gentleman couldn't find out what he 
 wanted; so you'd never get the money he said might 
 be coming to you if you was the right branch. That 
 made me wild, so thinks I to myself, 'Better take the 
 last chance you'll have before ma comes back'; and 
 out I crawls from under the table. 
 
 "The man looked kind of queer at first, and scowled 
 through his big spectacles, but when he'd heard what 
 I had to say he was glad and thanked me. Before I'd 
 speak out I made him promise he wouldn't let ma 
 know I'd been under the table or told him anj'thing; 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 149 
 
 and I'd hardly finished when I spied her comin' in 
 the gate as I peered through the window. With that 
 I scooted into the passage before she could get to 
 the door. 
 
 "Her face was cross enough to stop a clock, but 
 she didn't speak a word to me, and I didn't know 
 what she'd told the old gentleman. But I was just 
 goin' to know, so I went out into the street and hung 
 round where nobody could spy me from the house, 
 though I could see anyone who passed through the gate. 
 
 "I hadn't been many minutes when the man came 
 out. He'd sent away his cab when he heard ma was 
 at home, so he had to get another, and while he was 
 walkin' slowly along I said, 'Hullo, sir!' and made 
 him jump. 'Oh, I was lookln' for you, little chap,' 
 says he. 'I'll give yer another bob if you'll take me 
 round to that shop where the desk was sold.' 'Right 
 you are,' says I. And I asked him if ma'd told about 
 sellin' it. 'No, she had'nt,' said he. 
 
 "She made up a story about consultin' a friend of 
 hers, and they'd both come to the 'elusion she hadn't 
 ought to show your property to a stranger without 
 writin' to you. So now he wanted to see the furniture 
 man. I was pretty sure then somethin' was wrong, 
 though I didn't know what. But we found out in 
 a minute at Moss's. Whatever do you think had 
 happened. Con?" 
 
 "The '»scr\^o>re was broken, or burned, or " 
 
 "No. §o«^body'd been in already and bought it, 
 only 'bo»n f**vo hours before. That was why ma'd 
 had to ly'^ke 'Ap her — tarradiddle, to save herself from 
 
i5o MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 lookin' a fool. My goodness, you'd ought to have seen 
 the old gentleman's face! He got quite white, and 
 when he began to ask questions he stammered and 
 stuttered before he could speak straight. 'Was it a 
 dealer bought the desk?' he wanted to know. 'No, 
 'twas a private gent,' said Sam Moss — somebody he'd 
 never seen before. 
 
 "A 'gent' — that's what Moss called it — came saun- 
 tering along, looked in the shop window, asked the 
 price of some things, and then set eyes on the eskertore. 
 'How much was that?' says he. 'Twenty pounds,' 
 says Moss. (Oh, my aunt, mustn't ma have been sick 
 if he let that out to her!) And like a shot the gent 
 paid the money. Moss would have sent the desk, he 
 told us, but the gent got a growler, and took it away 
 wath him. That's everything Moss knew. 
 
 "My old man thought for a while, and calmed down 
 a bit; then he gave Moss some money, quite a lot it 
 looked, and told him to advertize for the cabman who 
 drove the gent and the eskertore. 'Here's my card,' 
 says he, "and if you hear, 5^ou can let me know. But 
 the job's for you to work. I want the desk, but I'm 
 a busy m.an, and I haven't time to bother, nor I don't 
 care to appear; it's better for a man of business. If 
 you can get that eskertore back for me, as I've taken 
 such a fancy to have it, you can pay up to a hundred 
 and fifty pounds, and I'll give you thirty more for 
 yourself.* 
 
 "Moss promised to do what he could, and said he'd 
 leave 'no stone unturned,' or somethin' like that. Then 
 my old gentleman was goin' away, and would have for- 
 
A SURPRISE FOR COUSIN SARAH 151 
 
 got all about me and the bob I was to have If I hadn't 
 reminded him. I don't b'lieve he was very glad to 
 see me again, but he gave me the money, and jumped 
 Into a cab that was passin' slowly by. That's all 
 the story. Con, but I thought you'd like to know. And 
 so, you see, it's no good sendin' Carter Pat'son to our 
 house." 
 
 "No, it's no good," I echoed reflectively. ''Thank 
 you, Jimmy, a hundred times, for looking after my 
 interests so well. You're a dear boy, and some time, 
 maybe, I can do something for you to make up." 
 
 "If you ever get a house of your own, p'raps you'll 
 have me to visit you," he suggested. 
 
 "Indeed I will. I should like to have you to stop 
 all the time, for you and I have been good pals, 
 haven't we, Jimmy? If I wTOte to you once In a while, 
 I wonder If your mother would let you have the 
 letters?" 
 
 "Not she. She'd make curl-papers of 'em for her 
 front hair, like as not. Anyhow, I shouldn't see 'em. 
 But if I wanted to let you know anything, I could 
 nick a stamp and some paper, and I could print you 
 a letter, though I can't w^Ite so very well yet. You 
 just tell me w^here you live, and I'll say it over and 
 over to myself, till I know It by heart and can't 
 forget." 
 
 I told him the street and the number, gave him 
 money to ride home In a tram — our pastrycook was 
 not far from the street honoured by Happiholme 
 Villa — and five minutes later I was rolling smoothly 
 away in the brougham towards Park Lane. 
 
152 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 My brain buzzed with conflicting thoughts. I 
 deeply regretted having lost the escritoire, but my 
 distress was well-nigh overshadowed by the amaze- 
 ment I felt at the curious train of circumstances which 
 complicated my loss. 
 
 **I am the girl about whom Lady Dunbar was 
 speaking that night," I exclaimed, half aloud. "It 
 must be so. The concidence vvould be too extraordin- 
 ary otherwise, as everything has now turned out. And 
 it was Mr. Wynnstay who was with her, behind the 
 curtain. I don't w^onder so much that I didn't recog- 
 nise his voice, for he spoke in such a low, bass grumble, 
 as if he could not quite depend upon her assurance 
 about the locked door. But I did think, even then, 
 that the voice sounded familiar. Let me see — if I can 
 —how does it all work together? What does it all 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 LINKS IN A CHAIN 
 
 I SENT my mind back to collect each trifling detail 
 that had formed a link in the chain of Fate since the 
 day when I had received my astonishing invitation 
 from Lady Sophie de Gretton in the Park. And then, 
 when I had them all before me, I tried to join them 
 together in something like proper sequence. But I 
 was very young, and I had had no previous experience 
 as an amateur detective. 
 
 If I had not been mistaken, if Mr. Wynnstay had 
 really attempted to drug me at Holland Park Man- 
 sions that memorable night, it seemed certain either 
 that he had wished to do me some serious harm, or 
 else that he had intended to search my pockets for 
 papers which he was desperately anxious to discover. 
 These were the only reasons for such a course that 
 occurred to me. 
 
 Then I found, in trying to recall them one by one, 
 that I could not accurately remember the words ex- 
 changed by Lady Dunbar and her companion behind 
 the curtain. I had not charged my mind with them 
 as I might had I believed at the time that their pur- 
 port could intimately concern me, and I had now only 
 the impression left that Lady Dunbar had resented the 
 power which the owner of a certain escritoire might 
 153 
 
154 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 exert over her. She had consulted Mr. Wynnstay 
 confidentially, and he had been of the opinion that 
 much depended on papers in the aforesaid person's pos- 
 session, that person being mentioned by him as "the 
 girl," by Lady Dunbar as "the creature." 
 
 Now, I assuredly was a girl, but to my idea of my- 
 self the description "creature" was far from applicable. 
 I had never harmed Lady Dunbar, and could not see 
 how I should be able to do so even if I would. Her 
 daughter disliked me, I felt instinctively, though she 
 had sought my society with some assiduity during the 
 few weeks of our acquaintance. But that was dif- 
 ferent. Lady Sophie's scarcely-veiled hints had set me 
 blushing for the motive which might inspire antagon- 
 ism in Miss Dunbar's heart. 
 
 Why, I knew not, but Mr. Wynnstay and Lady 
 Dunbar apparently had some common interest in my 
 affairs. Both had given evidence of wishing to fight 
 against me rather than for me, if I could trust to my 
 poor deductions; yet Mr. Wynnstay, supposing it were 
 he, had gone to Happiholme Villa announcing that he 
 had information which "might be to my advantage." 
 
 The more I thought, the m.ore tangled grew the 
 coil in my brain; yet I did begin to wonder if I 
 were going to prove rather an important young person, 
 after all. At any rate, it seemed clear that Mr. Wynn- 
 stay and Lady Dunbar believed themselves possessed 
 of a knowledge of ray past. It might be that I was 
 not the girl they supposed me to be, for, as Jim.my 
 had said, perhaps I didn't belong to the "right branch 
 of the family." 
 
LINKS IN A CHAIN 155 
 
 But they were taking something for granted, I 
 thought, and I would do the same. Possibly, if I 
 proved to be of significance in their lives, I might 
 come into money which Lady Dunbar considered that 
 she and her daughter ought to inherit. Such things 
 did happen sometimes, and my dear mother had always 
 been reserved, even with me, so that I knew next to 
 nothing of my antecedents. 
 
 Lady Dunbar had admitted that I resembled some- 
 one she had formerly known, and though I could not 
 prove that her story about her charitable visit to Peck- 
 ham was a fabrication to cover her real motive, I was 
 surer than ever now that she had deliberately followed 
 me home. 
 
 The telegram which I had seen her writing, it 
 suddenly struck me, had probably been sent to Mr. 
 Wynnstay. Perhaps he had not been at home when 
 it arrived; for much later, when I had first seen him, 
 on the point of leaving Holland Park Mansions, I now 
 remembered that he had been crushing something 
 which looked like a telegram in his hand. 
 
 If this had been a message concerning me, how 
 extraordinary a coincidence it must have seemed to him 
 at that moment that I should walk alm.ost into his 
 arms! The resemblance which had impressed Lady 
 Dunbar at first sight must have been evident to Mr. 
 Wynnstay as well, or he would not have immediately 
 taken measures for detaining me — measures which, at 
 the beginning of the scene between us, I had attributed 
 to a stranger's kindness of heart. 
 
 I now fancied that, in obedience to the telegram, the 
 
156 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 man had gone to Happlholme Villa at the earliest prac- 
 ticable hour on the following morning. He had already 
 seen me, and been aware, therefore, of my absence the 
 night before, though he had not necessarily known that 
 it would be permanent. 
 
 He had doubtless obtained at the house in Peckham 
 a good deal of information regarding me, w^hich Jimmy, 
 with the best intentions in the world, had neglected to 
 dilate upon in his narrative; he had been willing to 
 pay the sum of five pounds merely to obtain a glimpse 
 of the escritoire, and nearly two hundred to possess it. 
 
 Question myself as I might, I could not find a rea- 
 son substantial enough to explain such extravagant 
 eagerness. I had never supposed that the poor little 
 piece of furniture, which I treasured in memory of my 
 mother, was of much intrinsic value. It was antique, 
 I knew, but I was meagerly instructed in such mat- 
 ters. I thought I had heard mother say that the escri- 
 toire, which had been hers since I could remember, w^as 
 Chippendale ; but Chippendale meant little more to my 
 ignorance than bamboo; and, besides, the desk showed 
 the wear and tear of life at Happiholme. 
 
 The dog's teeth, the baby's drumsticks, Emmy's pen- 
 cils, and Jimmy's penknife, had all left their traces 
 upon it from time to time, to say nothing of an ink-bot- 
 tle which an unexpected tap on my elbow had once 
 caused me to upset. Notwithstanding these things a pre- 
 sumably disinterested "private gent" had considered 
 the thing worth twenty pounds and a four-wheeled 
 cab, while Mr. Wynnstay had turned pale over its loss. 
 
 No doubt the latter had supposed that I kept im- 
 
LINKS IN A CHAIN 157 
 
 portant papers locked away in it, refusing to credit 
 Mrs. East's perfectly true statement that every drawer 
 was empty, save for Anne's letters. His explanation 
 that the desk itself was to be taken as proof of 
 my identity seemed too far fetched, and I did not 
 credit it. 
 
 I blushed a little as I told myself that Mr. Wynn- 
 stay had in all probability retailed what he had heard 
 of me to Lady Dunbar and "Diana," as the younger 
 woman had invited me to call her. Whatever else 
 they might or might not know of me, they were prob- 
 ably aware that, instead of being the high-born young 
 orphan heiress from the countrjr, whom Lady Sophie 
 de Gretton had taken under her wing for the season 
 because of an old friendship, I was only a little insig- 
 nificance plucked by the hand of eccentric charity from 
 nursery-governessing in the wilds of Peckham. 
 
 My evasions of Lady Dunbar's rather pointed ques- 
 tions regarding the frequency of my visits to that 
 neighbourhood had availed nothing. Doubtless, when 
 Lady Dunbar asked them she was already acquainted 
 with the truth from that mysterious person, Mr. 
 Wynnstay. How she and Diana, the only enemies 
 I had made in the new world (which was not to be 
 all sunshine for me), must laugh when they heard the 
 stories Lady Sophie had carefully set afloat concerning 
 my past ! 
 
 They might tell what they knew (and this reflec- 
 tion brought another blush), putting me to shame 
 among my smart acquaintances. But, on the whole, 
 I hardly fancied that they would proceed to this ex- 
 
158 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 treme without sharp provocation. If It were Lady 
 Dunbar's metier to deny having followed me to Peck- 
 ham, to disavow all personal Interest In me and my 
 antecedents (lest I should be put on the track of 
 rights noy iknown to me, and strive to claim them), 
 she would not wish to admit a knowledge of what my 
 life had been before I burst upon society as "one of 
 Lady Sophie's debutantes." 
 
 I ought not to have cared who knew the story of 
 my perfectly respectable, blankly monotonous years at 
 Peckham. I had earned my living honestly and by 
 hard work, which was more than could be said of many 
 among my new friends. But, though I had not to 
 repent having circulated false reports concerning my- 
 self, my growing vanity had led me to accept without 
 protest Lady Sophie's version of my history; and now 
 I owned to my conscience that I would be mortified If 
 she Were contradicted, and the bald truth ruthlessly 
 bruited about. 
 
 The only real decision which I had arrived at by 
 the time I reached Park Lane was to tell my patroness 
 Jimmy's story, and let her sharp wits supplement my 
 Inexperienced efforts at deduction. 
 
 I had started out at twelve o'clock, and It w^as two 
 when I returned. Lady Sophie was ready for lunch- 
 eon, and pronounced herself starved; but my part as 
 narrator, and hers as listener, after all, prevented our 
 doing justice to the dainty odds and ends with which 
 her cook had studied our feminine appetites. 
 
 Eventually, however, though her opinions largely 
 coincided with mine, they proved disappointing to my 
 
LINKS IN A CHAIN 159 
 
 expectations, for she had no brilliant light to throw 
 on the matter. 
 
 The principal question appeared to be: Had I 
 evidence to show who I was, or who my father's people 
 had been, as the other side, judging fro «-he Easts, 
 did not seem particularly promising. If I nad proofs, 
 it might be worth while to spend a little money in 
 having the affair sifted, and find out whether I could 
 lay claim to the advantages of which the Dunbars or 
 others would fain deprive me. Lady Sophie had read 
 of such things; there were always advertisements in 
 papers requesting missing heirs to come forward ; and 
 who could tell but I might come into some nice little 
 legacy ? 
 
 I had no such proofs, no family papers whatever? 
 Then, beyond consulting her solicitor. Lady Sophie 
 did not see what steps we could possibly take. 
 
 ''It — it was nothing like this that made you first 
 think of asking me to come to you?" I stammered 
 at last. 
 
 The colour rose to her handsome face. 
 
 "No, it was nothing like that," she echoed with 
 reserve. 
 
 Next day Lady Sophie did repeat my tale to her 
 solicitor, a delightful old person in a Gladstonian col- 
 lar, who had transacted legal business for her late hus- 
 band and her late husband's father. I was not pres- 
 ent at the interview; but my benefactress assured me 
 that she had been most clear, most concise, and had 
 not forgotten a single point. 
 
 Yet the upshot of the matter was that Mr. Wal- 
 
i6o MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 lace had smiled, as he might smile indulgence at a 
 precocious child. He knew Mr. Wynnstay by repu- 
 tation, and had every reason for believing him to be, 
 professionally and privately, above reproach. He was 
 unable to see that there w^as anything in the case (the 
 excellent m.an would persist in regarding me as a 
 "case"), and advised Lady Sophie not to take measures 
 which she was sure to regret. 
 
 Mr. Wynnstay was an honourable and clever solic- 
 itor, who might be trusted to let Miss Brand know, in 
 good time, if there were any chance of her inheriting 
 property, whether or no clients of his had endeavoured 
 to prejudice his mind, a supposition which Mr. Wal- 
 lace considered extremely wild, excessively improb- 
 able. 
 
 "I dare say, if we knew the w^hole truth of the 
 matter ( all you overheard, and all that your little 
 cousin told you) the explanation would be so simple 
 that you w^ould laugh at your own suspicions," de- 
 clared Lady Sophie, fresh from her talk with her old 
 adviser. If you are determined to be the heroine of 
 a romance, my child, turn your eyes away from this 
 muddle to a love-story. I assure you it will be far 
 more repaying," 
 
 This shut me up within myself again, as a mention 
 of "love" from her lips invariably did, through my 
 vague, half-admitted fear that she would plunge into 
 personalities. I resigned my mind to the loss of the 
 escritoire, and came near to forgetting my many causes 
 of bewilderment in preparations for Henley. 
 
 Lady Sophie and I had been asked for the three 
 
LINKS IN A CHAIN i6i 
 
 days of the regatta on board a giant house-boat which 
 belonged to Captain Weyland's married brother, Lord 
 Forth. Lady Dunbar and Diana were invited also; 
 and Sir George Seaforth had told me that he had 
 accepted because we were going. 
 
 Life on the Idle Hour was a revelation to me. Lady 
 Sophie had provided me with some pretty dresses, and 
 I was petted and flattered, till it became a marvel that 
 my head was not completely turned. Perhaps this 
 would have happened if it had not been for Sir George 
 Seaforth. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 SESAME AND LILIES 
 
 It was not that Sir George did not conspire with 
 the rest for the overthrow of my common-sense, but, 
 when he was with me, what the others did or said 
 mattered little. And, somehow, no look or word of 
 admiration from this one man ever appealed to my 
 vanity. 
 
 I was apt to take it for granted that most men meant 
 what they said, if they assured me that I was the only 
 girl worth talking to, worth gazing at, on earth; and 
 when they neglected other women for the sake of 
 absorbing as much of my society as I would grant, I 
 was willing to believe that they did it solely for the 
 desire to be with me. 
 
 But when George Seaforth schemed to get me away 
 from the crowd into quiet corners, I made myself mis- 
 erable with the fear that he only did so because he 
 wanted to make someone else — Diana, perhaps — jeal- 
 ous. Or I was tormented with the thought that he 
 might merely enjoy a flirtation with a girl who had 
 achieved the reputation of a beauty. 
 
 Again, if I had succeeded in persuading myself that 
 so abominable a motive had never entered Sir George 
 Seaforth's head, I flung my spirit once more into the 
 162 
 
SESAME AND LILIES 163 
 
 depths with the conviction that his desire was to save 
 me from neglect. I fancied the few sweet compli- 
 ments which he sometimes paid me, in words as well 
 as deeds, were but the utterances of habit, the things 
 which men of the world, in society, considered due to 
 every tolerably good-looking woman. 
 
 Whenever we parted (no matter how happy I had 
 been while we were together), I was invariably de- 
 spondent, overwhelmed with useless regrets for smart 
 repartees I might have made, and had not; hating my- 
 self because I had been so dull, so stupid, so altogether 
 unamusing. 
 
 I recalled with pangs of jealous misery Diana Dun- 
 bar's wit, when she had flashed a briliant mot into the 
 midst of our conversation ; how much more alluring, 
 fascinating, and altogether graceful her w^ays were 
 than mine; and how impossible it seemed that Sir 
 George should not prefer a radiant orchid to a com- 
 monplace, wayside flower like Consuelo Brand. 
 
 With other men I was easy and natural enough. I 
 did not struggle to "make conversation," because it 
 came without effort. If I felt like talking, I talked; 
 if not, I considered that my satellites should be grateful 
 for my silence. It seemed an irony of fate that in the 
 presence of the one man I really wished to please I 
 should be afilicted with dumbness, clumsiness, mental 
 and physical. I wonder now, in reviewing these poign- 
 ant sensations of mine, whether my sister women have 
 not experienced the same. 
 
 Still, despite the pain I siiffered, or perhaps partly 
 because of it, I was happy. It was something to be 
 
i64 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 with him, to know that I held his thoughts for the 
 moment, even if he did not greatly care. With the 
 end of the season, perhaps, we might say good-bye; 
 his world would no longer be my world, but after that 
 — the deluge. And I tried to live in each passing day. 
 I happened to mention my fondness for water-lilies. 
 Instantly I saw Sir George — who had been told off to 
 Diana Dunbar as dinner-companion — look up with a 
 sudden alertness. And perhaps Diana saw it, too, for 
 she promptly engaged him in what appeared to be a 
 most absorbing conversation. 
 
 But an hour later he had not forgotten. When we 
 were up on deck among the flowers, with the dazzle 
 and darkness of a Henley night round us, he asked if 
 I "liked my lilies to com.e to me, or if I preferred to 
 go to them." 
 
 "I'd like to go to them, of all things," I answered 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Are you up to an early start, and would Lady 
 Sophie mind my taking you?" 
 
 I assured him that I thought, In so worthy a cause, 
 she might be persuaded. 
 
 "Well, then, what do you say to seven to-morrow 
 morning? Til have a canoe ready, and we'll be back 
 in time for breakfast with a cargo of lilies." 
 
 I could hardly sleep that night, for fear I should 
 wake too late, and find I had missed so precious an 
 hour. I wondered If Sir George's mind were also 
 filled with thoughts of to-morrow, or if he reposed In 
 calm oblivion of me and my lilies. 
 
 I was ready, in the end, half an hour too early; but 
 
SESAME AND LILIES 165 
 
 lest he should think I cared too much, I would not 
 go out until five minutes after the time, when I ap- 
 peared with an assumed air of hurry. 
 
 I had supposed that no one else would be visible so 
 soon, but there, dressed in white muslin, and daintily- 
 feeding a swan, stood Diana Dunbar. I came at the 
 wrong moment, as one usually does on such occasions, 
 for she was talking to Sir George, who was ready and 
 waiting with a little Canadian canoe. 
 
 "I think you are very selfish to be going off alone 
 on such a heavenly morning," she said, with a pretty 
 pettishness, of which she had a special art. "You 
 know Fm always up with the sun on a house-boat. Be 
 a good chum, Georgie, just as you used, and take me 
 with you." 
 
 It was at this instant that I must needs appear; 
 and I was pink for her, from chin to forehead. I 
 would have given anything not to have been a witness 
 of her discomfiture. She turned at the crisp rustle of 
 me, in my pale blue linen; and the red which sprang 
 to her face was like an angry reflection from 
 mine. 
 
 *'0, I think you might have told me you weren't 
 going alone, George," she exclaimed crossly. 
 
 "I would, if you had given me time," he returned. 
 "Of course, I knew you were only chaffing, and hadn't 
 the slightest desire to leave your beloved swans, even 
 if Miss Brand " 
 
 "Miss Brand would like Miss Dunbar to have 'first 
 turn/ as the children say," I broke in as pleasantly as 
 I knew how, in the hope of relieving a strained situa- 
 
i66 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 tion. "I'm afraid I hinted to Sir George about the 
 water-lilies, so that he could hardly help himself " 
 
 "Oh, you are going out for lilies, are you?" she 
 echoed stiffly. "He took me for lilies last year." 
 
 Her words brought the blood to my cheeks again, 
 and Sir George drew his eyebrows together. 
 
 "I suppose I did if you say so," he replied. "And 
 I will again this year with the greatest pleasure, when- 
 ever you will let me, except this morning, when Miss 
 Brand is going with me. Now I really think that we 
 had better start, or we shall be late for breakfast." 
 
 "Start by all means; I am not keeping you," retorted 
 Diana. "For a country girl, my dear little Consuelo, 
 you are developing into quite a modern, emancipated 
 young lad)^ Pretty well, I call it, for a debutante 
 of a month or so old." 
 
 "What do you mean?" I questioned, as I settled 
 myself on the cushions of the canoe. 
 
 If the lace frills of my petticoat had not chosen 
 to catch upon some invisible projection on the steps 
 from the house-boat. I might not have heard her 
 answer, as Sir George seemed rather anxious to be 
 off. But she spoke quickly during the short process 
 of disentanglement. 
 
 "I mean that duets in canoes before breakfast are 
 rather advanced, aren't they? Don't look so angry, 
 George; I'm speaking entirely for Consuelo's good. ■ I 
 don't know that I'm any older than she is, but this is 
 my second season, and I haven't lived in Devonshire, 
 or — or in Peckham, or anywhere else in the provinces, 
 all my life. I only want to say in the most friendly 
 
SESAME AND LILIES 167 
 
 way that she must really be careful if she doesn't want 
 people to talk. There's quite gossip enough about her 
 already." 
 
 ''That's all nonsense, and you know it, Diana," Sir 
 George exclaimed, looking at her as I should not have 
 liked him to look at me. "You have got out on the 
 wrong side of your bed this morning, that is all." 
 
 "You are pleased to be both rude and vulgar, my 
 dear friend," she flung at him, her eyes flashing. 
 
 Sir George began to paddle away, but I could not 
 resist the exchange of another shot. 
 
 "Any way, you said you went after lilies last year," 
 I reminded her. 
 
 "That was different. I thought you knew that 
 George and I were very old friends." 
 
 She turned her back to me and bestowed her ruflled 
 attention once more upon the impatient swans. But 
 whether she or I had come off victor in the final en- 
 counter I was not certain. I only knew that I was 
 very uncomfortable, and that the expedition to which 
 I had so eagerly looked forward bade fair to be spoiled. 
 "It wasn't really horrid of me to come?" I inquired 
 forlornly. 
 
 "Of course not," Sir George asseverated. "Do you 
 think I would have asked you if it were not all right, 
 and Lady Sophie hadn't consented? Diana's in a tem- 
 per this morning, and she visited it on us because we 
 were the only targets at hand. Don't thinlc any more 
 about her ; do be happy, and do smile on me or I shall 
 want to commit suicide. You were an angel to come 
 with me, and I haven't slept all night for thinking how 
 
1 68 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 glorious It would be to have you to myself for a whole 
 hour. I can't have Diana Dunbar ruining it now." 
 
 Oh, if he only meant it, and didn't say it just to 
 console me, how well I should be repaid for my sleep- 
 less hours! 
 
 The lilies grew like a carpet over the water, on 
 a miniature lake in the grounds of a certain Mr. Some- 
 body or Other, who was a friend of Sir George's, and 
 encouraged him to trespa,ss. We had reached the 
 place in twenty minutes, my companion carrying the 
 canoe across the strip of meadow which separated pond 
 from river, and floating it again among the dark, nest- 
 ling lily-pads. 
 
 We pushed ourselves about, gathering the great 
 white, gold-eyed stars that shone up from the green 
 dusk; and once, as we both went forward to pluck the 
 same luscious bud, our fingers touched. A curious lit- 
 tle thrill ran up my hand, tingling along my arm, 
 and never ceasing till it reached my heart. 
 
 I did not mean to look up, but I could not help it; 
 magnet-like, something irresistible seemed to draw^ my 
 eyes, and they met his. There was a light in them 
 that I had never seen, not in the eyes of man or 
 woman, nor upon sea or land. 
 
 "Consuelo," he said, and his fingers closed down on 
 mine as we both held the lily that lifted its fair head 
 to us from the water. 
 
 So strong his hand was, and firm, that I seemed 
 to feel its grasp through my body's fingers, touching 
 those of my spirit as if the flesh had been only a glove 
 over the soul. 
 
SESAME AND LILIES 169 
 
 ^'There's something I must confess to you," he said, 
 in a low voice; "and then— there's a question I have 
 to ask; a question I want to ask, and to have answered 
 in one way, more than I ever wanted anything else in 
 the world." 
 
 ^ ''Hullo, good people! hope you haven't got all the 
 lilies!" exclaimed Captain Weyland's voice. 
 
 We looked up with a start, and our hands fell guilt- 
 ily apart. On the shore of the little lake stood the 
 young Guardsman immaculate in flannels, and by his 
 side Diana Dunbar. 
 
 "We haven't got all, but we have all we want, and 
 we are ready to go," said Sir George, with a sud- 
 den change of manner. 
 
 "Then we must go, too, for I have been sent to 
 chaperon you," announced Diana. 
 Sir George bit his lip. 
 
 "You are too good," he returned dryly. "I wonder 
 who was thoughtful enough for our comfort to give 
 you both so much trouble." 
 
 "Oh, I didn't mind," responded Diana, avoiding his 
 question. "And Jerry is always so good-natured. Do 
 stop for a few minutes and give us time to gather 
 some lilies. You seem to have forgotten that other 
 people besides Miss Brand can be fond of them." 
 
 We did stop. I think that we even continued 
 plucking the white, waxy blossoms which had been 
 our lodestars; but I am not quite sure of anything 
 that happened after the interruption. My heart was 
 singing a new song, and I scarcely heard outside 
 sounds. 
 
I70 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 At first I had been bitterly sorry — bitterly resentful 
 that Sir George's words should have been cut short, 
 especially by the girl who hated me while she purred 
 her "Consuelos"; that would have seemed, if I had 
 been superstitious, like an ill omen. But I was too 
 happy to be superstitious, and when I could think 
 again I was almost glad that Sir George had not 
 finished what I dared believe he had meant to say. 
 
 I had heard enough to be in the seventh heaven, 
 for I was almost sure that, despite my past uncer- 
 tainties and self-inflicted torments, the "thing which 
 he wanted more than he had ever wanted anything 
 before" was my love. I could wait to hear the rest, 
 and there w^as a strange joy in feeling that an experi- 
 ence which can come to most women but once (the 
 offer of his heart and life from the one man be- 
 side whom the rest are shadows) was twice to be 
 mine. 
 
 I could dwell upon this morning among the lilies, 
 until the right moment should come for Sir George 
 to complete what he had begun. To be sure, there 
 was a sharp element of suspense, for supposing, after 
 all, he had not meant what I thought; or if he had, 
 supposing he changed his mind, thankful that he had 
 not gone too far to draw back? 
 
 I was much too deep in love not to dwell upon these 
 doubts and make the i: ost of them. But I was of 
 an adventurous spirit; c.iid that very element of sus- 
 pense, of danger, hr;d always possessed a certain charm 
 for me. Besides, without vanity, I had a right to be 
 almost sure of him, after that unforgettable look in 
 
SESAME AND LILIES 171 
 
 his eyes; and my spirit waited in the spell of a dream 
 for what should come next. , 
 
 He and I could not be quite as we had been before 
 that broken moment when our hands and eyes had met ; 
 neither could we have the peaceful feeling of mutual 
 understanding hidden from all the rest of the world, 
 which engaged people enjoy before their secret has 
 become the common property of their friends. 
 
 I tried to speak, to look as usual, but it did not seem 
 to me that Sir George cared to exert himself for con- 
 ventionalities ; his manner gave me a sly, delicious little 
 hope that he had passed beyond that, and would not 
 even appear to go back. 
 
 Diana and Captain Weyland kept close to us, talk- 
 ing incessantly, and I knew, w^ith the instinct w^hich 
 is sharpened by love, that her intention was to prevent 
 the exchange of a word between us which all the 
 world might not have heard. She had been afraid that 
 Sir George had a special motive for taking me out to 
 the lake of the lilies, and had schemed from the first 
 to circumvent him. 
 
 I was ready to believe now the hints Lady Sophie 
 had let drop, that Diana Dunbar would like to be 
 Lady Seaforth. She had been very popular, without 
 doubt had received many offers ; but she had held her- 
 self free through tvvo successful seasons. Lady Sophie 
 had said that she guessed the reason why; but 
 she had added that so far as Sir George was 
 concerned, there had never been more than the merest 
 flirtation. 
 
 We went back to the Idle Hour, all four together, 
 
172 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Diana apparently In high spirits, though her lips were 
 tight and her eyes hard even while she smiled. 
 
 "Give me ten minutes some time to-day, for Hea- 
 ven's sake," Sir George managed to whisper, as he 
 helped me at the steps. 
 
 Before I could answer, Lady Forth came out, laugh- 
 ing, and claiming tribute of our lilies. They were just 
 what she wanted for table decoration, she declared; it 
 was so nice of us to take so much trouble, all for her. 
 
 Somehow, the chance to give those ten minutes which 
 Sir George had asked for did not come. Exactly how 
 ft happened — ^whether by design or accident — one could 
 hardly have said; but we were always interrupted if 
 we drifted near each other. Sometimes it was Captain 
 Weyland, Diana's slave, sometimes Lady Dunbar, but 
 oftenest Diana herself. Intervened. 
 
 Henley, on a house-boat, with a big and merry 
 party of people who know each other well, Is not the 
 most convenient place for a tete-d-tete, no matter what 
 the magazine story-tellers may say, when they have a 
 topical "society tale" to grind out for the first week 
 of July. 
 
 Lord and Lady Forth had hosts of friends, none 
 of whom were absent from the regatta; and besides 
 the house-boat party, there was generally a crowd of 
 outsiders on board, lunching or chatting under the pink 
 awning, and pretending to watch the races. 
 
 Late bedtime came that night, and Sir George and I 
 had not had one minute together, much less ten; and 
 though I did no fail to stab myself with the sugges- 
 tion that perhaps he had not cared very much after 
 
SESAME AND LILIES 173 
 
 afl, I could not honestly believe that It had been his 
 fault. 
 
 A hundred times I went over the v^^ords that he 
 had jald, but it was only just as I was sinking into 
 sleep at last that I started awake with the remem- 
 brance of some which, If not forgotten, had not till 
 now held a separate, distinct significance In my mind. 
 
 What had be meant by the preface that there was 
 ''something he kSti^t confess?'* 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE MASKED SIXGERS 
 
 It was our third night at Henley, and nothing had 
 happened. That is, much had happened by way of 
 entertainment, but, selfishly speaking, nothing that was 
 of intimate importance to me, or perhaps to Sir George 
 Seaforth. 
 
 There was a dinner-party on board the Idle Hour, 
 but we had dined early on account of the illuminations 
 and the fun of the last evening of the regatta. The 
 late summer twilight still lingered in the sky when 
 the men joined us on deck, and the soft blue dusk was 
 jewelled by the coloured lights that glittered along the 
 line of house-boats, or sparkled up from the small craft 
 that crowded the river like a flock of tropical aquatic 
 birds. 
 
 The delicate lap, lap of the water against the side 
 of the boats was drowned by the sound of laughter, 
 the buzz of talking, and the tinkle of banjo and man- 
 dolin in the hands of the river minstrels. Here and 
 there a sweet voice rose, carolling some popular air 
 of the moment, or a negro song that floated out with 
 soft melancholy through the falling night; and as the 
 men appeared, a punt occupied by masked minstrels 
 who had proved themselves particularly skilled came 
 174 
 
THE MASKED SINGERS 175 
 
 on from a neighbouring house-boat to pause before the 
 Idle Hour. 
 
 The pair were a man and woman, elaborately 
 dressed in Japanese costume, and masked so that their 
 faces were entirely concealed. The man played a vio- 
 lin, and the woman sang, with so rich a contralto that 
 I listened in dreamy pleasure as they began the Mex- 
 ican "La Paloma," little dreaming with what a rude 
 shock I was presently to be roused. 
 
 So many guests had come on board for dinner to- 
 night that the deck of the Idle Hour was almost 
 crowded; but presently I was conscious, though I 
 scarcely looked round, that Sir George had found his 
 way to me, and was standing close behind me. On 
 my other side was Diana. He might have occupied 
 a place beside her, which she had been keeping with 
 some finesse, if he had chosen ; but he had ignored the 
 opportunity, and with a just perceptible, petulant 
 movement of her pretty shoulders, Diana let Captain 
 Weyland fill the vacant place. 
 
 "Oh, I wish they would give us something else!" 
 I cried, when the musicians had finished. 
 
 Diana and Captain Weyland were the only 
 others who applauded with enthusiasm, for Sir George 
 had started from a reverie at my words. 
 
 "Do you wish it?" he asked. "Then they shall;" 
 and he clapped his hands with a vigour so contagious 
 that everyone on board turned from their own conver- 
 sation to the music, which was beginning again. 
 
 Not only were our own people ready to listen to 
 the song which should come next, but those on all the 
 
176 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 adjacent house-boats and the occupants of the little 
 boats within hearing distance. The fact was that the 
 Idle Hour had been the most admired house-boat of 
 the season, and as many of her party were well known 
 in society, anything that happened on her deck at once 
 attracted attention. 
 
 I could even hear, sometimes, comments on my own 
 appearance, stage whispers regarding my popularity, or 
 information as to my name and place of residence. But 
 I had become too thoroughly accustomed to that sort of 
 thing by this time to be m.uch disconcerted. 
 
 The air w^hich the masked minstrels had selected 
 for their encore was a new one, with a certain impudent 
 swing and lilt about it, as the man played a few 
 bars on his violin before the woman began to sing. 
 
 Then she lifted her voice, and it rang out far more 
 clearly than before, each word pronounced with a sin- 
 gular distinctness. : 
 
 *' Little Miss Nobody climbed up a throne, 
 Though she hadn't a penny to call her own. 
 She wore fine feathers and lived on the best, 
 Oh, trust Cinderella to feather her nest. 
 The lies that she told made the air quite blue. 
 So where she came from few people knew. 
 Who would have thought that, down Peckham wsqr. 
 She'd taught in a nursery day by day ? 
 But Miss Cinderella kept it all still, 
 For fear that the tradesmen would send in their bifi. 
 She wanted to pose as an heiress rare, 
 For smart men won't marry a pauper fair. 
 She says her prayers, throws her line for a Duke : 
 She'll get one, too, by hook or by crook — 
 Or else she'll feel that the game's in vain, 
 And go back to Peckham to hide her pa'in. 
 
THE MASKED SINGERS 177 
 
 Chorus, 
 Poor Cinderella sits and sighs j 
 Naughty Miss Nobody, she tells lies j 
 Pamted Miss Nobody makes hearts ache; 
 Sly Cinderella takes the cake." 
 
 **WiIl no one stop those wretches, for goodness' 
 sake?'* broke in Diana shrilly, as the chorus rose and 
 fell, and I stood helpless, aghast, frozen with shame 
 and astonishment. Dully, I wondered why Diana, of 
 all others, should be the first to come to my rescue. 
 "Surely, Sir George," she went on in a lowered tone, 
 "surely you might do something to keep them from 
 openly insulting Miss Brand, for all the world to 
 hear?" 
 
 "How absurd !" he answered coldly and clearly, his 
 voice almost as widely audible as the singing had been ; 
 for it had stopped now, and the masked minstrels were 
 hurrying their punt away among the crowd. "How 
 absurd, and how — if you had not been the speaker, I 
 should have said — how malicious ! As if anyone in his 
 senses could possibly connect a vulgar doggerel verse 
 with a lady — with the lady whose name you mentioned, 
 of all people!" 
 
 "Nevertheless, she was the one meant, without 
 doubt, and everyone will know it," went on Diana, 
 undaunted by his reproach. 'It will be all over Lon- 
 don by to-morrow, for there's been so much curiosity 
 and gossip. Everybody's heard the story about Peck- 
 ham, of course. I should have thought it would be 
 best to stop those creatures. Fancy verses being writ- 
 ten on the subject! But, then, poor dear little Con- 
 suelo's such a celebrity that " 
 
178 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 I knew now why she had hastened to break in upon 
 the singers, and why no one else had interrupted. I 
 had been too horrified, too struck by the lightning 
 flash of shame, to be logical at first, but I realized 
 at last that silence, not loud championship, was the 
 part of a true friend. Every one except Diana had 
 bravely striven to show that they had drawn no infer- 
 ence from the verses, that no moral had been pointed 
 by them, no gossip-tale adorned. 
 
 It had been left for Diana to raise the storm, and 
 she had no mercy. Mercy? I believed now, when I 
 began to think again, after the blow which had numbed 
 me, that Diana had planned the whole scene. A little 
 n^oney, a little ingenuity, and plenty of malice, would 
 have been the sole ingredients needed for the prescrip- 
 tion ; and she had had them all. 
 
 "There are a number of fools and scandal-mongers 
 in the world, I admit," said Sir George fiercely, before 
 Diana could finish; "but I don't think quite so meanly 
 of my fellows as to suppose them so vile, so stupid, 
 as you fancy them. Miss Dunbar. That being the case 
 — and as I am certain that everj^one here agrees with 
 me — we can do no better than to drop the subject 
 once and for all. A couple of mountebanks have 
 squalled a music-hall song. They may attach some 
 obscure meaning to the words; but to those in a dif- 
 ferent class of life they can seem nothing but doggerel, 
 neither worth talking of nor worth thinking of." 
 
 " 'Miss Nobody' is Consuelo's nickname, though, you 
 know that, and 'My Lady Cinderella,' " Diana stoutly 
 insisted, though her face was marble white in the blue 
 
THE MASKED SINGERS 179 
 
 dimness. "She must have heard that herself, so she 
 can't mind my repeating it, for I wouldn't be ill- 
 natured for the world." 
 
 *1 have never heard it," said Sir George. "Women 
 do hear extraordinary things sometimes, to be sure, be- 
 cause they don't knock each other down for insulting 
 their friends, as the right sort of men do. I should 
 have thought, if a name were wanted in this case, 
 *Miss Everybody' would have been more appropriate; 
 for when one is fortunate enough to have Miss 
 Brand for a companion, it always seems as if one 
 had secured everybody who was really worth think- 
 ing of." 
 
 "Oh, please, please, let us say no more about it!" 
 I implored, in a queer little choked voice, that would 
 sound as if I w^re stifling a sob. I had not felt like 
 crying before — not when the spiteful words of the 
 song were piercing their way to the most sensitive 
 penetralia of my nerves ; not when Diana had brought 
 them hom.e to me still more forcefully. Yet when Sir 
 George spoke for me at last, the tears rose, and would 
 hardly be kept down. 
 
 "If anyone speaks a kind word to me now Fm 
 lost," I thought desperately; "for I shall howl, and 
 disgrace myself before them all, and before Diana, 
 too." 
 
 But I was saved from that ordeal. The crisis was 
 past ; people found their tongues, and forced themselves 
 to break the shocked silence. They had the tact to 
 begin laughing and talking of other things^ — a ridicu- 
 lous darky w^ith a red wig and a tall collar, picking 
 
i8o MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 a banjo; the iirst rocket of the evening shooting comet- 
 like across the sky. 
 
 Lady Forth drew near, and put her arm round 
 me in a prett^^ motherly way, though she was not many 
 years my senior, and hurried into a comical account 
 of an accident which had happened to the Idle Hour 
 during last year's regatta. 
 
 Five minutes after the masked minstrels had van- 
 ished no one would have dreamed that our peace had 
 been for an instant disturbed. But my heart was 
 thumping against my side like the strokes of a ham- 
 mer, and the calm seemed to me only that which 
 comes before a storm. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 DIANA THROWS DOWN THE GLOVE 
 
 I HAD a quaint, pretty little nook of a bedroom, 
 next a large one occupied by Lady Sophie, on the 
 Idle Hour. She rustled in to talk over the thing that 
 had happened, when we had said our "Good-nights" 
 to everyone else; and when she had been angry in 
 whispers with my enemies, bidden me be of good 
 heart and ignore the incident, because no one would 
 think the less of me, she disappeared to her own room 
 again. 
 
 Lady Sophie thought a great deal of her "beauty 
 sleep," which she declared that at her age she could 
 ill afford to miss; but I had no inclination for bed. 
 I had not forgiven Diana Dunbar; and until I could 
 feel more in charity with her it was no use to try 
 and say my prayers. Without them I had never slept; 
 even with them I should find difficulty enough in com- 
 posing myself to sleep on this night. 
 
 I was slowly brushing out the waves of my long 
 hair in a dressing-gown, endeavouring to attain a 
 proper frame of mind, when I heard a soft knock at 
 the door. At first thought it came from the one which 
 connected with Lady Sophie's room, but the light 
 sound was repeated, and I knew that I had mistaken 
 the direction. 
 
 i8i 
 
i82 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 I went to the other door and peeped out. To my 
 surprise, Diana stood there, fully dressed as she had 
 been for dinner. 
 
 "Will you let me come in for a few minutes?'* 
 she pleaded, in her sweetest voice. *'I want particu- 
 larly to speak with you." 
 
 "Can't what you have to say wait until to-morrow?" 
 I returned ungraciously. "I am almost ready for bed, 
 and it's very late." 
 
 "Who cares how late it is? To-morrow we are all 
 going away. We shall have no chance for a quiet talk 
 together. You know how few such chances people do 
 get on a house-boat?" 
 
 "Yes, I have noticed that," I responded to the inner 
 meaning I suspected. "Come in, then, if you 
 like." 
 
 She came, and shut the door, though I would have 
 left it ajar, as a gentle hint that I wished the visit 
 to be brief. 
 
 "I want for one thing to tell you how awfully sorry 
 I was for you to-night," she began, sitting down with- 
 out waiting for the formality of an invitation. 
 
 "Thank you. I fancy I know^ exactly how sorry 
 you were," I responded. "I don't think we need waste 
 words upon that." 
 
 I had not sat down when she did, but continued to 
 stand, straight and still, in the middle of the little 
 room. As I finished speaking, Diana sprang up, and 
 laid a hand on each of my shoulders. 
 
 "Oh, I wish you would not be so cold with me. I 
 wish you w^ould let me be your friend. I want to 
 
DIANA THROWS DOWN THE GLOVE 183 
 
 be your friend, really, really!" she asseverated, watch- 
 ing my face to see if I were moved by her protesta- 
 tions. 
 
 ''I don't make friends easily," I said. "The word 
 means a great deal to me." 
 
 ''Will you at least let me talk to you as if we 
 were friends?" she entreated. 
 
 'Tm ready to listen to anything you care to say." 
 
 "Ah, you were not kind. And when I spoke up 
 for you this evening, too! Consuelo, what are you 
 going to do after that wretched affair? It will make 
 a tremendous difference in your future plans, of 
 course." 
 
 "Why should it?" 
 
 "Why? Oh, you know very little of society, or 
 you would not ask. People whom one fancies are 
 one's friends really care nothing about one's self. They 
 only hang round if one is popular, and it is the fashion 
 to be seen with one. But they would all rather have 
 something nasty than nice to say behind one's back; 
 it is so easy to be witty at one's friends* expense. 
 You can guess that, or the\' w^ouldn't have labelled 
 you 'My Lady Cinderella.' It was just smart enough, 
 and apt enough to stick. Now, this episode of to- 
 night will be in all the society papers by the end 
 of the week. Even if they don't use your name, they 
 will have paragraphs so worded that everybody will 
 know who is meant. You've been a good deal talked 
 about already, but after this town will be too hot 
 to hold you with any comfort for yourself, I'm afraid. 
 That's why I'm so sorry for you, dear. Men who 
 
i84 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 have been apparently at your feet before will forget 
 to ask you to dance. They like a girl to 
 be conspicuous in some ways, but not as you will be 
 now, for that's 'dowdy' and 'bad form' — the two most 
 hopeless things that can be said of a girl nowadays. 
 Hasn't Lady Sophie told you the same?" 
 
 "She has not," I said shortly. 
 
 "Oh, she was afraid of hurting your feelings, no 
 doubt. She's a good sort; she wouldn't mind a fib 
 for a friend's sake any more than she would for her 
 own, which is so loyal and nice. Every woman fibs 
 for herself; but she generally tells the truth to, or of, 
 her friends." 
 
 "I suppose one judges others by one's self ' I re- 
 torted. 
 
 "Don't be horrid, dear; I'm trying tc help you. I've 
 been thinking It over, and putting myself in your place. 
 It seemed to me, looking at !t so, that you would 
 have to go away, for a time at all events, till this 
 unfortunate affair has blown over — been forgotten for 
 the next nine days' wonder." 
 
 "You would suggest that I returned to the Peck- 
 ham, perhaps, to which you have consigned me." 
 
 I spoke icily, though my soul was hot within me. 
 
 "I was going to suggest a nice, long, restful visit 
 at a country place of ours, which we seldom use our- 
 selves, though we sometimes lend it to friends. Mamma 
 would be quite willing, I am sure. But why do you 
 say 'the Peckham to w^hich I have consigned you'? I 
 know nothing about Peckham." 
 
 "Except that you and Lady Dunbar followed me 
 
DIANA THROWS DOWN THE GLOVE 185 
 
 there," I burst forth, reckless now of consequences. 
 "Except that you have both set inquiries on foot 
 regarding me. Except that you have started all the 
 gossip — made the gossip. You and Lady Dunbar have 
 your own reasons for not wishing your interest in me 
 to be known, so you do not speak out what you have 
 learned by spying. You work in an underhand way, 
 lest the scandal should be traced to you. You want 
 to get rid of me, and you hire music-hall singers to 
 hound me out of your world." 
 
 "How dare you?" cried Diana, even now scarcely 
 raising her voice, for she had been well trained to 
 conventionalities, and the walls of the Idle Hour were 
 thin. "How dare you accuse me of such things? Why, 
 if you repeated your words, I — I could sue you for 
 them if I liked. There^s a law in England which dis- 
 courages the speaking of scandal, just as it does black- 
 mail and libel. I should have thought in the rank 
 of life you came from j^ou would have known more 
 about them than I do. Why should I want to get 
 rid of you? for dragging in my mother's name is too 
 ridiculous. Do you think I am jealous of you?" 
 
 "I think that you hate me," I replied. 
 
 "I do not care that for you 1" she snapped her fingers, 
 the pretence of friendship forgotten now in this vivid 
 moment, which was showing me the real woman. "I 
 suppose that you think I am annoyed because of George 
 Seaforth's flirtation with you? What nonsense! As 
 though he were a man to marry a little upstart from 
 nobody-knows-where ! I have looked on, laughing m 
 my sleeve, while the paltry farce was played, wonder- 
 
i86 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 ing how you would feel if you knew that I had re- 
 fused him last year, when he really cared for me, as 
 he pretends to care for you now. That habit of his 
 — amusing himself with every new girl who comes 
 along — has grown upon him since those days; but 
 George is a proud man, proud of himself and his fam- 
 ily, whose boast is that not one of their long line has 
 ever made a mesalliance. Knowing nothing of you, 
 he would not have married you, even if he had been 
 genuinely in love. Knowing the truth about you, he 
 would do still less." 
 
 "He is welcome to know all — everything that can 
 be known of me!" I cried. 
 
 "Why you came to live with Lady Sophie, among 
 other things?" 
 
 Her eyes burned into mine, as if she would have 
 dragged an answer from me, if necessary, with red- 
 hot pincers. 
 
 For the first time I quailed, feeling that she had 
 an undue advantage — that I was groping in the dark, 
 while she held a light. 
 
 "What do you know of that?" I questioned. 
 
 "I will tell you, if you will give me your version 
 of the story first." 
 
 She hesitated for an instant bfore making me this 
 offer. 
 
 "I came because Lady Sophie took a fancy to me, 
 and invited me; that is all," I answered. 
 
 "Nonsense! Think of something more credible. No 
 one who knows Lady Sophie de Gretton and her cir- 
 cumstances w^ould believe that for a single second. She 
 
DIANA THROWS DOWN THE GLOVE 187 
 
 must have been influenced by some extraordinary mo- 
 tive in taking up a girl like you." 
 
 "Must have been!" I echoed. "Then you do not 
 know why she did it. You are only trying to find 
 out through me." 
 
 She gave a slight start, and drew her lips to- 
 gether. 
 
 "Well," she said, in a changed tone, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, "that was rather a slip. To tell you 
 the truth, I don't know." 
 
 "Neither do I," I retorted. "I know no more than 
 I have told you, which was the reason Lady Sophie 
 gave. She likes me; she is an impulsive woman who 
 enjoys novelty. I believe that it was exactly as she 
 said." 
 
 "Then you were never so mistaken in your life. 
 You are letting yourself live in a fools' paradise. But 
 though I don't know the explanation of the mystery, 
 and therefore can't enlighten you, I will find out; and 
 then you shall hear the truth from my lips, Consuelo 
 Brand." 
 
 "There is nothing to find out," I persisted, though 
 my heart grew cold. 
 
 "There is something. What, I swear to you I will 
 find out before I am many weeks older." 
 
 "You are good at spying," I flung at her. "But if 
 you spread more stories about me, everyone shall hear 
 what I know of your and Lady Dunbar's reasons for 
 taking an interest in me. I don't want to be revenge- 
 ful, yet I must defend myself." 
 
 "If you tell what you imagine, but cannot know, not 
 
i88 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 only will I tell you all I discover of Lady Sophie's mys- 
 tery, but I will tell the whole world as well." 
 
 Her eyes frightened me. I had not known that the 
 face of a girl could express such hatred as flashed 
 from hers to me. 
 
r 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A PARAGRAPH IN A LETTER 
 
 Lady Sophie suffered from headache the day we 
 left Henley. The doctor pronounced her attack a mild 
 form of sunstroke, which she had courted during those 
 hot days on the river; and his advice was that she 
 should have rest and mountain air, ten days at least 
 of quiet, before returning for Goodwood and Cowes. 
 I offered my services as nurse, only too glad of a 
 chance to show my loving gratitude for all that I owed 
 to her kindness; and she was to see no one but me 
 and Adele. 
 
 "Mountain air" Lady Sophie interpreted to mean 
 Cumberland, where a distant cousin of hers had a 
 place, and (conveniently for her present plans) de- 
 serted it for half the year to live abroad. He was 
 at present in Switzerland, but a telegram sent to his 
 bankers was duly and favourably answered, and by 
 the time that Lady Sophie felt able to travel she had 
 heard that the house was placed at her disposal. 
 
 I should have been nothing short of brutal if I 
 had not shut myself up with the invalid, waiting upon 
 her, keeping her amused as best I could; and I took 
 no credit to myself for doing so, especially as, for 
 some reasons, I was not sorry to be out of town for 
 189 
 
I90 Mi LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 a few fl-vs. Bit Lady Sophie's illness and our journey, 
 with tlie Jccior's commands debarring her from all 
 society, effectually cut me off for a fortnight from 
 George Seaforth. 
 
 Twice before we left for Cumberland he called, 
 but once I was bathing Lady Sophie's aching head with 
 eau de Cologne, and could not leave her; again, she 
 was sleeping with my hand in hers, and, as Adele was 
 her mistress's faithful dragon, I did not hear of the 
 visit until it was of the past. 
 
 From Cumberland Lady Sophie answered a letter 
 from Sir George, assuring him that she would be back 
 in London again before Goodwood, so that he need 
 not fear we should fail him as guests; and after that 
 there were other letters and flowers, in which I some- 
 times shared. 
 
 "Poor George! he's horribly impatient for us to get 
 back," she said, looking up from a letter which had 
 just been received, a few days before the one more or 
 less definitely fixed for our return. "What would you 
 give, Consuelo, to know some of the things he says here 
 about you?" 
 
 "It depends whether they are good or bad," I re- 
 plied, with an attempt at smiling indifference. 
 
 "Which do you think they are more likely to be?" 
 
 "Oh, I suppose he would not say anything very rude 
 to you about your guest." 
 
 "If you will tell me your exact opinion of him I 
 may be tempted to ignore the confidential understand- 
 ing between George and me, and read you a paragraph 
 or two of the letter." 
 
A PARAGRAPH IN A LETTER 191 
 
 "I wouldn' have you betray confidence for the world. 
 Besides, I haven't anything so fixed as an opinion of 
 Sir George Seaforth. Sometimes I— fancy he's rather 
 a flirt." 
 
 "He has never flirted with you, at all events, no 
 matter what he may have been in the past. He is 
 over head and ears in love with you, Consuelo. Of 
 course you must know that, though you've always 
 avoided the subject with me before." 
 
 "He has never told me that he cared,'' I answered 
 stiflly, though I only felt shy. 
 
 "That is because — well, he had certain quixotic rea- 
 sons of his own for not doing so at first. Some day, 
 if you are kind to him, he may confess to you what 
 they were. Afterwards, when he was carried off his 
 feet, and so far beyond his depth that he forgot scruples 
 — at Henley, for instance — he never had the chance. 
 Oh, don't fancy for a moment that I did not see what 
 was going on there—Diana Dunbar making herself a 
 sort of buffer between you and George — for my eyes 
 have been open to the things of this world longer than 
 I like to admit. I did see everything, and perhaps I 
 might have interfered to circumvent Diana; but I was 
 certain that you would not thank me, and equally 
 certain that the more he was tantalized, the deeper in 
 love that spoiled boy George would be." 
 
 "Why do you call him a 'spoiled boy'?" I ques- 
 tioned, half vexed on his behalf. 
 
 "Oh, so many girls have thrown themselves at his 
 head since he came into his father's title and money 
 and tw^o or three good houses, of which any normal 
 
192 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 woman would give her ears to be mistress, even if 
 a rather desirable young man were not thrown in. But 
 he's a different person since he's known you. What 
 shall you say to him, Consuelo, when he asks you to 
 marry him ?" 
 
 ''Hadn't I better wait to make up my mind," I 
 asked, 'like the well-regulated maiden you are teach- 
 ing me to be, until Sir George does ask me to marry 
 him — if he ever does?" 
 
 I spoke lightly, wishing that I could close her mouth 
 without seeming ungrateful for her interest in me, but 
 the lightness was all assumed. 
 
 "He won't propose by letter. No real man who is 
 worth his salt ever does that, unless every other way 
 is closed to him. He'll keep himself in hand till he 
 sees you ; and at his own house he may have some fool- 
 ishly chivalrous idea about not disturbing your mind 
 while you are a guest under his roof; but ten to one 
 he'll yield to temptation, and you'll have your chance 
 to say you will or won't be Lady Seaforth while you 
 are at Southwood Park." 
 
 "Perhaps, after that horrid night at Henley " 
 
 I began, but Lady Sophie irritably cut me short. 
 
 "There's no such 'perhaps,' and you know it, for 
 even you know George better than to do him so great 
 an Injustice." 
 
 "He hasn't heard }^et what a nobody I really am— 
 what a fraud " 
 
 "Don't be an idiot, my child! It is bad for my 
 nerves. I'm still far from strong. With some men 
 what you speak of might make a difference, but not 
 
A PARAGRAPH IN A LETTER 193 
 
 with George. It is you he loves; and really, 
 though he has a great deal to offer, I must 
 say that he would be getting very good value in ex- 
 change. There! you haven't told me that you will 
 accept him " 
 
 "No," I ventured to interrupt, sotto voce. 
 
 "But you have left me to form my own conclu- 
 sions, and those conclusions justify me in reading you 
 the paragraph in his letter I was hinting to you about. 
 You needn't look frightened, as if you were going to 
 do him a wrong by listening. He only writes of the 
 room you are to have at Southwood Park when we 
 pay our visit there, and the part that is really a secret 
 I shall keep. He shall have the pleasure of surprising 
 you. But hear this: 'She is to have the octagon, bay- 
 window room, which you may remember; and when I 
 paid it a visit of inspection the other day it seemed 
 to me that, though I had always thought it the pret- 
 tiest at Southwood, it was not half nice enough for her. 
 Everything looked shabby, and I have ordered in a 
 lot of new odds and ends. In the midst of the trans- 
 formation I remembered something you had told miC 
 
 soon after she came to you, and I ' but that is 
 
 where the secret begins. You mustn't ask me any more 
 questions, my dear." 
 
 I did not even wish to ask. For the first time since 
 we had left Henley I was happy, far too happy to 
 be curious. It was sweet to have heard the paragraph, 
 to have thrilled at the thought that Sir George called 
 me "she" without the formality of using my name; 
 to know that I was in his mind, though he had not 
 
194 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 seen me for more than a week, and that he was busying 
 himself for my pleasure. 
 
 We went back to town three days before Goodwood, 
 to have the dresses already ordered fitted, and to test 
 fLady Sophie's recovered strength at two balls. Sir 
 George had not been informed that we meant to return 
 rather earlier than we had expected, and I trusted 
 that I might attribute his absence partly to that reason. 
 He was at South wood Park, it appeared, where he 
 hoped to receive us in two days' time. 
 
 Despite Diana's gloomy prognostications, there had 
 been no reference to the Henley dispute in any reput- 
 able paper — I was sure this was not Miss Dunbar's 
 fault — and I seemed to be higher in public favour on 
 my first reappearance than I had been before. 
 
 I dared to be happy; I dared to think that my little 
 romance was to have a joyful ending after all. I even 
 dared to think of Diana's threats with comparative 
 indifference. Lady Sophie had told me the whole 
 truth about her first impulsive fancy for me, I said 
 to myself ; there was no mystery in it, or if there were, 
 it was not one that I need fear to have Diana Dun- 
 bar or anyone else in the world discover. 
 
 So we travelled down to Goodwood, two or three 
 friends who were to be of the house-party turning up 
 for the same train. Sir George himself met us at 
 the station, and I sat beside him as we drove towards 
 Southwood Park. 
 
 "Now for the surprise," I whispered excitedly to 
 myself, far enough from guessing what that surprise 
 would prove to be. 
 
A PARAGRAPH IN A LETTER 195 
 
 The house at Southwood Park was old and rambling 
 — not half as grand as Lady Sophie reported Sir 
 George's Warwickshire place to be, but lovable and 
 quaint, with labyrinthine passages and unexpected 
 rooms. A plump old personage with denting pink dim- 
 ples and rustling black silk showed Lady Sophie and 
 me to the quarters which were to be ours for the next 
 three days, and her pleasure in my spontaneous cry of 
 delight at sight of my room was evident, though de- 
 cently controlled. 
 
 It was a dainty nook, with two bow-windows, like 
 great bubbles, half across the oddly-shaped room. 
 There were dark, wainscoted walls, and blue Delft 
 plates, and old furniture, with glints here and there 
 of shining brass. There was new chintz, crisp, glit- 
 tering white, with pink moss roses; there were book- 
 shelves filled with white-and-gold bound volumes, and 
 there were flowers elsewhere. But, after the first de- 
 lighted, comprehensive glance, my eyes turned from all 
 these to one object that stood between the windows. 
 
 It was a Chippendale escritoire, so like the one which 
 had been mine that, if it were indeed another, the two 
 must have been made at the same time and from the 
 same pattern. 
 
 Without a word I walked to it. The housekeeper 
 had by this time curtsied herself away, so that Lady 
 Sophie (who had already seen her room, adjoining) 
 was sole witness of my astonishment. 
 
 "That is Sir George's surprise for you," she said. ^*I 
 told him one night, weeks ago, that you were grieved 
 at having lost a Chippendale escritoire which had been 
 
196 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 your mother's; and he did not forget. In the letter 
 I partly read out to you he asked me if he might 
 give you one, which he had just bought with that hope, 
 and wanted to you to find waiting your inspection in 
 this room. Afterwards it is to be sent to Park Lane; 
 but I fancy it will soon find its way back here again." 
 
 She paused, no doubt expecting me to protest. But 
 I was deeply absorbed, and I do not think I even 
 blushed at her inference. 
 
 "This is the strangest thing, Lady Sophie," I ex- 
 claimed excitedly. "How on earth did Sir George 
 contrive to find my old escritoire? It is w^onderful, 
 for I am sure now it is the same! He must have been 
 tracing It somehow all this time." 
 
 I had opened the Chippendale, which had been beau- 
 tifully cleaned and renovated, and inside had discov- 
 ered proof incontestable, to me who knew it so w^ell. 
 
 "These are my initials," I said, pointing, 'C B.' 
 Jimmy East cut the letters one day with a new pen- 
 knife his father had given him on his birthday. I 
 was cross, and he defended himself by arguing that the 
 initials were so small no one who did not know they 
 were there would notice them. I remember it as if 
 it were yesterday, though it happened two or three 
 years ago." 
 
 "George didn't mention to me that he had any hope 
 of securing your own desk," returned Lady Sophie. "I 
 don't understand how he can have done it, for I 
 said very little: my words would have passed out of 
 his mind within the hour, if his memory had not been 
 perfected by that patent process called love. I didn't 
 
A PARAGRAPH IN A LETTER 197 
 
 even describe the thing, for I could not. You had only 
 spoken of a Chippendale escritoire. You had better 
 ask him all about it after dinner this evening. I'll 
 see that you have a good chance." 
 
 This time the colour did come flying up to my face, 
 for I read the hidden meaning under her words. She 
 expected to be in a position to wish me joy to-night. 
 
 We parted, with the mystery as deep as ever, for 
 there was little time for discussion, save upon the 
 business of the moment. We had to dress for dinner, 
 with the help of Adele, whom Lady Sophie had 
 brought to Southwood Park. 
 
 When the mistress was ready, the maid came in to 
 me to give the finishing touches, which were all I 
 cared to have from her; so it happened that Lady 
 Sophie was resplendent in pearl satin, while I was 
 still in cambric and lace; and she sailed in, fastening 
 her bracelets, to watch the creation of my latest effects. 
 
 *'You were never lovelier, dear!" she said when 
 Adele had given me her blessing, with the last hook 
 and eye on my rose tulle frock. "Pink is love's colour," 
 she whispered, pinching my cheek, and bending to be- 
 stow one of her rare kisses. "Who knows but this 
 night will prove the most eventful of your life so far 
 — the end of one phase, the beginning of another?" 
 
 If we had known how Lady Sophie's prophecy was 
 to be fulfilled, I wonder if I could still have gone 
 downstairs with a light in my eyes and a smile on 
 my lips? 
 
 Sir George took Lady Forth into dinner, but I sat 
 on his left hand. We did not speak much to each 
 
198 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 other at first, and onl}' of commonplace things; but 
 commonplaces were glorified on this first evening I had 
 ever spent under his roof. In my eyes there had never 
 been so perfect a dinner-table. Even the old butler 
 and the smart young footmen were notable men ; I was 
 grateful for every plate that was set noiselessly down 
 before me as if it had been a personal favour. Diana 
 Dunbar was not here; there would be no discords in 
 the music of life for me to-night. 
 
 "Mine is the sweetest little room," I said in a low 
 voice to Sir George, when Lady Forth was for a 
 moment preoccupied by a distinguished general. "And 
 the desk — thank you so much for It. It was the kindest 
 thought. How did you manage to find It?" 
 
 I had not meant to speak of this until after dinner, 
 as our conversation at the table must consist of broken 
 scraps. But my impatience got the better of me, and 
 I reflected that plans, like promises, are often made to 
 be broken. 
 
 "I am glad you like it!" he exclaimed, his face look- 
 ing bright and eager. "I got hold of the desk simply 
 enough ; just told a man to look out for me, and finally 
 heard through him that something of the sort I wanted 
 was to be sold at auction a few days ago (a poor 
 Johnny with a fad for collecting antiques had gone 
 bankrupt, and his treasures had to be disposed of), 
 so I attended the sale myself. It was rather good 
 sport; and, by the way, I have a queer thing in con- 
 nection with it to tell you ; but It is rather a long story, 
 so perhaps it had better wait until after dinner. You'll 
 give me a little chance to talk to you, when I can 
 
A PARAGRAPH IN A LETTER 199 
 
 induce some of these lazy old war-dogs to move from 
 the table? That's the worst of being host. But do 
 you know, Miss Brand, I have been deliberately selfish, 
 and asked down only married chaps, w^ho wouldn't try 
 to snap what I wanted from under my very nose the 
 instant they could get to the drawing-room." 
 
 Naturally I hurried back to safer ground, meta- 
 phorically taking my stand upon the escritoire. 
 
 "I am longing to hear all about the desk," I said. 
 "It seems too good to be true that I should have it 
 once more, after fearing it was lost for ever." 
 , Sir George opened his eyes, and looked at me in a 
 puzzled way, oblivious of the fact that Lady Forth 
 had been in the act of returning to her allegiance. 
 
 "You don't mean to say," he exclaimed, "that it's 
 your own escritoire come back to you ? By Jove, I am 
 in luck!" 
 
 "And did you mean to say you didn't know it was 
 mine?" 
 
 "Indeed I did — glad as I would be to claim credit 
 that I don't deserve." 
 
 "What a concidence, then! I'm not sure which 
 would have been more strange — that you should have 
 traced my escritoire and got it back, or that you should 
 have bought the very thing, of all others, in ignor- 
 ance." 
 
 "This makes certain odd little circumstances seem 
 queerer than ever," said Sir George. "Would you 
 mind telling me how you lost your desk?" 
 
 "Oh, the cousin with whom I lived sold it to a 
 dealer without my knowledge because I had offended 
 
200 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 her! That was quite simple — in one of her tj^pe; but 
 it was curious that next day a man, claiming to be a 
 solicitor interested in my affairs, should have called, 
 and offered money even for one look at the escritoire. 
 He afterwards went to the dealer's and tried to buy 
 It for a very large sum, but it had already been disposed 
 of to a man the dealer had never seen before. I heard 
 all this from my cousin's little boy — such a dear! — the 
 only friend I had until — until I met Lady Sophie." 
 
 "And now you have more than you know what to 
 do with. But did you find out the solicitor's name, 
 or anything about him ?" 
 
 "I found out that he was middle-aged, had gray 
 hair, and wore big, dark spectacles." 
 
 "By Jove, that fellow Wynnstay!" 
 
 "So I thought." 
 
 Our eyes met. I think we were both remembering 
 the rainy night when we had come together so strangely 
 at Holland Park Mansions — remembering Mr. Wynn- 
 stay 's explanations, my suspicions, and Sir George's 
 consoling dissuasions. 
 
 "Look here, Miss Brand, I'm not much of a chap 
 for raking up mysteries, but I begin to believe there 
 really is one here ; perhaps it may not amount to much, 
 but, anyhow, it's just as well that we — that you have 
 got that escritoire. Did it never occur to you there 
 might be a secret drawer holding papers of importance, 
 if not to you, then to someone else?" 
 
 "A secret drawer?" I echoed. "No. I thought I 
 knew the resources of that escritoire from beginning 
 to end. I'm almost certain that, if there had been any- 
 
A PARAGRAPH IN A LETTER 201 
 
 thing of the kind, my mother would have told me of 
 it; or if not, that I mvust have discovered it long ago." 
 
 ''These things are not always so easily discovered, 
 unless one suspects, and knows how to look for them. 
 If I were you, I would institute a thorough search. 
 Particularly " 
 
 "I will," I impulsively broke in. 'Til begin this 
 very night. But why 'particularly'?" 
 
 "Because — well, that long story I was saving up to 
 tell you after dinner is, in short, this: Wynnstay was 
 at the sale I spoke of; I recognised him instantly, 
 though I had only met him that night when you and 
 I saw him together. He rushed in, in a great hurry, 
 rather late, and looked read}-- to kill someone when he 
 found out that this Chippendale escritoire had just been 
 knocked down to me. He came up afterwards, and 
 tried all he knew to get me to sell it again to him, 
 saying it had once belonged to someone of whom he 
 had been very fond, and he'd only just traced it, after 
 searching in vain for a long time. Of course I had 
 no idea that the desk had been yours, and when I saw 
 him so upset, I was half inclined to be good-natured 
 and let him have it; but then I thought how small a 
 chance there was of getting another as pretty, before 
 you came to Southwood, and I hardened my heart. I'm 
 so jolly glad now " 
 
 But Lady Forth had asked him some question. 
 
 Perhaps it was as well that the story had been told 
 ine in brief, without waiting, or, as things were to fall 
 out, I might never have heard it at all. 
 
 I knew that the men would be at least twenty min- 
 
202 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 utes at the table before coming to us in the drawing- 
 room, and I determined to utilize the interval ere I 
 should be called upon to redeem my promise to Sir 
 George in ransacking the escritoire for that suggested 
 secret drawer. 
 
 As the ladies trooped out of the dining-room, I — 
 the least, the youngest, the last, and only untitled one 
 of the party — flew across the hall to the wide oak 
 staircase that w^ound above. 
 
 There were numerous turns and passages, with steps 
 up and down, to be traversed on the way to my octagon 
 room with the bow-windows; but I met no one. As I 
 paused before my own door, I thought that I heard 
 a slight sound inside. "Adele," I observed to myself 
 as I turned the handle. The door stuck a little, but 
 I gave a resolute push, and it flew open. 
 
 Someone was kneeling at the desk, and, surprised by 
 my sudden entrance, was in the act of rising from her 
 knees. But it was not Adele. It was Diana Dunbar, 
 and round her, on the floor, were scattered in confu- 
 sion every drawer, every movable stick of wood from 
 the escritoire. 
 
 She sprang up, her eyes dilated, her bosom, under a 
 dark evening cloak, rising and falling. For a moment 
 we stared at each other without speaking; but it was 
 I who first found breath. 
 
 ''Good-evening, Miss Dunbar," I said. "You didn't 
 expect me quite so soon, perhaps?" 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 *'l HOLD YOU IN THE HOLLOW OF MY HAND" 
 
 "I WAS writing you a letter," Diana Dunbar an- 
 swered, defiant, but panting. ^ 'There it is — on the 
 desk— half done." 
 
 She pointed to a sheet of paper and an envelope 
 with a pen lying beside them. The whole room was 
 perfumed with the sweet, subtle scent that always hung 
 about her person and her clothing. I felt that I should 
 have known she had been there even if she had gone 
 before I came. 
 
 *'I drove over from Mrs. Marlowe's, where we are 
 staying," she desperately went on. "I wanted very 
 much to see you. Dinner here was later than with 
 us, and you had not yet finished. I could not wait, 
 so I asked for Lady Sophie's maid, and bade her show 
 me into your room, where I might sit down quietly 
 and write." 
 
 "Is it your custom to write on your knees, and do 
 you always take out the drawers of the desk at which 
 you sit before beginning?" I demanded severely. 
 
 "I found the drawers exactly as they are now, and 
 left them so. I don't know who has disturbed your 
 desk, certainly not I. I had dropped something of my 
 own, and stooped to look for it just before you 
 
 203 
 
204 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 "I don't doubt that you had 'stooped to look for 
 something," I said with emphasis, "but I venture to 
 think that the something was mine, not yours." 
 
 "Of what do you accuse me?" she fiercely broke In. 
 
 "You have been sent here by the man who calls 
 himself Wynnstay. But for him you would have heard 
 nothing of this escritoire. What he and Lady Dunbar 
 know about me you know now also, though you may 
 not have known it long. You perhaps have a separate 
 purpose of your own in coming, but you are 'killing 
 two birds with one stone.' Still, I think that I was in 
 time; I think that you have not yet done what you 
 tried to do." 
 
 "You are mad!" she ejaculated. "I don't know what 
 you are talking about. I don't believe you know^ your- 
 self." 
 
 "You were looking for the secret drawer with the 
 papers," I said, as decidedly as if I were not speaking 
 at a venture, merely making use of Sir George's pre- 
 sumption to startle her if she were guilty. 
 
 As I uttered the words, I kept my eyes upon her 
 face, and in the clear electric light with which she 
 had flooded the room I saw her colour come and go. 
 She drew in her breath sharply, but before she could 
 speak I had begun again, moved by some influence 
 which I did not understand — an influence that did not 
 whisper of the dark horror that can come of a few 
 impulsive words. 
 
 "I might have saved you the trouble," I went on, 
 almost calmly, "if you had chosen to ask me instead 
 of trying to help yourself. I have already opened the 
 
"IN THE HOLLOW OF MY HAND" 205 
 
 drawer and removed the papers, whfch shall never leave 
 me after this until 1 choose to make use of them." 
 
 "You little fiend! you little tiger-cat!" she hissed. 
 
 "Ah! you don't pretend to misunderstand me any 
 longer." 
 
 "It's your turn now, Consuelo Brand ; you have 
 the advantage of me in this one m^ove; I admit it. 
 No, I won't pretend to misunderstand you. I did 
 know about the escritoire; I did look for the drawer. 
 Those papers you have are of no importance to you. 
 They are useless ; you can do nothing with them. But 
 my poor mother, whose life has been a tragedy, can- 
 not bear that they should exist. Haven't you seen how 
 she has changed in the past few weeks? She has aged 
 ten years in as many days. My heart has been break- 
 ing for her. At last I persuaded her to tell me all 
 the truth. 'You don't think I can help you,' I said, 
 'but the mouse gnawed the net that held the lion pris- 
 oner, and you must not despise what I can do.' If I 
 could have got into this room (which was mine last 
 year when we stayed here) and discovered the drawer 
 and the papers by the instructions which I had brought 
 with me, before you came, I would have done it and 
 gone away. Yet I had provided for this thing that 
 has happened." 
 
 "You had provided for it by telling me falsehoods, 
 which I did not believe, but found you out instead," I 
 interpolated. 
 
 "Yes, I did tell you falsehoods. I am working for 
 another, not myself, and I am not too scrupulous in 
 a good cause. If you had believed my story about the 
 
2o6 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 letter (which I really did begin, as a blind), I would 
 have given you certain information which it is in my 
 power to give, and left you with my other errand 
 undone, hoping for better luck next time. But you 
 did not believe; you thought yourself supernaturally 
 clever in reading my real motive and flinging it at 
 my head. Well, I am no coward; I admit the truth, 
 as I was ready from the first to do if the necessity 
 arose. You cannot harm me, but I — I hold you in the 
 hollow of my hand, like a white mouse whose bones 
 I can crunch — crunch! I will ofFer you just one 
 chance, white mouse. Show yourself merciful to a 
 poor woman who is growing old, who has done you 
 no evil, and I'll leave you the piece of luck that by 
 a fluke has come in your way. Give me those papers, 
 valueless to you, because they can prove nothing, but 
 precious to my mother, and I stand aside. You may 
 marry Sir George Seaforth in peace — if you can get 
 him." 
 
 ''I cannot see why you should be the arbiter of my 
 fate, Miss Dunbar," I answered quietly, though my 
 voice trembled. ''It seems to me the worst of taste 
 that you and I should discuss such a subject; while 
 as for the papers, they are mine, and I shall certainly 
 not give them up." 
 
 My words surprised myself. Until she had con- 
 firmed my vague suspicions, I had been in the dark 
 regarding the existence of a secret drawer and its sup- 
 positious contents. But now the papers that were^ 
 hidden alike from me and those who had risked so much 
 to obtain them were the immediate jewels of my soul. 
 
"IN THE HOLLOW OF MY HAND" 207 
 
 If possession be nine points of the law, they were 
 hardly yet my property. But I felt them so much mine 
 that I would have cut off my right hand sooner than 
 yield them to Diana Dunbar or any of her faction. 
 
 "Have you no heart?" she retorted — "no pity for my 
 mother?" 
 
 "Has she any pity for me?" I echoed. 
 
 Somehow the words went home, and Diana winced ; 
 why, I did not know. 
 
 "You are mistaken in thinking that I cannot be 
 the 'arbiter of your fate,' she quoted. "At this mo- 
 ment your future rests with me. To be sure, after 
 what I could tell you, a thoroughly mercenary girl, 
 eaten up with ambition, utterly devoid of self-respect, 
 might marry a man and be happy in getting what she 
 had bargained to get. But though I hate you as I 
 never hated any other human being, I do you the justice 
 to believe you are not such a girl as that. Ignorance 
 IS bliss; ignorance is often honourable. If you would 
 keep it, give up the papers." 
 
 "I shall not give up the papers," I repeated, and 
 moved to the bell, which by raising my hand I could 
 touch. 
 
 There had been that in Diana's fine eyes for the 
 fraction of a second which had warned me that pru- 
 dence might be valour. She had been led to believe 
 that I had the papers (whatever they were) on my 
 person ; and she was a bigger, stronger woman than I. 
 I had spoken that which was not true in saying that 
 I had found the secret drawer, and removed its con- 
 tents; but the words had seemed to utter themselves 
 
2o8 MY LADY CIx\DERELLA 
 
 without my volition. I was to be punished for them 
 later; but now I did not wish Diana to learn by force 
 the deception I had practised. 
 
 ''Very well, then, keep the papers, and repent at 
 leisure. There are many ways of making you regret 
 your obstinacy, and I assure you they won't be lacking. 
 But you have chosen knowledge instead of ignorance, 
 and now you shall hear why you can never be George 
 Seaforth's wife, if you would retain your self-respect." 
 
 "What if I refuse to hear you?" I said, my voice 
 sounding strangely faint and far-away in my own 
 ears. "What if I touch the bell, and bid Adele show 
 you downstairs?" 
 
 "Do so, and the story shall come to you from other 
 lips than mine. I promised you a fortnight ago that 
 I would find out the secret of your coming to Lady 
 Sophie de Gretton. I hav^ found it out. And If you 
 will not hear it from me, I shall do as I once threat- 
 ened, and tell the truth to the whole w^orld. I do 
 not believe George Seaforth has ever asked you to 
 marry him, or ever will. But If he should do so. It 
 will only be through a mistaken sense of honour, be- 
 cause he feels that his folly has Irretrievably Injured 
 you, spoiled your future. Shall all your so-called 
 friends whisper about this thing that I know, until the 
 story comes to you, or will you hear It now from me?" 
 
 "I will hear It now from you," I echoed mechan- 
 ically. 
 
 "Very well," said Diana, She paused a moment, and 
 then went on: "One night, a few months ago, three 
 young men were dining together at their club. Some- 
 
"IN THE HOLLOW OF MY HAND" 209 
 
 how the subject of women who were famous as beau- 
 ties came up. One of the three said that to become 
 a social celebrity a girl must, in the first place, have 
 a good social position, and her people must be well 
 and favourably known. Or else she must be a great 
 heiress, with money enough to force herself down the 
 throat of society. 
 
 "The second man thought rather differently. He 
 argued that a woman's fame as a beauty depended 
 upon some lucky chance. Nobody could ever tell why 
 one girl or woman, perhaps not as handsome as her 
 neighbours, should suddenly be lauded above them as 
 the most exquisite being on earth. (Of course actresses 
 and other professionals who live by making themselves 
 conspicuous did not come into the category at all; 
 these men were talking merely of women in societ)^) 
 
 "And the third man's opinion differed from his 
 friends. He said that it would be the easiest thing in 
 the world to make the reputation of a beauty. A few 
 newspapers might do it, if they went to work in the 
 right way; but still better would it be for a popular 
 young man to undertake the task. 
 
 "He then went on to bet that he himself could 'work 
 such a scheme.' Given a young woman, pretty, well 
 educated, with decent manners, no matter how poor, 
 how insignificant, how entirely unknow^n at the begin- 
 ing of a season, by the end he could render her the 
 most-admired, most-sought-after girl in town. 
 
 "His friends wanted to know how he would accom^ 
 plish this. It would be very simple, he returned. He 
 would show the girl great attention, send her flowers, 
 
2IO MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 be apparently her devoted slave. He would rave over 
 her perfections at every opportunity, and by force of 
 example induce others to think it M/as 'the thing' to 
 admire her inordinately. 
 
 "His two companions were ready to bet him almost 
 anything that with all his popularity he could not 
 make a celebrity of an unknown girl, without money 
 or position, try as he would. What had begun in idle 
 fun ended in earnest. There was a wager between 
 the three of a thousand pounds, the m.an who had made 
 the bet to divide the sum between the other two, if 
 by the end of the season he had failed in bringing off 
 his coup. 
 
 *'He was to ask a certain lady, well known in the 
 set to which they all belonged, to find a suitable young 
 woman. She was to have so much for her trouble in 
 chaperoning and launching the girl in society, and 
 
 Ge the man was to pay the Experiment's board, 
 
 pay for her smart clothing, and see that she had plenty 
 of pocket-money " 
 
 **Be silent!" I cried out in ungovernable anguish, 
 writhing under the lash of the awful words. 'I'll not 
 believe it. You are lying to me." 
 
 *'So you guess the man's name? You see now why 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton took you lip ; why, though she 
 is poor, and stingy, and selfish, you have had every 
 luxury. You understand why George Seaforth has been 
 at your feet, has let himself be gossiped about as your 
 admirer. Think of it ! Everything you have on at this 
 moment, from your shoes to your pretty pink frock, 
 has been paid for out of his pocket." 
 
"IN THE HOLLOW OF MY HAND" 211 
 
 I shuddered, and a low moan of misery came shiver- 
 ing from my h"ps. 
 
 "It isn't true! You mean to kill me!" I stammered, 
 with a tearing sob. 
 
 "Ask George himself. I dare you to ask him," Diana 
 taunted me. 
 
 "I would not so insult him. You are safe in bidding 
 
 me do that, and you know it. Why " and I 
 
 seemed to draw a breath of free air, as I caught at 
 the wings of hope — "why, you are my enemy! You 
 want to ruin me. You have tried before, and failed. 
 Girls in certain books and plays believe what the vil- 
 lains tell them, and die of grief, or give up the men 
 they love, for a lie's sake. You are the villain of my 
 story; but I am not such a poor toy. I am a living, 
 breathing woman. I do love George Seaforth, and 
 I think that he loves me. I should be unworthy of 
 his love if I wronged him by so base, so hateful a sus- 
 picion. Only you could have been cruel enough to 
 invent such a tale. Now that you have told it, now 
 that you have done your worst, leave me, with the 
 thought that you have failed again." 
 
 "You are less of a woman than I fancied you!" she 
 cried. "You do believe, but you would shut your eyes 
 to the truth. You would marry him in spite of all, 
 because he is rich, because he could give you a good 
 position. But you will find yourself mistaken. He 
 has gone as far as he will go in this flirtation. You 
 will never be asked to be his wife, and you will have 
 dragged your dignity in the dust in vain." 
 
 "If I thought for an instant that you had told me 
 
212 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 the truth, I would never see him again; I would leave 
 his house to-night," I said, my voice under control 
 once more. "But your fingers are not skilful enough 
 to play upon my heartstrings whatever tune you please. 
 I was startled, carried out of myself at first; but I 
 am stronger again now. If you do not leave me in- 
 stantly I will ring the bell and have you turned out 
 of the house." 
 
 "Oh, I am going, though if you were not the com- 
 mon, underbred person that j^ou are, you would not 
 stoop to rid yourself of me by force." 
 
 Diana moved to the door and opened it. 
 
 "Just one thing more," she said. "Jack Marlowe, 
 at whose mother's house I am staying, was one of the 
 men in the wager. Jerry Weyland was the other, and 
 it was he who confessed to me. I had to promise 
 to marry him before I could make him speak, but it 
 was worth it. And I shall keep the promise or not 
 as I please. He will tell you what he told me, if 
 you choose to ask him." 
 
 "I do not choose," I responded steadilj-. 
 
 "Lady Sophie, then. If 3^ou surprised her with what 
 you know, you could get the whole truth from 
 her." 
 
 "I will tell her what I have heard from 3^ou," I 
 corrected. "I have meant to do that since you began. 
 One only asks questions when one has suspicions. I 
 have none. But she shall know what you have done 
 and said to-night." 
 
 "I wish you joy of the interview," Diana cried, with 
 a bitter laugh. 
 
"IN THE HOLLOW OF MY HAND" 213 
 
 And she was gone before I could have answered, If 
 I would. 
 
 For a long time I stood still, my hands tightly 
 clasped above my heart — and they were cold as hands 
 of ice. Only a few minutes had passed since I had left 
 the light and laughter and flower-fragrance of the 
 dining-room, yet I felt as if I had lived through years. 
 I had spoken confidently to Diana, and I trusted that 
 I had sent her away with a galling sense of defccit. 
 
 But her words had stung me with the sting of poi- 
 sonous serpents. I had said truly that I did not believe 
 Sir George could so cruelly have wronged me, but her 
 story might explain many things. The hot, scandalous 
 breath of it had power to blow away the mystery which 
 had bewildered me, as a wind dissipates a low-lying 
 fog on a mountain-side. I could not help recalling each 
 merciless detail she had flung at me. What if, after 
 all, the tale were true? 
 
 "I won't let myself think of it!" I exclaimed, half 
 aloud, striving against the insidious whisperings that 
 seemed to mutter in my ears, as though hissed by the 
 lips of evil spirits. 'Til go down — " 
 
 But at the door I paused. How could I go down? 
 I had not thought of a mirror; but I knew that I 
 must be pale and strange to look upon. Despite the 
 training of the past few weeks, I was not actress 
 enough to smile and cover the gnawing fox with my 
 cloak. 
 
 HI could bring myself to face them all in the 
 drawing-room, where the men must have arrived by 
 this time, and Sir George would be looking for me, 
 
214 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 it would be better than staying here alone. I felt as 
 if I might go mad if I were shut up with my misery', 
 to fight against torturing fears, and the doubts that 
 were so disloyal to my love. 
 
 Yet I was afraid if I went among the others I might 
 break into hysterical sobbing. It would be horrible 
 to have eyes upon me now ; they would be like separate 
 pincers, searching for my quivering nerves. 
 
 If I stayed I might try to banish the consciousness 
 of trouble, by examining the escritoire, which was still 
 open and empty, as Diana had left it. For a moment 
 I contemplated the effort, but almost at once dis- 
 missed the thought. 
 
 My brain was in a turmoil. It would be impossible 
 to concentrate my mind, in such a mood, upon a con- 
 sistent plan of operation. When I had been reassured 
 by Lady Sophie — dear, kind Lady Sophie ! — as I surely, 
 surely would be reassured before this night was over, 
 then I should be in proper condition to make the 
 trial. 
 
 As I thought, with a childishly homesick longing, of 
 Lady Sophie, craving the comfort of her presence, there 
 came a light tap, with a suggestion of rings clicking 
 against the panel, on my door. 
 
 Almost simultaneously, without waiting for permis- 
 sion, Lady Sophie herself came in. I felt supersti- 
 tiously that my wish had brought her to me, and, hur- 
 rying towards her, I wound my arms about her waist. 
 
 "Why, my dear child," she exclaimed, "what a little 
 ghost you look! Are you ill?" 
 
 She held me closely, as I nestled to her, and the 
 
"IN THE HOLLOW OF MY HAND" 215 
 
 perfume of her laces, with a single rose she wore, was 
 sweet as consolation. Everything would be right now. 
 Everything must be right. Such misery as I had con- 
 templated, staring down over a dark precipice of fear, 
 was too bad, too cruel, to come mto my young life. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE ORDEAL BY FIRE 
 
 "Oh, you dear, I'm so glad you're here," I whis- 
 pered. "I've had a shock. Diana Dunbar has been in 
 my room. I came up, and found her looking through 
 the escritoire. See! all the drawers are lying about. 
 She has been saying horrible things to me. I feel half 
 dead." 
 
 "The vindictive wretch!" responded Lady Sophie 
 satisfactorily. "I shouldn't have thought jealousy would 
 have carried even her so far. But she could say nothing 
 to you which you need mind. George doesn't love her, 
 and never did, though she inveigled him into a mild 
 flirtation last year. He loves you, and she can't take 
 his love away from you. There, doesn't that cheer 
 you up?" 
 
 "Nothing can cheer me till I've relieved my m.ind 
 by telling it all to you — the whole hateful story. She 
 said, oh! the most monstrous thing, Lady Sophie — that 
 — that Sir George made a wager " 
 
 Under my arm, which belted her waist, I felt a 
 slight start, that made me glance quickly up into her 
 face. What I saw there turned my heart sick. She 
 looked anxious, apprehensive. Her eyes appeared sud- 
 denly to have dilated, and when I would have drawn 
 them, with my pleading ones, they avoided the appeal. 
 216 
 
THE ORDEAL BY FIRE 217 
 
 "You should'nt have listened to that malicious girl," 
 she said hastily. You owe it to George " 
 
 "I didn't listen. After strength had come back to 
 me, and I could break in upon her, I told her to leave 
 me. But, oh. Lady Sophie, what I have suffered! I 
 wouldn't believe — but tell me — for the love of Heaven 
 tell me that there never was such a wager — that Sir 
 George never came to you asking you to find a girl, 
 that he might make an experiment, for the sake of 
 making a bet. I " 
 
 ''Hush — hush, dear!" faltered Lady Sophie. "Diana 
 has grossly exaggerated." 
 
 "Exaggerated? My God! then there is truth in it, 
 after all!" 
 
 My arms dropped from her waist. I caught at the 
 back of a chair and held myself up with a rigid grasp, 
 for my knees were giving way. 
 
 She came quickly to me again, and snatched one of 
 my hands, though it lay limply in hers. 
 
 "Don't, don't be foolish, Consuelo," she commanded, 
 almost harshly. "I can't wonder, if you heard this 
 story from Diana, that you are mortified and shocked. 
 But you must let George speak for himself. I would 
 tell you all there is to tell — really, there's not a great 
 deal! — though I w^ould gladly have kept it from you 
 if I could; but it will be so much better coming from 
 George, He has the right " 
 
 "He has no right if he has done this thing!" I cried. 
 
 "You forget, child. He is a man of the world, 
 flattered and spoiled since his boyhood, tired years 
 ago of all the pleasures which seem so wonderful, so 
 
?i8 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 enthralling, to a debutante. Naturally, he took up 
 a novel idea. There are a hundred excuses for him, 
 which only he can plead. You do not really love him, 
 If you could not forgive. Probably Diana has given 
 you a totally v^^rong version. You must let George 
 know that something of this sort has reached your ears, 
 and put him upon his defence. He will confess every- 
 thing, like the brave, true fellow that he is at heart." 
 
 Confess! Ah, this was perhaps what he would have 
 confessed on that sweet, white day among the lilies. 
 How I wished now that he had finished then! for 
 everything would have been over long ago, and this 
 burning pain at the core of my heart might have ceased 
 to throb so fiercely. By this time a merciful numbness 
 might have come to help me; and at least I should be 
 far, far away, out of his reach, out of his life forever. 
 
 ''Come — come, dear," Lady Sophie was saying. "Let 
 me go to George. You shall have a talk with him out 
 in the garden. No one shall know. I will arrange 
 it all. In an hour you will be happy again." 
 
 I heard her but vaguely. As I answered, a hand 
 seemed clutching at my throat, choking my breath 
 away. 
 
 "I can't speak to him," I said, as firmly as I could. 
 ''Nothing that you could urge would make me do that. 
 Lady Sophie. You don't realize what it would be; 
 for you are taking so much — so much for granted. 
 He has never said a word of love to me. If he had, 
 if I had been asked to be his wife, and had accepted 
 — if we had been engaged when this story reached me, 
 I might have gone to him with it; though even then 
 
THE ORDEAL BY FIRE 219 
 
 I can't see that it would have done my good. I couldn't 
 have forgotten ; I should never have been sure that he' 
 was not trying to atone. You admit that — that the 
 thing's true. That ends it." 
 
 "How cruel, if you must hear this, that it couldn't 
 have been later!" she exclaimed. "I see how you feel; 
 I see that it would be harder for you to accuse him and 
 ask explanations, than I had thought at first. It might 
 seem like a suggestion that he must compensate you by 
 making an offer of marriage, though I know as well 
 as I know I live, that such a thing would not even 
 occur to George. But write him a letter. I'll help 
 you with it. Sit down now and " 
 
 ''No, no," I persisted chokingly. *'You must tell me, 
 if I am to hear more." 
 
 "I don't know^ what you have heard already. You 
 are obstinate, unreasonable, Consuelo. You " 
 
 "Is it true that he asked you to find a girl for him 
 — poor, unknown, but a lady, and — not bad-looking? 
 Is it true that this girl was to be used as a pivot for 
 his vanity to turn on — 'made into a celebrity,' by a 
 process of vivisection, for all the world to see?" 
 
 "The world was not to know. George, two other 
 men, and I " 
 
 "Oh, Lady Sophie, this is the motive for all your 
 
 kindness, then ? That day in the Park And I loved 
 
 you so! I could have died for you, in my gratitude!" 
 
 "My child, my child, you wring my heart! So did 
 I love you, so do I love you now. I can't tell you how 
 dear you have grown to me, truly, honestly. I entered 
 into this jest before T knew you " 
 
220 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 "This jest!" I echoed, sobbing. "It bids fair to be 
 a sorry jest for me!" 
 
 "It will be what you make it. For Heaven's sake 
 take this more quietly, more sensibly, Consuelo. You 
 are shattering my nerves. Good gracious! how shall 
 I talk to you, how can I best make you see reason? 
 Listen to me. Do you remember coming upon George 
 and me that first night at Lady Dunbar's ball, before 
 he had been introduced to you ? I don't know^ whether 
 you heard anything or not. I was afraid then that you 
 had. 
 
 "But he'd met j^ou twice after I'd talked w^ith you 
 in the Park, not dreaming that you were the girl I 
 had chosen for his experiment. He admired you more 
 than anyone he had ever seen, and begged that, if it 
 were not too late, I would no longer try to find a 
 protegee to chaperon on his behalf. If you could be 
 got to fill the place, it would be perfect from his point 
 of view. But already he was half in love, and his 
 conscience had begun to wake. 
 
 "He saw that, though in carrying out his plan a 
 girl would have advantages given her which other- 
 wise she could never enjoy, still she might have reason 
 to complain if she learned the truth, discovered that 
 she had been used as a sort of pawn in a game of 
 chess. He felt it might be an injustice; but then 
 you came up with Captain Weyland and interrupted 
 us. I had guessed already, from his description, that 
 the paragon of beauty he had seen was none other than 
 Consuelo Brand. 
 
 "The day before, I prevented his m.eeting you at my 
 
THE ORDEAL BY FIRE 221 
 
 house, for I wanted him first to behold my protegee 
 in her pretty new clothes, charmingly framed, presented 
 against a becoming background. But Fate had circum- 
 vented me, and I scented a romance. You can imiagine 
 what concealed delight I felt in introducing him to the 
 'experiment' in the shape of the girl he had found 
 and lost again. 
 
 "I had almost given up finding the right sort of 
 person when I chanced to see you in the Park that 
 afternoon, and overheard your wish for a different 
 lot in life. Then a voice seemed to say to me, 'There's 
 the very one you have been looking for.' And you 
 must remember, Consuelo, that I asked if you would 
 be ready to give up your old, dull existence for even 
 a few weeks of pleasure and admiration ?" 
 
 "I remember everything — everything," I said. 
 
 "You took your chances. And I honestly thought 
 them very good. I'm a poor woman, and I should not 
 have been able to provide for you ; but I saw that you 
 were beautiful, and might be made far more beautiful. 
 I hardly dared hope you would succeed in snaring so 
 splendid and wary a bird as George Seaforth, but it 
 was probable you would have opportunities of marry- 
 ing well. Now, as it has turned out, you have done 
 better than any other debutante for years. Don't, for 
 the sake of pique, throw away your happiness." 
 
 I could not answer. I had dropped into a chair, at 
 last, and sat with my face buried in my hands. 
 
 ''Tell me, dear, that you are going to be a good, 
 sensible girl," she went on, coaxingly. 
 
 What should I sav to her? My mind w^as fixed. 
 
222 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 There was only one thing for me to do, and I meant 
 to do It, if it killed me. But I did not want to 
 make a scene, which would only inflame the wound 
 that had been dealt me by turning the dagger in the 
 quivering flesh. 
 
 I felt so weak, so utterly spent in body, that I 
 dreaded lest my spirit also should be robbed of strength 
 if again it were flooded with the torrent of her 
 pleading. 
 
 "Let me think — I beg that you will let me think," I 
 Implored. 
 
 I did not look up, and my fingers still covered my 
 wet eyes, but I heard a faint, quick sigh of relief. 
 
 "Of course you shall think, child, as much as ever 
 you like," Lady Sophie soothingly assured me. "It Is 
 only sudden decisions that I dread. Think — think how 
 good George really is, how^ handsome; how dearly he 
 loves you, how his heart would be broken if you would 
 not forgive him. When you have thought of all those 
 things, and said to yourself, 'Perhaps if I'm harsh with 
 him now I shall lose him irrevocably, because in sheer 
 misery and angry pique he may ask some other less 
 scrupulous girl to marry him,' you will be ready to 
 possess your soul in patience, and quietly wait for 
 him to propose to you. When he has safely done that, 
 you can fly out at him and accuse him of what you 
 like. He will know then how to defend himself and 
 win your pardon. I defy the hardest woman not to 
 forgive George Seaforth, with his arms around her, 
 those honest eyes of his looking Into hers. Now, dear, 
 I'll bathe your head with eau de Cologne as you did 
 
THE ORDEAL BY FIRE 223 
 
 mine when I was ill; and presently you'll be ready to 
 tell me that you've thought it all satisfactorily out, that 
 you are yourself again." 
 
 *'Thank you, Lady Sophie," I whispered brokenly. 
 "But — but I want to be alone. You are kind — you 
 mean to be kind — only it is better for me to be alone. 
 Please, please! I don't know what will become of 
 me if I can't be quite by myself for a while." 
 
 My voice rose stormily; I could not hold it in con- 
 trol; and Lady Sophie rose from her knees by my side 
 with rustling haste. 
 
 "Very well. You know what is best for yourself, 
 I suppose," she agreed. "I should have liked to stay 
 with you, but, of course, if you don't want me now, 
 I shall come again by-and-by." 
 
 "Not too soon, please; I must have a little time," 
 I pleaded. "If — if anyone asks for me, I have a head- 
 ache." 
 
 "Trust me for that, my poor one; I know how 
 to manage these affairs. Inquiries will come, without 
 doubt, from a certain person by whose desire I really 
 made an excuse to run up and find you. I said I 
 would look for a book I'd brought to Southwood with 
 me, a book we'd luckily been talking about downstairs. 
 They will think I have been a long time gone, but what 
 they think doesn't matter." 
 
 "No; what they think doesn't matter," I repeated 
 drearily. 
 
 "I'll go now, then, since you send me away. 
 Won't you give me some little message for poor 
 George?" 
 
224 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Poor George! What of poor Consuelo? I bitterly 
 thought. 
 
 "I can't say anything," I sharply uttered aloud. 
 
 *'Oh, well, I can make up something that must do 
 Instead." 
 
 My lips opened to beg that she would do no such 
 thing, but they closed coldly together again. What did 
 it signify what she said in this brief interval? he would 
 know the truth soon enough. 
 
 ''In an hour or so I shall peep In at you again," 
 purred Lady Sophie. "Then I hope you will look at 
 me with a smile on your poor little face. Good-bye, 
 dear. Is it in your heart to give me a kiss?" 
 
 For an Instant I hesitated. But It was only for an 
 Instant. At the end, I lifted my tear-stained face, and 
 we kissed each other on the lips. Mine quivered 
 under the touch of hers, and the tears fell once more. 
 
 I had loved her well. I had been so happy only an 
 hour ago. 
 
 **Good-bye," I said softly. 
 
 '*Good-bye is a sad word. Au revoir — let it be au 
 revolr." 
 
 "I like good-bye so much better," I insisted. "Good- 
 bye, dear Lady Sophie. Good-bye." 
 
 In another moment the door had gently closed after 
 her sweeping satins, and I was left alone. 
 
 My mind was already made up as to my next act, 
 w^hlch was to close the last chapter in my brief love- 
 stor>\ What I had to do must be done quickly, for 
 I could not count upon more than one undisturbed 
 hour. I had told Lady Sophie that I wished to think; 
 
THE ORDEAL BY FIRE 225 
 
 but thought must beyond all else be avoided — until the 
 afterward. 
 
 If I sat still and let myself weep over the pictures 
 of the past which w^ould move before me in a pano- 
 rama — George Seaforth's face and figure alw^ays in 
 the foreground — such little strength and courage as 
 were left to me would go. 
 
 No sooner had the door shut behind Lady Sophie 
 than I sprang up and began unfastening my dress. 
 
 "His money paid for it!" I reminded myself, w^ith a 
 sick shiver. "I am the doll which it has amused him 
 to see tricked out in the latest fashion. His doll was 
 to be the smartest in the show of dolls, or he would 
 not be satisfied. Oh, my God! I thought him so 
 honourable, so chivalrous!" 
 
 But I was thinking again, and I must not think. I 
 tried desperately to fix my attention on the business of 
 the moment. What would I not have given if the 
 despised and long-discarded Peckham garments had 
 been in my box, under all the finery brought to South- 
 wood Park? But they lay at the bottom of a drawer 
 at home — no, I mustn't call it home any more! — at 
 Lady Sophie de Gretton's house. The best I could 
 do was to dress myself from head to foot in the plain- 
 est things I had at hand — the things, I bitterly re- 
 flected, which had cost Sir George Seaforth the smallest 
 amount of money. 
 
 Some day, perhaps, I could repay him. My heart 
 beat with a fierce agony of joy as I saw myself in 
 the future writing a cheque for money I had earned. 
 It would have to be a large cheque. I should send 
 
3 26 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 from some far-off place, the farther away the better; 
 and I should add a line, saying, "This is, as nearly 
 as I can calculate, the sum to which I am indebted to 
 you for board, clothing, and incidental expenses during 
 the season I spent in Park Lane." That would be 
 enough. 
 
 If he had any heart, any manliness left, this would 
 cut him to the quick. But till then the fact that I 
 must leave his house dressed in the garments paid for 
 by him would remain a part of my humiliation. 
 
 I roused myself with a start. Once more I had 
 indulged in the forbidden luxury of thought. In a 
 few minutes I was clad in travelling dress, the neat 
 little frock which I had hopefully put on that afternoon 
 for the short journey. 
 
 Then, with a shock, I realized the difficulty regard- 
 ing money. In my hurried preparations I had not 
 fully looked that question in the face. My purse (what 
 a mockery to call it mine!) was still in the pocket of 
 the gray mohair gown. I remembered, with curling, 
 quivering lip, that it held nearly ten pounds. I could 
 go a long distance with ten pounds; I had not yet 
 quite forgotten how to be economical. But I could 
 not take that money; I could not touch a penny of it, 
 knowing whence it came. 
 
 I had kissed Lady Sophie when she had given it 
 to me, as I always did, with a passionate impulse of 
 gratitude, which must manifest itself with each new 
 kindness. No wonder she had blushed and looked 
 uncomfortable sometimes, saying that she "wished I 
 would not thank her." 
 
THE ORDEAL BY FIRE 227 
 
 There were so many things I understood now, and, 
 and, understanding, felt that the world was a cold and 
 cruel place — a place for hypocrites, for pitfalls under 
 the roses, for grinning skulls where once I had seen 
 faces beautiful in benevolence. I marvelled that I did 
 not feel greater bitterness against Lady Sophie for her 
 part in my tragedy. But I told myself, sadly, that I 
 could forgive her, because I had not to tear her image 
 from my heart, leaving wounds that must bleed for 
 ever. There were other roots that had gone deeper, 
 and they — but I turned my mind back to the crude 
 question of money. 
 
 There was my little store of jewelery in the morocco 
 case, and the string of pearls also, which I had flung 
 down on the dressing-table, after wearing it to-night. 
 But these things had come from Sir George, though 
 they had posed as presents from Lady Sophie. I saw 
 now that my suspicions should have been roused long 
 ago by such gifts from a woman who never ceased to 
 bemoan her poverty. I could not make use of the 
 jewels, but thankfully I remembered certain other pos- 
 sessions, comparatively insignificant, yet enough, per- 
 haps, for the present emergency. And afterwards 
 might come the deluge, for all I cared. 
 
 Once I had admired an old-fashioned ring, con- 
 taining a sapphire and a few small diamonds, which 
 Lady Sophie sometimes wore. Next day she had in- 
 sisted on transferring it to me, saying it was too tight. 
 
 There was also a red enamelled watch, a brooch of 
 curiously twisted gold, and a bangle with a pearl and 
 ruby butterfly. These trifles had been Lady Sophie's; 
 
228 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Sir George Seaforth had never owned part or lot In 
 them. 
 
 I would have kept all, if I could, In tribute to such 
 affection as I could still cherish for Lady Sophie. But 
 they formed the only key with which I might unlock 
 my prison door and go out to freedom. So, collecting 
 the articles together, I was ready to write "Finis," and 
 close the book ended so abruptly. 
 
 Only half an hour had passed since I had been 
 left alone. It would be some time yet before I should 
 be missed. I could stop and write a letter, if I liked 
 — a letter to Lady Sophie, or a few words to George 
 Seaforth, which might burn In his recollection for many 
 a day to come. 
 
 For a moment I was tempted, but something seemed 
 to tell me that it would be better not. Lady Sophie 
 would understand. She might tell her principal in 
 the plot w^hat she chose. 
 
 How to escape without being seen, that was the 
 next question upon which I must strive to concentrate 
 my aching brain. I did not know my \v2Ly about the 
 house; once outside my room, at any moment I must 
 stand the chance of meeting someone who would won- 
 der at seeing me, lately clad in rosy tulle ("the colour 
 of love," Lady Sophie had called it), now in travelling 
 clothes. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 ''then you'll remember me" 
 
 There was no advantage to be gained by hesita- 
 tion, and after the first agitated pause on my own 
 threshold, I closed the door and walked with apparent 
 boldness along the corridor. 
 
 Presently came a turn. I let it lead me, and found 
 a stairway which I had not seen before. Hurrying 
 down, I saw a door that opened into dimness. Foot- 
 steps were coming, voices speaking together. I thought 
 I recognised Adele's. 
 
 Quickly I darted into the room opposite, noticing 
 only one feature — a long window open to the floor. It 
 invited me, and I stepped out. The worst was over 
 now. 
 
 The leisured moon of late July had not yet risen, 
 but a silver haze on the low-lying mass of eastern 
 clouds heralded a coming event, and stars hung thickly 
 in a net of tree branches. I could see flower-beds that 
 made the night sweet with fragrance of mignonette. 
 I could see shrubbery, and tall, black trees, with arms 
 outstretched against the silvery blue, and I divined 
 the vague whiteness of a winding path. 
 
 Behind me rose the long, irregular outline of the 
 house, its windows flashing light. The rippling notes 
 22g 
 
230 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 of a piano floated out to me. I recognised Lady 
 Forth's clear soprano voice, and imagined a tall man, 
 with a serious, sun-burned face, turning the leaves of 
 her music. 
 
 A sharp, almost intolerable pang smote me. It was 
 my favourite song, "Then You'll Remember Me," that 
 old-fashioned, ever new-fashioned appeal that Sir 
 George Seaforth had liked to hear me sing. 'When 
 
 other hearts " I put my fingers in my ears, and 
 
 ran from the following words in the direction which I 
 trusted would take me to the gates. 
 
 Lady Forth's voice died away. With it seemed to 
 break the last remaining thread which bound me to 
 the past. Presently I came to a lodge, not the one 
 which we had seen as we drove in earlier in the day. 
 The large gates were locked, but there was a little 
 one for foot-passengers at the side, and it was only 
 latched. A few seconds more and I was out in the 
 road. 
 
 I began now to dwell upon the thought that "they" 
 — I worded it no more definitely than that — would 
 perhaps try to trace me, and bring me back to the life 
 I was leaving. 
 
 It would be ignominious to be found. All the 
 wretchedness would have to come over again, for I 
 should never consent to do that which I might be 
 asked to do. 
 
 Lady Sophie would look at my dresses left behind, 
 and would at once be able to inform herself which one 
 I had worn in going away, for she knew my ward- 
 robe well. Maybe I should then be described, with the 
 
•THEN YOU'LL REMEMBER ME" 231 
 
 Clothes in which I had disappeared, to the local police, 
 and a reward would be offered for discovering my 
 whereabouts. That reward should never be earned 
 if I could prevent it! 
 
 *'They" would begin the search at the railway-sta- 
 tion, no doubt, and my first thought must be to thwart 
 them there. I would walk all night, I said to myself, 
 and perhaps in the early morning I might find some 
 cottager who, bribed to keep my secret, would give me 
 shelter. 
 
 I could tell the east by the pearly moon-glimmer 
 spreading behind the trees, and I chose the direction 
 which led away from the station. The road I took 
 would not matter so much, I decided, as the avoidance 
 of observation. 
 
 When I had walked for more than an hour I was 
 able to see, by aid of the moonlight, the black hands 
 on the white face of my little enamelled watch. I 
 would part w ith it only after all the other things were 
 gone, I told myself. The watch indicated n^idnight, 
 but I was not afraid. 
 
 Once I passed a sheet of water, lying under dark 
 trees, with the sheen of the moon across it. 
 
 "What if I ended it all here — now?" I whispered 
 in awe, that was partly longing, partly pain. 
 
 Youth was still hot in my blood, unsubdued by 
 shame and sorrow; and the thought of death was like 
 a sudden thrust forward, a look down over a black 
 abyss. Yet there was temptation, too. The struggle 
 would be so soon over, and then, when they found me, 
 if they ever did, they would be sorry. George Sea- 
 
232 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 forth would realize to the full what he had done, and 
 his punishment would be bitter. 
 
 But, after all, it was a weak and obvious thing to 
 court death as the ending to such a tragic drama as 
 mine. How much stronger to fight down the shame, 
 and live to work, that the man who had played with 
 my heart might be paid back every penny spent on his 
 experiment ! 
 
 That was something to look forward to, to make 
 the thought of the future endurable, though happiness 
 were past. I turned my eyes away from the glittering 
 sheet of steel, and passed on. 
 
 At last I was very tired. My shoes were thin, and 
 my feet began to ache — not that it mattered. The 
 moon was still in the sky, but livid with the early 
 dawn; its great yellow face faded white as the sun 
 looked on it. In another mood I might have thought: 
 the world beautiful in its first awakening; but I had 
 only a vague impression of trees and meadows — alwaj^s 
 trees and meadows, and hills in the distance. I wished 
 I could spy smoke curling from the chimney of a 
 cottage ; but no human habitation was in sight. 
 
 By-and-by, as I walked on, slowly and more slowly 
 now, something stirred in the distance. A couple of 
 gipsy vans were moving up from a slight hollow, on 
 a wide sea of heathery common that found its limita- 
 tations at a white beach of road. 
 
 I waited ; here was a chance for me. A prudent cot- 
 tage housewife might be shocked at the sudden appari- 
 tion of a well-dressed young woman demanding food, 
 shelter, a change of clothing, with promise of secrecy-^ 
 
''THEN YOU'LL REMEMBER ME" 233 
 
 and oiiering jewelery as a reward for all. But to the 
 lawless mind of a gipsy my request might come with 
 irresistible appeal. 
 
 Besides, gipsies would not remain stationary, but 
 would be alw^ays moving on, going farther away from 
 the place w^hich had been my point of departure. They 
 would be less likely than neighbouring cottagers to see 
 anything which might find its way into the papers, 
 or be discovered and catechized by the police. 
 
 An ugly, brown-faced young man and a handsome 
 girl walked beside the first caravan. I stopped them, 
 and made up a plausible-sounding story about having 
 run away from my guardian, who wished to force me 
 into abandoning a career on the stage. I did not want 
 to be seen by anyone. Would they let me ride inside 
 their caravan ? 
 
 I had no money, but I would gladly give them this 
 (holding out the gold twisted brooch) ; and if the 
 5'oung woman were willing to spare me a hat and 
 dress, I should be delighted to leave her mine in their 
 place; only she must promise to keep faith with me, 
 and mention the circumstances of our meeting to no 
 one. 
 
 The girl agreed to both my proposals, with the en- 
 thusiastic concurrence of her companion. I could trust 
 the word of the Romany, she said; and I did my best 
 to believe her. 
 
 I was supplied with food inside the caravan, and, 
 despite the weight of misery, I ate, hating myself be- 
 cause that senseless engine, my body, demanded stoking 
 with black bread and greasy tea. 
 
234 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 I slept, too, though I would have denied the pos- 
 sibility of sleep had anyone suggested it. Noon had 
 passed when I woke, greatly wondering for a moment 
 of bewilderment at my strange surroundings. 
 
 After all, we had not gone as far as I had hoped, 
 for gipsy caravans travel but slowly. We were near 
 a village, however, and my dark young hostess con- 
 sented to buy me a thick veil of blue or green gauze. 
 
 Later in the afternoon the exchange of clothing was 
 effected. I clad myself in a bright Scotch plaid, which 
 had been the Romany girl's holiday frock. There was 
 also a sunburnt hat, with a yellow ribbon tied round it, 
 seldom worn on the blue-black hair, which rebelled 
 against constraint; and the veil recently procured ef- 
 fectually completed the disguise. 
 
 I do not think when I stepped out of the caravan 
 that my best friend (if I had a friend) or my worst 
 enemy (easy to designate) would have said, "There is 
 Consuelo Brand." 
 
 My escort left me within half a mile of a railway 
 station. The nearest town was called Chansey. 
 
 I had been informed on inquiry that Chansey was 
 upon the London and South-Western line. I was glad 
 of anything, for my brain had not been idle during 
 my waking hours, and I had decided to make use of 
 a kindly offer which had once been made. 
 
 Selfishly, during the full weeks that had passed to 
 the strains of rich m.usic, I had more than half forgot- 
 ten plain Miss Smith and her eccentric goodness to 
 me. But Vvnth equal selfishness — the selfishness that is 
 an integral part of human nature, alas! — I remem- 
 
"THEN YOU'LL REMEMBER ME" 235 
 
 bered now that it seemed advantageous to re- 
 member. 
 
 Miss Smith had announced that she had "taken a 
 fancy" to me. She said that if ever I needed a friend 
 I was to write or go to her. I had for a time pre- 
 served the card which she had given me that day, and 
 though the highly-glazed bit of pasteboard had now 
 either been lost or was lying in some unregarded nook 
 in my room at Park Lane, the address had been so 
 simple that I was able, after a little effort, to recall 
 it, "Miss Jane Smith, The Pines, Lull, Dorsetshire." 
 
 The time had come when, as the elderly spinster 
 had grimly prognosticated, my brilliant bubble had 
 burst, and of all things I needed a friend. 
 
 It might be, as I imagined Miss Smith to be a 
 person of some influence in her own section of the 
 country, that she could and would help me along the 
 steep road towards writing that five or six hundred 
 pound cheque — now the flitting light which led me 
 through the darkness and the marsh. 
 
 I was going to-day to Miss Smith at the Pines, in 
 the Dorsetshire village of Lull. 
 
 My ring, sold by a happy thought to the gipsies at 
 the last moment, had brought me five pounds. No 
 doubt they would obtain almost twice that sum if 
 they chose to part with it later; but with my eccentric 
 costume and lack of self-confidence, I should have had 
 difficulty in getting rid of the jewel in exchange for a 
 railway-ticket. 
 
 It would have turned tragedy into pathos if I had 
 been arrested on a charge of attempting to dispose of 
 
236 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 stolen property, and I should have been at a loss to 
 defend myself. 
 
 I bought a third-class ticket, and set forth on my 
 journey to Lull. So far I felt certain that I had con- 
 trived to cover my track with skill. Lady Sophie 
 w^ould never find m.e now. She would send to Peck- 
 ham if she cared to bring me back, I reflected ; and 
 she would learn nothing there. 
 
 Suddenly, with the thought of Cousin Sarah East, 
 and Jimmy, and the others at Happiholme Villa, came 
 a darting prick of recollection. The escritoire ! I had 
 left It unsearched, the drawers scattered on the floor. 
 What Diana had had to tell had banished from miy 
 mind all remembrance of the errand which had origin- 
 ally taken me upstairs. 
 
 Anyone who knew of the secret drawer and the 
 papers could have entered, the moment I left, and 
 robbed me of that which m.ight in happier circum- 
 stances have been of infinite value. Perhaps Diana 
 had not gone, after all, but had waited, hidden, to 
 watch me and see what I did. She had expected me 
 to run away, therefore she might well have laid her 
 plans beforehand, counting on my departure. 
 
 For the first tim.e since last night my thoughts turned 
 from present misery to a subject unconnected with it. 
 I desperately resented the idea of Diana Dunbar profit- 
 ing by my humiliation, my absence; and my pulses 
 leaped with the recollection of my own words: "I 
 have found the drawer, and taken away the papers," 
 I had falsely told her, moved by the impulse which had 
 goaded me to speak. 
 
"THEN YOU'LL REMEMBER ME" 237 
 
 She had believed; and there was hope that hence- 
 forth the desk might appear valueless to her and 
 those into whose hands she had played. I was glad 
 of this, not only for the triumph of thwarting my 
 enemy, but because, if I could ever find out what the 
 desk had contained, there might be a legacy coming to 
 me, which would materially help with the cheque. 
 
 What would become of the escritoire, now that I 
 was gone? I anxiously asked myself. Would Sir 
 George keep it? would he give it to Lady Sophie? I 
 wished that I could guess, and, in my new excitement, 
 for one mom.ent I was able to forget what a blank 
 the world had become. 
 
 Whatever happened to the desk, I almost dared 
 to hope that it would be safe from the machinations 
 of the Dunbar faction. They believed I had the 
 papers. Why, then, in future I should be the object 
 of their pursuit! 
 
 This was a startling alternative, for it suggested the 
 fear now that I might have been followed. I had not 
 thought until now of the danger that I might be 
 tracked by others than my quondam friends. 
 
 If Diana had stayed to spy! I recalled a rustling 
 among the shrubbery at Southwood Park as I had 
 passed. I had been frightened at the moment, but had 
 reassured myself later with the reflection that some 
 small wild creature of the night had been lurking 
 there. 
 
 It was morbid to fancy now that it could have been 
 anything more formidable, I decided. I had safely 
 eluded friends and enemies alike. 
 
238 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 From Chansey, in Surrey, to Lull, in Dorsetshire, is 
 a long journey; and there was a change of trains. I 
 had started soon after four, and it was nine when a 
 porter at Lull directed me to Miss Smith's place. The 
 Pines was a house of some importance in his eyes at 
 least, it seemed, for he spoke of it and its mistress with 
 respect. 
 
 I should have a walk of nearly two miles beyond 
 the village, I was informed, and the porter had a fancy 
 that Miss Smith was not at home. Perhaps that would 
 not matter to me, however. Probably he supposed me 
 to be a new servant maid, with a queer taste in dress, 
 arriving to take a situation. 
 
 My heart sank with an additional weight. Miss 
 Smith's problematical absence did matter considerably 
 to me. Late as it was, I had doubted whether to dare 
 present myself at The Pines that night, and now I 
 was sure that I must wait till morning. I thanked 
 the porter for his information, pressed a few coppers 
 into his not reluctant palm, and — failed to satisfy his 
 curiosity. 
 
 Without telling him whether or no I regretted the 
 doubt that shrouded Miss Smith's movements, I walked 
 away, and presently coming to an unpretentious inn, I 
 requested shelter for the night. 
 
 In the pocket of the gipsy's frock, tied up in a 
 handkerchief, there remained several pounds and nu- 
 merous shillings, over and above the price of my jour- 
 ney, from the proceeds of the ring. I produced from 
 this store as much as would pay for a room at the inn, 
 and was somewhat unwillingly received as a lodger. 
 
"THEN yOUXL REMEMBER ME*' s" 
 
 My bed was hard, and the thoughts that disturbeCi 
 my rest were harder, so that I could do nothing hnt 
 toss and moan through the dark, ^-ndless hours of th© 
 night. I was up betimes, physically refreshed by break- 
 fast, and on my way to The Pines. 
 
 If Miss Smith had been out last evening, she wa-? 
 the sort of woman to return home early, I argued, 
 so that I might hope she would not be late in sleep- 
 ing off her fatigue to-day. She would be surprised to 
 see me, still more surprised at my conception of a 
 travelling costume, but my explanations would soon 
 soften the shock produced by the red and yellow plaid. 
 
 The Pines was a finer place than I had been led 
 to expect from Miss Smith's description, but I remem- 
 bered that she had frankly advertised herself as a rich 
 woman, considered by her sister-in-law eminently 
 worth conciliation. 
 
 A few months ago, before grand houses had lost 
 their awe-inspiring quality for me, I should have been 
 exceedingly impressed by Miss Smith's residence as 
 I walked up the drive to attack knocker and bell. 
 
 A woman in neat cap and apron opened the door, 
 staring at the unique apparition in undisguised amaze- 
 ment, tinged with disapproval. 
 
 "Is Miss Smith at home ?" I inquired, with such dig- 
 nity as a vain Vvoman who knows herself at a disad- 
 vantage can command. My vanity was in dust and 
 ashes now; still, self-consciousness enough was left to 
 make me writhe a little under the spinster's servant's 
 glare. 
 
 "No, Miss Smith is not at home," she promptly 
 
240 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 answered. "And let me tell you, my young woman, 
 you might have spared me trouble by coming to the 
 back-door." 
 
 Crushed, I nevertheless persisted. 
 
 "I am a friend of Miss Smith's," I said mildly. '1 
 am very sorry she is out. But " 
 
 "She is not only out. She is away," corrected my 
 informant. 
 
 "Oh!" I could scarcely repress a little gasp of con- 
 sternation, for I had staked my all on finding Miss 
 Smith ready to carry out her offer. "Will she be 
 away long?" 
 
 "'She may be back to-morrow; she may not be back 
 for a week." 
 
 "Is she still in London — ^with Mrs. Leatherby- 
 Smith?" I asked, anxious to win confidence by show- 
 ing my knowledge of the family connections. 
 
 It had not previously occurred to me that she might 
 be lingering in town, for Miss Smith had impressed 
 me as a woman who knew her own mind, and she had 
 told me that her visit to her sister-in-law was to be 
 a short one. Still, it was possible 
 
 "No; she's not in London," returned the maid, shut- 
 ting her mouth over an iron resolution not to betray 
 her mistress to a creature in a red plaid, and a hat with 
 a soiled yellow band. "I can't tell you where she is, 
 any more than I can tell you when she's coming back." 
 
 Evidently my bids to inspire confidence had not suc- 
 ceeded. I was regarded as a brazen fraud, who had 
 picked up a few bits of family historj^ and patched them 
 together for my own doubtful purposes. 
 
"THEN YOU'LL REMEMBER ME" 241 
 
 The woman ostentatiously took a step back from the 
 door, which moved an inch or two towards shutting. 
 This to the beautiful Miss Brand, who had been wel- 
 come a few days ago in what the society papers call 
 the "best houses in England!" 
 
 How was my greatness fallen! and what a feather- 
 w^ght, what a nothing-masquerading-as-something, it 
 had been at best! Still, my poor little past vanities 
 appeared pitifully pathetic to me now, rather than 
 darkly sinful, as perhaps they ought to have seemed. 
 
 I had no more questions to ask. Murmuring inar- 
 ticulately, I bowed my head to the inevitable and 
 walked away. The door closed upon the respectable 
 comfort of Miss Smith's home, and the waif in the red 
 plaid atrocity knew not where she was to go. 
 
 After I had passed through the gates which had 
 proved inhospitable to me, I walked on aimlessly for 
 a long time, hardly conscious, save for a vague addi- 
 tional sense of wretchedness, that a drizzle of rain was 
 falling. 
 
 At first I could not make up my mind what to 
 do, since the straw I had caught at to save me from 
 drowning had been snatched from my grasp. I was 
 afraid to go back to London and apply to an agency 
 for a situation, as I had once planned to do, in case 
 I should ever be driven out of fairyland. I had not 
 had a prophetic soul in those seemingly remote days, 
 for I had never dreamed of the way in which my 
 decree of banishment would fall. 
 
 At worst I had pictured Lady Sophie de Gretton 
 capriciously tiring of her guest, and intimating gently 
 
24B MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 that It was time for flitting. If this had happened, I 
 should have thanked her, and obediently disappeared 
 into the Ewigkeit, But now It appeared to my sore 
 self-consciousness that there could be no peaceful twi- 
 light of obscurity for me. Every eye turned carelessly 
 upon my face would remain fixed in recognition of 
 the battered celebrity fallen off Its pedestal. 
 
 liady Sophie would find me out; she would hear 
 of me. I dared not go so near her world as Lon- 
 don. I did not want to do the cowardly thing I had 
 thought of last night. What was to become of me? 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 "She may be back to-morrow ; she may not be back 
 for a week." 
 
 The words of Miss Smith's servant rang again in 
 my mind, and a ray of hope gleamed out to me with 
 the sudden thought that I might stay and wait for her. 
 
 I had money left which would keep me for some 
 time if I found cheap lodgings, and that should not 
 be difficult in this country. The boom of the sea 
 came on the wind when one's heart was stilled to listen, 
 and there must be fishermen's cottages not far away. 
 
 I would write to Miss Smith, hoping that my let- 
 ter might be forwarded from The Pines. I would 
 write also to Anne, who could be trusted to keep my 
 secret, asking her what news of the spinster had lately 
 come to Holland Park House. 
 
 This new idea gave me something to do, something 
 to keep the thoughts that must not be harboured out 
 of my brain. I walked with increased briskness to 
 the village, and purchased at one of the shops several 
 necessary articles, to supply my suspicious lack of lug- 
 gage. I also bought a dark sailor hat, and material 
 for the creation of a decent black frock, actually ex- 
 periencing dim stirrings of pleasure in the anticipation 
 243 
 
244 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 of renewing remembered makeshifts in sempstressing. 
 Armed with my acquisitions, their newness concealed 
 in the depths of a cheap travelling-bag, I found the 
 colony of fishermen I had hoped for — a little cluster 
 of picturesque antiquity half a mile inland from crowd- 
 ing black rocks that rose above the white foam of 
 the sea. 
 
 Lodgings were advertised in more than one small 
 peephole window, and I chose to knock at the door 
 of a dwelling with a gay strip of flower-garden in 
 front. I had guessed that the housewife there would 
 be clean and capable, but my weary Imagination had 
 not conjured up anything so wholesome, so motherly 
 and sweet as the reality. 
 
 She gazed with kindness upon my tired, unveiled 
 face; but even w^ith her the red plaid was against me, 
 and the price she named for her rooms was not as 
 cheap as I had expected. 
 
 "Vm afraid I must look somewhere else," I said 
 wistfully, hoping that she might be moved to strike 
 off a few^ shillings. 
 
 "I'm sorry," the answer came, half doubtfully; "but, 
 you see, we can easily get what we ask, specially in 
 August, and we often has gentry here." 
 
 I was not "gentr3\" This fact was so self-evident 
 to her that it had not occurred to the kindly heart 
 that I could be offended at the implication. Nor was 
 I offended, but I wanted to stay with her; I did not 
 want to "look somewhere else." 
 
 Suddenly the sense of my forlornness overwhelmed 
 me like a wave. The world that was so cold to me 
 
"WANTED IMMEDIATELY" 245 
 
 was filled with a great mother-want that ached and 
 ached in my heart, with the longing for arms to fold 
 round me in love, some bosom which would give me 
 rest. 
 
 Tears burst from my eyes. They did not fall gently, 
 one by one, but came in a storm. My face worked 
 with the piteous, childish contortions that will come 
 with passionate crying. 
 
 I stammered "Good-day," and hurried off to hide 
 my weakness and my woe, but the housewife ran 
 after me. 
 
 "Why, you poor little body! Why, dearie, dontee, 
 dontee, now! And you shall stop!" she exclaimed. 
 
 I think her hand was on the reprehensible plaid, 
 detaining me, pulling me back inside the low doorway. 
 But everything was blurred with tears. Presently I 
 was crying on her shoulder. She smelled of freshly- 
 washed linen and newly-baked bread. 
 
 Over the shoulder I saw, through a mist, shelves 
 of blue and pictorial china, a tall clock with red flowers 
 painted round its face. A dark patch of shadow indi- 
 cated kitchen range and low mantel, ornamented with 
 spotted dogs and wonderful vases. 
 
 A glitter, like jewels, meant pewter and copper 
 things depending from hooks; and there was a yellow 
 cat that purred, and regarded me with an unblinking 
 topaz stare. 
 
 "You shall pay what you can, poor pretty dear," 
 said the kind creature, who was doing more for me, 
 according to her lights, than Lady Sophie de Gretton 
 had ever done. 
 
246 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 Thereupon she dried my eyes with a clean coarse 
 towel that hung before the fire, petted me and patted 
 me, and bustled about to get me a glass of milk and 
 a seed cake. I had always hated caraway seeds before 
 that day, but I knew that in future I should love them 
 for this woman's sake. 
 
 ''You are good to me," I sobbed; 'I'm so lonely; 
 Fve run away from home, and — and I can never go 
 back." 
 
 "Deary me, poor child ! I 'ope you didn't run away 
 to marry a young man, and he threw you over. There's 
 some of 'em like that." 
 
 "On the contrary, I've run away from a young 
 man," I explained, with a queer little smile through 
 the tears that had brought me relief. 
 
 I drank the milk and ate the cake, and it was 
 arranged that I should occupy Mrs. Nye's spare bed- 
 room and the sitting-room attached for the modest sum 
 of six shillings a week. 
 
 I could not tell her how long I was likely to stay. 
 It might be for a week, it might be indefinitely. But 
 I mentioned that I was anxious to obtain work. Some- 
 times situations were advertised in the local newspaper, 
 she cheeringly informed me. Her husband took it in; 
 it was published once a week, and a friend of theirs 
 lent them a London daily paper, too. I should see 
 both, and who could tell but I might find exactly the 
 thing I wanted? Meanwhile she would take the best 
 of care of me, and "mother me up a bit." 
 
 Half an hour later, in a neat little sitting-room, 
 smelling of the late roses on the table — with a faint, 
 
"WANTED IMMEDIATELY" 247 
 
 undertone of mustiness — and deadly portaits of de- 
 parted Nyes staring down at me from the walls, I 
 sat writing to Miss Smith and to Anne Bryden. 
 
 I merely informed Miss Smith that I had left Lady 
 Sophie de Gretton, and was thrown upon my own 
 resources. If, when she came home, she would re- 
 member her kind promise to befriend me, and help 
 me to obtain work of any kind, I should be most 
 grateful. I was to be found waiting for her return 
 at Mrs. Nye's cottage, near Lull ; and Mrs. Nye said 
 that everyone knew her Thomas, the best fisherman 
 along the Dorsetshire coast. 
 
 To Anne I was more confidential. I could not bring 
 myself to tell her all the miserable deta,ils which 
 made up the truth; but I said that I feared my new 
 friends had not been quite sincere with me; that I 
 had left Lady Sophie, and requested that Anne would 
 tell nobody where I was. I was very unhappy, but 
 hoped to feel better and less restless if I could find 
 an occupation. 
 
 It would be kind of her if she would write me 
 everything she knew regarding Miss Smith's where- 
 abouts, for venturing to rely upon that lady's 
 promise, I was waiting in her neighbourhood, in the 
 hope of her speedy return. I also begged, in a hesi- 
 tating postscript, that if any items of news concerning 
 the movements of Lady Sophie de Gretton, the Dun- 
 bars, or Sir George Seaforth, reached Anne's ears, she 
 would remember them for my benefit. 
 
 And so still another phase of life opened for me, 
 or perhaps It would be better to call it existence. From 
 
248 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 the whirl of a London season to the four walls of a 
 Dorsetshire fisherman's cottage — can a more strongly 
 marked contrast be imagined? 
 
 Mrs. Nye's kindness was the only balm which Fate 
 gave to the wounds my spirit had suffered. Yet it 
 was balm, and by its means I was saved from many 
 intolerable moments. It seems puerile in the telling, 
 but the making of my black dress also helped me. Cut- 
 ting it out and sewing up the seams kept me from 
 thinking forbidden thoughts, through hours that 
 otherwise must have been dark indeed. 
 
 When the frock was finished and I had donned it 
 in place of the objectionable plaid, Mrs. Nye gazed 
 at me in flattering contemplation. 
 
 "Why, dearie, I always knew you was a beauty, but 
 now I can see you are a lady, too," she ejaculated, 
 leaving me to be pleased or ol^Eended as I might elect. 
 
 Three daj^s passed in a monotonous round, which 
 seemed broken only by the striking of the tall clock 
 — audible all over the cottage — and the coming of 
 meal-tim.es. I heard nothing from Miss Smith, but 
 on the fourth morning a letter came from Anne. Even 
 the London postmark excited me and set my heart 
 beating. 
 
 The envelope was addressed to "Miss Constance 
 Burns," as I had requested, and I felt as if I were 
 breaking the seal of a communication addressed to a 
 stranger. 
 
 "My dear Con," Anne began. She had usually 
 opened with "My Pet," "Dearest Girlie," or some- 
 thing else pleasantly caressing, so that now, when all 
 
"WANTED IMMEDIATELY" 249 
 
 my heart cried out for sympathy, the three short words 
 struck me as bald and conventional. 
 
 *'I am sorry to hear that you are in trouble," the 
 letter went on; "but I think that you were born lucky, 
 and things are bound to come right for you in the 
 end, so that I don't feel as sorry for you as I other- 
 wise should. You are wise to wait for Miss Smith, 
 I fancy. She and Mrs. L.-S. are not on the best of 
 terms at present, so that the latter is not in the secret 
 of her excursion. But Miss Smith has another estate 
 in Yorkshire, which she lets by the year, and I re- 
 member that the tenants are leaving about this time. 
 
 "The fussy old lady has probably gone on there to 
 personally conduct the move, or see that the house is 
 in 'apple-pie' order for the next incumbents to come 
 in. She is almost sure to turn up at The Pines again 
 shortly, as she hates being away from her cats and 
 dogs, and, above all, the monkey. I should think, if 
 you played your cards well, you might get taken on 
 as a sort of nursery-governess to that monkey. Let 
 me know when you have any more news. 
 
 "Yours affectionately, 
 
 "Anne." 
 
 Not a word as to my questions about those I had 
 left. Such a stiff, cold little letter! I could not 
 understand it. I did not see what I could have done 
 to displease my old friend. 
 
 "Look here, miss, what I've found for you!" said 
 Mrs. Nye on the fifth day of our acquaintance. 
 
250 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 She brought in my breakfast of bread-and-milk, a 
 newspaper tucked under her arm, and when she had set 
 down the tray she eagerly opened out the pages of the 
 local journal. 
 
 "There's a splendid advertisement," she exclaimed, 
 finding the wished-for paragraph with a plump, work- 
 worn finger. "Just the thing for you, and right in 
 our neighbourhood, too." 
 
 She stood, breathing hard, waiting with arms akimbo 
 until I could read the few lines and give my verdict. 
 
 "WANTED, immediately, a young lady to act as 
 secretary and read aloud a few hours each day to 
 an elderly gentleman who is blind. Holiday, if re- 
 quired, for two months each year, but lady would dur- 
 ing remainder of time live in employer's house. Duties 
 light. Salary large to the right applicant. — ^Apply at 
 once, if possible, in person to the residence of the ad- 
 vertiser, Arrish Hall, Swanage Road, Lull." 
 
 "It must be close to the village," I exclaimed. 
 
 "No miss, not quite close; that is to say, it*s a 
 matter of two mile or more. Miss Smith's place. The 
 Pines, is the nearest house, and that's all but a mile 
 this side. Arrish Hall has been to let furnished this 
 long time — seven or :ight years. Folks used to say 
 'twas haunted, but that's all nonsense, of course; you 
 and me don't believe in them things. Still, the house 
 does stand a bit lonely, that can't be denied. Not that 
 It matters for a blind gentleman. The lonelier the 
 better, he'd say^ maybe. He must be lately come in; 
 
"WANTED IMMEDIATELY" 251 
 
 I hadn't heard the place was let. 'Tis a wonder Tom 
 didn't know, for 'tisn't much slips past him in the 
 way of news." 
 
 "It sounds attractive," I meditated aloud. "But 
 there'll be so many trying for the place that it doesn't 
 seem much use for me to apply — a stranger, without 
 references." 
 
 "The paper's only just out this morning, miss," 
 urged Mrs. Nye. "You'll have as good a chance as 
 anyone, right on the spot as you are; not so many 
 can have been before you. I suppose the gentleman 
 preferred somebody living in the neighbourhood, or 
 he wouldn't have put his advertisement in our local 
 paper and nowhere else that I've seen as yet, any- 
 how." 
 
 "Well, I'll walk to Arrish Hall and try my luck,'* 
 I said dubiously, "though I don't for a moment think 
 I'll get the place." 
 
 "A pity the gentleman can't see you," Mrs. Nye 
 regretted. "But, then, there's your voice, miss, and 
 his ears seem to be all right." 
 
 An hour later I was on my way along the country 
 road which I had been told would lead me eventually 
 to Arrish Hall, the lonely house about which "folks" 
 had talked so much "nonsense." I wore my neat new 
 dress of black alpaca, with white turnover collar and 
 cuffs, and the plain black sailor hat I had obtained 
 in the village, looking, I flattered myself, like the 
 respectable young nursery-governess out of a situation 
 which, after all, I actually was. 
 
 In this costume I might hope, it seemed to me, 
 
252 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 for at least a more favourable reception at the doer 
 than I had experienced at Miss Smith's, whatever fate 
 lay in store for me within. 
 
 I passed The Pines, and gazed wistfully towards the 
 house, which was just visible among the trees. The 
 blinds in the front-windows were all at "half-mast," 
 so to speak; no doubt the mistress was still away. 
 
 It would be foolish to miss the smallest chance of 
 obtaining an engagement simply because I still cher- 
 ished some vague hope that Miss Smith might be 
 willing to redeem her promise when she should return. 
 I should have been glad, nevertheless, if the adver- 
 tisement which I was now on my way to answer need 
 not have appeared until after I knew definitely what 
 I had to expect from the kindly, eccentric spinster. 
 
 As matters stood, however, there was nothing for me 
 to do save what I was doing; and doubtless if Miss 
 Smith were at home to advise she would counsel me to 
 take the position at Arrish Hail, if I were fortunate 
 enough to get it. Besides, though It w^as most unlikely 
 that I would be so fortunate, I should at worst have 
 the satisfaction of feeling that I had done my best — 
 that I had "left no stone unturned." 
 
 The distance after passing The Pines began to seem 
 long. It was all uphill, and the sun of noon was 
 hot on my head. The country was lonelier here. Miss 
 Smith's property and the Arrish Hall estate adjoined, 
 so that there were no houses between. 
 
 Miss Smith's meadows were well cultivated, sug- 
 gesting English peace and comfort, but the land be- 
 longing to Arrish Hall — separated from The Pines by 
 
"WANTED IMMEDIATELY" 253 
 
 ^ high wall of ancient, many-tinted llchened bricks — • 
 y/SLS desolate from long neglect. Oaks and pines 
 crowded beeches and smaller trees, all untrimmed and 
 Dut of order. 
 
 The dwelling w^as invisible from the road; it was 
 a house in an enchanted forest. Here the Sleeping 
 Beauty might have lain for her century of charmed 
 slumber, I somewhat sentimentally told myself, en- 
 meshed by fairy barriers, hidden from the world. 
 
 The fact that the place had been handicapped by 
 a grim reputation w^ould account for its condition ; but 
 now that it was tenanted again, after years of empti- 
 ness, everything would, no doubt, be changed. Even 
 chough the new occupant was a blind man, he would 
 ^ake a certain pride in his possessions, and retrieve 
 them from the curse of desolation. 
 
 I entered by way of a rusty iron gate between tall 
 stone pillars bearing a half-defaced coat of arms. The 
 drive was grass-grown, and wound into green distance 
 under a low-hanging canopy of beeches. It must have 
 been almost a quarter of a mile, I fancied, In finishing 
 its windings with abruptness before an old Elizabethan 
 house. 
 
 The door-bell, as I timidly pulled It startled me by 
 the loud jangling peal it sent out echoing and re- 
 echoing with a curious impression of emptiness through 
 the house. I felt myself flushing; I did not seem 
 an important enough person to have dared make so 
 inuch noise. 
 
 I had not long to wait for admittance. A middle- 
 aged man-servant, who looked more like a self-re- 
 
254 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 specting valet than a butler or footman, opened the 
 door after a short dela}', and inv^ited me into a square 
 hall, sparsely and dingily furnished. 
 
 "I have called in answer to an advertisement in the 
 Lull Herald/' I explained, not without stammering a 
 little. 
 
 "Yes, madam," responded the servant. "Will you 
 kindly sit down and wait here for a few minutes? 
 We have only just moved in, and are not quite in 
 order yet. My master is engaged with another lady, 
 but I think that he will shortly be ready to recei\ . 
 you." 
 
 ''Engaged in engaging the other lady most likely," I 
 commented mentally. ''He will only receive me for 
 the purpose of politely regretting that the situation he 
 offered is already filled. 
 
 My hopes stirred faintly again, however, when the 
 distant ringing of a bell having summoned the servant 
 away, he returned to show "the other lady" out. She 
 was of a certain age, pinched, with prim lips that 
 looked as if a thin, shrill voice might be meagrely 
 cushioned behind them. 
 
 Scarcely had she departed, when a third candidate 
 reached the door, which had not yet closed after her 
 rival. But it was my turn to try for favour first, and 
 while she reluctantly availed herself of my forsaken 
 chair, I was led away through the wide hall, down a 
 narrow corridor. My conductor tapped lightly at a 
 door. 
 
 "Come in," was murmured on the other side, and 
 *'Miss Burns" was duly announced. 
 
"WANTED IMMEDIATELY" 255 
 
 The room was so dark, with its half-drawn curtains 
 and lowered blinds, that, after the brighter light of the 
 region, I had left, for a moment or two I could make 
 out nothing save the outlines of a bowed and seated 
 figure. 
 
 "Pardon my not rising, Miss Burns," whispered an 
 odd voice, suggesting a defective palate or a mouth full 
 of pebbles. "I am a sad invalid, lame as well as 
 deprived of that greatest physical blessing, sight. Will 
 you draw a chair near me?" 
 
 I took one, which had evidently been placed in 
 position by the latest comer. The master of Arrish 
 Hall sat with his bent back to such light as filtered 
 through the curtains, while I faced it. I fancied that 
 his blindness must be oi the kind which renders light 
 painful to his nerves, though the sense of sight be 
 gone; for not only did he court darkness in the room, 
 but his eyes were covered with a large green shade, 
 beginning under the thatch of long, snow-streaked 
 dark hair, and so shadowing the features of the wearer 
 that nothing above the end of his nose was visible. 
 Below fell a heavy beard, that flowed over the breast 
 — black, tufted here and there with white, in startling 
 contrast. 
 
 In his hand he held a gold-headed cane, and he was 
 clad in a remarkable dressing-gown of silk, whose bar- 
 baric embroidery said "India" in hieroglyphics. On a 
 stool before him a bandaged foot was stretched stiffly 
 out. The owner of Arrish Hall appeared to be a man 
 greatly afflicted, for apparently his sufferings were com- 
 plicated by gout. 
 
256 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 I imparted the perhaps unnecessary information that 
 I had called in answer to his advertisement. As I 
 began to speak, he started and bent forward, as if 
 eagerly listening. 
 
 "Ah, that voice!" he exclaimed. "It is what I have 
 longed for. Miss — er — Burns, will you kindly take 
 up a book — any book — from the table, which I think 
 is near you, and read half a page aloud?" 
 
 I obeyed, and began reading at random from Mere- 
 dith's "Diana of the Crossways." 
 
 Presently I was gently bidden to cease. 
 
 "It is enough," said the master of Arrish Hall. 
 "You could have attempted no more difficult task in 
 reading aloud than from George Meredith, w^ho re- 
 veals his choicest meanings at first sight to but a 
 favoured f::". You are one of the few. Your voice 
 is a rare possession — a rich jewel. You sing, also — a 
 trained voice?" 
 
 "My mother trained it," I replied impulsively. "She 
 sang more beautifully than anyone I ever heard," I 
 added. 
 
 "You must sing for me — later. That is, if you are 
 willing to accept the position I am able to offer. The 
 housekeeper will show you the suite of rooms selected 
 for my secretary ; I hope they will be found convenient. 
 The salary I thought of naming is eighty pounds a 
 year, payable quarterly, the first quarter in advance. 
 You would be required to write and read for me dur- 
 ing the morning, perhaps also for an hour in the after- 
 noon. In the evening I should be glad of a few songs 
 after dinner — perhaps a little poetry. The rest of the 
 
''WANTED IMMEDIATELY" 257 
 
 time would be your own. Will you come to me, and 
 if so, how soon?" 
 
 Would I come to him? This was a very different 
 way of putting it from what I had expected. No ques- 
 tions asked, no references required. I ought to have 
 been delighted ; but — perhaps it was the cold twilight 
 and the musty smell of the big room, with its faded 
 furnishings, that had disheartened me — I felt vaguely 
 miserable. 
 
 I did not let my stupid depression interfere, how- 
 ever, with a speedy snapping-up of the luck which had 
 befallen me. Eighty pounds a year ! Why, with econ- 
 omy, I might easily send sixty to Sir George Seaforth 
 at the end of the first year, and so on, until he was 
 repaid for his "experiment," so costly to me as well 
 as to him. 
 
 I lost no time in announcing that I could come next 
 morning, or even that same night if necessary. Mr. 
 Raynor — it appeared that my employer's name was 
 Raynor — preferred the latter arrangement, and so it 
 was settled. 
 
 I stayed for a few moments longer, discussing details 
 of future occupation, learning that the new master of 
 Arrish Hall had spent most of his life in India, and 
 had come to Dorsetshire because his doctor had recom- 
 mended sea-air and complete quiet; then — veiling the 
 light of triumph on my face as I passed the waiting 
 candidate, for whom disappointment was in store — I 
 was shown out of the front-door. 
 
 The distance did not seem so long now, nor the 
 heat so great. I walked more briskly, planning ways 
 
2S8 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 and means to speed the sending of that cheque, to in- 
 crease its size by diligent economy. I was no happier 
 than 1 had been on the night that I fled from South- 
 wood Park; my wrongs rankled as deeply now as then, 
 but I had an incentive. I was buoyed by the hope 
 of administering punishment — a mean, unworthy hope, 
 perhaps; but it would scarcely have been natural if in 
 a week the desire to make the sinner suffer as he had 
 made me suffer should have been superseded by softer 
 feelings. 
 
 I had only passed the gates of The Pines by a few 
 yards when I was obliged to step out of the way of 
 an approaching brougham. A face looked out at me; 
 it was "plain Miss Smith's." 
 
 I uttered a slight exclamation of surprise, which was 
 echoed by one from her. She had recognized me, and, 
 what was more, she was calling me by name, not the 
 new name, with which I had hardly made myself fa- 
 miliar yet, but the old one — Consuelo Brand. 
 
 ''What are you doing here?" inquired the spinster, 
 when the brougham had been stopped and I had obeyed 
 her beckoning summons to the window. 
 
 "Then you didn't get my letter?" 
 
 I answered her question by another. 
 
 "Haven't had a letter from a human soul for a 
 fortnight. Gave orders not to have any forwarded. 
 I've been dissipating, my girl. Went on the Continent 
 for the first time In my life. To tell the truth, my 
 Idea was to see the eye-doctor in Wiesbaden that 
 everybody goes to. I had a scare about my sight, but 
 he laughed at me, and told me I wanted stronger 
 
"WANTED IMMEDIATELY" 259 
 
 spectacles, that was all. I made the mistake of for- 
 geting I was growing old. In my relief I was in- 
 clined to remain on the Continent for some time. I 
 did remain, and I think I shall occasionally repeat the 
 experiment. I wish you had been with me. Are yoa 
 and your Lady Sophonisba, or whatever her name is, 
 visiting in these parts, or are you free to come with 
 me to lunch?" 
 
 "Lady Sophie de Gretton and I have parted," I ex- 
 claimed, vividly blushing. "I'm lodging in a fisher- 
 man's cottage at present; in future I'm to be secretary 
 to a gentleman at Arrish Hall, but for the moment 
 I am free to go anywhere you are willing to take me." 
 
 "Then get in and tell the coachman to drive on," 
 directed Miss Smith. 
 
 By the time we had reached the house door at The 
 Pines I had, without taking her entirely into my con- 
 fidence, told my companion with what hopes I had 
 come, when I found myself in need of a friend, to 
 Dorsetshire. 
 
 "And you did quite right, too. It's my boast that 
 I'm a woman of my word," she had just responded as 
 the door was thrown open by the superior maid who 
 had pulverized my vanity during my former call. 
 
 Her face when she beheld me entering the house 
 in familiar converse with Miss Smith was a study. 
 She even looked somewhat alarmed; but I had not 
 told tales out of school, and she was safe from her 
 mistress so far as I was concerned. 
 
 On Miss Smith's desk, in a room ambitiously named 
 "the study," reposed my letter among others; and 
 
26o MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 when the spinster had greeted her monkey and a bevy 
 of other pets, she insisted on reading it as a sort of 
 preface to my explanations. 
 
 "Can't you get out of going to this man Raynor, and 
 come to me instead?" she asked abruptly. 
 
 "I'm afraid not," 1 said. "It wouldn't be very 
 honourable, would it? You see, it is my fault that 
 h^ lias told other people his arrangements are already 
 made, and if I went back upon the arrangement now 
 I might cause him a great deal of trouble, poor old 
 man! Though there isn't any written contract, and 
 though the w^hole aifair has been conducted on both 
 sides in a very unbusinesslike w^ay, I feel bound in 
 honour." 
 
 "I suppose you'll have to carry out your bargain, 
 then," sighed Miss Smith. "And you're right, no 
 doubt. Only it is rather trying that I should have 
 come home just too late. I told you in London that 
 I liked you, and I tell you so again in Dorsetshire. 
 It would please me very much to have your face where 
 I could look at it whenever I wanted to. I was on 
 the point of giving you an invitation to come here and 
 stop with me as long as you chose, that day at my 
 sister-in-law's, when in sailed Lady Sophonisba, and 
 snatched you away from under my nose. Now it's this 
 Raynor man — this goodness-knows-what — who has 
 taken that old ghost-trap, Arrish Hall. You're not 
 superstitious, evidently, my dear, or you wouldn't be 
 found dead living there — as an Irishman would 
 say." 
 
 "Not, I'm not superstitious," I returned. "Besides, 
 
^'WANTED IMMEDIATELY" 261 
 
 beggars mustn't be choosers ; though, of course, I should 
 have been much happier if I could have stopped for 
 a time with you." 
 
 "Well, I shouldn't have paid you eighty pounds a 
 year, my child. I consider the man is throwing money 
 away on you, though it's an ill wind that blows 
 nobody good; and I dare say you're pleased to 
 get it." 
 
 I admitted that I was pleased, though I did not 
 confess why I cared so much, so very much; and, 
 after all, I began to think that I had done well in 
 answering the advertisement. 
 
 "Run over and see me every day if you can, when 
 you are settled down at Arrish Hall," said Miss 
 Smith, when, after luncheon, I was ready to depart. "I 
 certainly can't go to you, or folks would be putting 
 it round that I was setting my cap at this old widower, 
 or bachelor, or whatever he is. Good-bye, and re- 
 member that if you don't like your place, there's an- 
 other one open to you." 
 
 Mrs. Nye, while expressing herself as sorry to lose 
 the "sweetest face she'd ever had inside her house," 
 congratulated me on my luck and helped me to pack. 
 My luggage did not necessitate the expense of a cab 
 — every shilling saved was to go towards the great 
 sum — ^but my good landlady would not permit that I 
 should carry it. Thomas Nye should see to that, and 
 glad he would be to do anything for Miss Burns. I 
 could just go in by myself, with my hands crossed, and 
 leave the rest to him. 
 
 There were tears in my eyes when I bade the kind 
 
262 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 woman good-bye at last, though three miles or so was 
 not a formidable distance; and I am not ashamed to 
 tell that I kissed her. 
 
 I did not start until after I had had my supper — with 
 an extra dish, and a few home-made cakes to put in 
 my bag, as a present from Mrs. Nye — for I did not 
 wish to arrive at Arrish Hall until after my employer 
 had dined. 
 
 My breakfast and luncheon were to be served to me 
 alone in my own sitting-room at my new home; but 
 dinner was to be eaten in state, with the companion- 
 ship of Mr. Raynor; and this ordeal had seemed too 
 much for the first night of residence. 
 
 The same servant I had seen in the morning let me 
 in again in the evening, when I had found my way up 
 through the shadows of the avenue to the old hall. 
 Mr. Raynor had hoped to greet me, I was informed, 
 but a severe attack of gout had driven him early to bed. 
 The housekeeper would show me my rooms — I had 
 not seen them earlier in the day, though Mr. Ray- 
 nor had seemed half to suggest that I should — and I 
 would not be needed until ten o'clock next morn- 
 ing. 
 
 For a few moments I was left alone, standing in the 
 large hall. A hanging lamp of quaint old fashion had 
 been lit, but the dim light it gave seemed only to ren- 
 der darkness more visible, to make the shadows crowd 
 nearer from the corners. The place looked as if it 
 had lain under a ban. 
 
 For the first time my thoughts dwelt upon the 
 vague references made by Mrs. Nye and Miss Smith 
 
"WANTED IMMEDIATELY" 263 
 
 to the stories told about the house. It was said to 
 be haunted, I knew, and to have stood tenantless for 
 years. I began to wonder, with a shght creepiness run- 
 ning down my back, what were the tales that had 
 kept Arrish Hall empty for so long„ 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE STORY THAT THE HOUSEKEEPER TOLD 
 
 So deeply was I engrossed in thought, that I be- 
 lieved myself to be still alone in the hall, when a 
 voice spoke suddenly close to my ear. 
 
 I turned, with a start, and a suppressed exclama- 
 tion, to see an elderly woman, whose slippered feet 
 had made no noise in their approach. 
 
 "Good-evening, miss," she remarked. "I am Mrs. 
 Walsh, Mr. Raynor's housekeeper, and I am asked to 
 show you your rooms." 
 
 She was staring at me, blinking and peering from 
 under remarkably full, wrinkled lids, that looked like 
 badly rolled-up blinds, over the dull windows of her 
 eyes. I did not like her face at all. The features 
 were prominent and slightly misshapen by a severe 
 attack of small-pox, which had left her skin deeply 
 pitted, faded to the colour of clay. 
 
 Its cadaverous effect was heightened by a dark red 
 front of false hair folded smoothly over the ears, under 
 a smart cap with lavender ribbons. She had keys in 
 her hands — they were knotted, deceitful-looking hands, 
 with incredibly long fingers. 
 
 No, I did not think that Mrs. Walsh and I were 
 likely to be friends. 
 
 264 
 
STORY THE HOUSEKEEPER TOLD 265 
 
 I said something, I hardly knew what, though I 
 tried to make it civil, and followed her out of the 
 hall, through the corridor I had seen in the morning, 
 past the door of the dreary ''library," where I had 
 talked with Mr. Raynor, and so upstairs. 
 
 At the top Mrs. Walsh lighted a candle among sev- 
 eral others in brass sticks on a table. We walked along 
 a narrow passage, which would have been dark save 
 for our candle and a light that came dimly from below. 
 At a door halfway down its length the housekeeper 
 paused. 
 
 "Your sitting-room, miss," she announced, with an 
 air of pride. 
 
 It was a very good room, as far as size and shape 
 were concerned, and it was evident that some pains 
 had been taken to make it habitable. I was grateful 
 for this, and glanced about with a certain interest. 
 
 "It is very kind of Mr. Raynor to give me such a 
 nice room," I said. "He seems to be a great sufferer. 
 Have you been with him long?" 
 
 "Oh, no, miss," exclaimed Mrs. Walsh, with an 
 air of surprise. "I never saw Mr. Raynor till a few 
 days ago. I was caretaker here. I'd lived in the 
 house ever since Sir Marmaduke Yorke, who owns the 
 Hall, took a distaste for the place, and went away, 
 leaving It shut up but for me and my son, who's gone 
 to America now. Mr. Raynor came down with a 
 gentleman, and was taken through all the rooms. They 
 were described to him, though he couldn't see. Then 
 he seems to have decided on renting the Hall at once, 
 for within a few hours I got word that he would move 
 
266 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 in the first hour of the week, and would keep mc on 
 as housekeeper, if I could cook. That was what I 
 was used to In old daj's. I don't say It Isn't a rise 
 for me to be In my present position, but I Intend to 
 give satisfaction to Mr. Ray nor if I can. 
 
 "I've been expecting a batch of his servants down 
 from town," continued Mrs. Walsh; "but the master 
 doesn't wish to have them sent for. It appears, until 
 the place has been got Into better shape. Thinks they 
 might find fault and be discontented, I suppose, though 
 what's been good enough for me all these years ought 
 to be good enough for them. And Mr. Jennings, Mr. 
 Raynor's own man, who has come with his master, to 
 make himself generally useful until the others arrive, 
 has not complained of the way he found things In the 
 house. If the rest are anything like him, we shall do 
 very well." 
 
 As she talked on, the woman settled her cap and 
 her collar, giving her neat black cashmere gown a pat 
 now and then, which expressed the pride of novelty. If 
 she was repulsive In her respectable, housekeeperly 
 dress, I wondered what she must have been when, free 
 from the obligation to live up to a new position, she 
 had merely been caretaker. 
 
 I rather wondered that Mr. Raynor had chosen to 
 keep Her on in so responsible a situation, putting her 
 over his own old servants, who were evidently await- 
 ing a summons to flit from a town-house; but I de- 
 cided that he must have parted with a London Incum- 
 bent, and been too kind-hearted to dismiss Mrs. Walsh 
 from an old home, where her knowledge of the place 
 
STORY THE HOUSEKEEPER TOLD 267 
 
 and neighbourhood might perhaps prove to be of more 
 or less use. 
 
 "See what a nice new wardrobe Mr. Raynor has 
 had put into your bedchamber for you, miss," the 
 housekeeper went on, pushing wide open a door, which 
 already stood ajar. 
 
 There was a faint light on the other side, and I 
 saw that the room into which she led me was lit with 
 gas. All the furniture was old, save the one article 
 to which my guide had referred, and while I appreci- 
 ated Mr. Raynor 's rather unusual consideration for a 
 paid secretary, my sense of humour, still alive, made 
 me smile at the disproportionate size of the huge ark 
 and my one small piece of luggage. 
 
 ''Lined with cedar, miss, to keep out the moths," 
 the housekeeper explained, revealing the inner recesses 
 of the wardrobe, one side of which was provided with 
 shelves, the other with hooks for hanging garments. 
 
 The fragrance of the cedar was agreeable, and I was 
 grateful for m.y employer's thought for my comfort, 
 though there was scarcely anything which, at present, 
 I needed less than such an article of furniture. 
 
 ''It only came in this morning early," continued 
 Mrs. Walsh, "with a few other things which the mas- 
 ter has had sent down from town — a bath-chair for 
 himself, and such like. He does seem a kind gentle- 
 man, as you say. I think you and me will have a very 
 good place here." 
 
 Her words put me on a level with herself, and I 
 experienced a faint sense of resentment, not prompted 
 by my vanity, for that was dead or dying, but by my 
 
268 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 feeling of dislike for the woman, with her stealthy step 
 and her peering eyes. I made no answer, and, after 
 aimlessly lingering for a moment or two, as if seeking 
 for an excuse to remain, she at last moved slowly 
 across the floor. 
 
 "I believe I understood you to say you had had your 
 supper, miss?" she inquired, her lean fingers on the 
 door handle. *'Ah, I thought so. Then, I suppose 
 you won't be requiring anything more till to-morrow 
 morning, when your breakfast shall be here in your 
 sitting-room at about half-past eight o'clock. As there's 
 only myself to wait on you, perhaps you'll excuse hot 
 water for your bath, which, as you see, has been put 
 ready overnight. But, of course, if you " 
 
 "Please don't trouble," I said. "I like my bath 
 cold." 
 
 "Thank you. I hope you'll sleep well." 
 
 She opened the door, but still made no move towards 
 going out. 
 
 "You're not timid, I hope?" 
 
 Evidently there was something more she wished to 
 say, though she did not quite see how to begin. 
 
 "I don't think I'm particularly timid," I answered 
 conservatively. 
 
 "It is a good thing you are not nervous," said Mrs. 
 Walsh. "But I suppose if you had been you wouldn't 
 have taken your situation here, for, of course, if you've 
 lived any time in the neighbourhood you must have 
 heard the stories?" 
 
 I ought, no doubt, to have answered with dignified 
 reserve that I neither had heard nor wished to hear 
 
STORY THE HOUSEKEEPER TOLD 269 
 
 the tales to which she referred. But the eerie, irritat- 
 ing fascination of an old house was beginning to grip 
 me. I did not desire to listen to the woman's gossip, 
 yet I could not let her go until I should know what 
 she knew. 
 
 "What are the stories?" I found myself questioning, 
 half against my will. 
 
 "There's many of them, for Arrish Hall is an old 
 house, and there's been plenty of time for queer things 
 to happen. In one room there's said to be a knocking 
 on the wall, always after midnight. People used to 
 hear it, and wonder, till finally Sir Marmaduke's 
 grandfather had the wall opened, and there was the 
 skeleton of a tall man, dressed as men dressed in the 
 days of Queen Elizabeth. Nobody could find out the 
 story of how he'd been put there, or why; but though 
 the bones were decently buried, and the wall built up 
 again, the knocking didn't stop. It's been heard even 
 of late years. 
 
 "But that wasn't the thing that drove Sir Marma- 
 duke aw^ay, and kept the house empty since. That 
 was a matter which took place not so very long ago, 
 and gave the Hall an ill name. An uncle of Sir Mar- 
 maduke''s, who lived here about fifteen or twenty 
 years ago, killed his younger brother, in a dispute over 
 a lady they were both in love with. It happened at 
 night, and next morning the murderer was found quite 
 mad, rubbing out the blood-stains with a curtain he'd 
 torn down. They only guessed how the quarrel had 
 begun by his ravings. He died, a maniac, a few 
 months after, and since then, every Friday night — the 
 
270 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 murder was on a Friday — there's that awful sound of 
 rubbing, rubbing, going on and on till the dawn comes. 
 
 "At least, Sir Marmaduke thought he heard it, and 
 so did one or two people who came to visit him; and 
 it drove him out of the house. Mr. Raynor's the first 
 tenant, though the place has been to let for eight years. 
 I can't say that I ever heard anything queer myself, 
 which is a pretty good test. But I thought you ought 
 to know, miss, in case there should ever be a noise in 
 the night — which I hope there won't be — that it isn't 
 burglars or anything to hurt you. I hope I've done 
 right, and that I'm not leaving you uncomfortable?" 
 
 ''Oh, no, not at all uncomfortable," I firmly an- 
 swered. 
 
 But as she bade me good-night, and closed the door, 
 I felt a humiliating impulse to run after her and call 
 her back. 
 
 I resisted the temptation ; but when I was left alone, 
 and the sound of Mrs. Walsh's soft footsteps had died 
 away along the uncarpeted passage, with its loose and 
 creaky boards, I hesitated with my hand on the key. 
 Should I lock the door, or should I not? 
 
 If I had not heard the housekeeper's gruesome gos- 
 sip, I should certainly have fastened myself into m.y 
 own domain. But I had absolutely not dared to in- 
 quire whether my rooms were the ones in which the 
 ghastly sound of rubbing had been heard by Sir Mar- 
 maduke Yorke and his guests; and it seemed to me 
 that, since they were the ones used by the late master 
 of Arrish Hall, he might have had particular reasons 
 for deserting them. 
 
STORY THE HOUMKEEPER TOLD 271 
 
 I had never thought myself a coward, and I did 
 not believe in supernatural appearances; yet never be- 
 fore had I been subjected to such a test as the present 
 one, and I did not feel inclined to shut myself away 
 with my doubts from all communication with the rest 
 of the household. 
 
 If Mrs. Walsh had unfolded her grim tales in morn- 
 ing sunlight, I should probably not have regarded them 
 seriously ; but it was a different thing to be left alone, 
 after dark, in rooms where a murder might have taken 
 place, for all I knew to the contrary. Of course, one 
 room was as good as another, no matter what awful 
 scene might have been enacted there years ago; of 
 course, too, there was no such thing as ''haunting;" I 
 should hear nothing, as the night went on, because 
 there would 'be nothing to hear, and I must not behave 
 like a foolish, frightened child — I, who had serious 
 troubles, and should have passed beyond such sickly 
 superstition. 
 
 These mental injunctions I repeated over and over, 
 with more or less encouraging results. Still, I did 
 not lock the door of my sitting-room, which led into 
 the passage; nor did I think that, later, I should lock 
 the door of the bedroom beyond. Though I had de- 
 cided that there would be nothing supernatural to hear, 
 should there be, I must certainly die a most dreadful 
 death of sheer terror if I had to stop and fumble with 
 keys and bolts before escaping into the passage to call 
 for help. 
 
 I disliked Mrs. Walsh, but I was not sorry to re- 
 member that she had mentioned occupying a room in 
 
2-;i MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 the same wing with me. She would be awful to look 
 upon in night attire without the red false front; but 
 she would be beautiful indeed compared to a ghostly 
 visitant. 
 
 Leaving the door at last merely latched, I busied 
 myself in putting away the few poor little possessions 
 which Mr. Thomas Nye had carried in my bag from 
 the cottage to the hall. Later I found a few novels 
 placed for my benefit, perhaps, on the shelves of a 
 glass-fronted bookcase in the sitting-room. I was in 
 no mood for light reading, but it was better to read 
 than to think, and I did read until verj^ late. 
 
 I am ashamed to say that the gas burned dimly 
 In my bedroom during all that night, and I was thank- 
 ful, through troubled wakings and snatches of fitful 
 slumber, that it was gas, and not a candle to flicker 
 out while darkness still curtained the world. 
 
 But morning stole under my window-blinds at 
 length, and there had been no sound in the rooms save 
 those of my own restless tossing and turning, no hor- 
 rors save those conjured up by my imagination. I 
 rose before eight, feeling weary and fagged, with a 
 wiry headache that picked at the nerves in my temples 
 like fingers at the strings of a banjo. After my bath 
 I grew more alive, however, and pride kept me from 
 complaining to Mrs. Walsh when she brought me a 
 boiled egg, with tea and toast. 
 
 Still less would I have dwelt upon my ^rif-made 
 tortures to Mr. Raynor, when I went to hmi at ten 
 o'clock. The post had lately arrived, it seemed, and 
 among several unimportant letters, which must be read 
 
STORY THE HOUSEKEEPER TOLD 273 
 
 aloud to my employer, there was one for me, from 
 Miss Smith. 
 
 "I have been making inquiries about your Mr. Ray- 
 nor," she brusquely began. ''Nobody knows anything 
 about him, though he must have had references which 
 satisfied Marmaduke Yorke's agent, or Arrish Hall 
 wouldn't have been let to him, even for the small sum 
 at which the owner is glad to be rid of it. But 
 this much is known; the man seemed in a tremendous 
 hurry to get a house in this particular neighbourhood, 
 and all arrangements were made in the course of a few 
 days. 
 
 "That, I think, is against him," the letter proceeded. 
 "Why couldn't he do things like other people? and, 
 above everything, why should he want to live at Arrish 
 Hall? The more I think of it, the less suitable does 
 it seem to me that a young girl should be allowed 
 to stop at such a gloomy place, in the employment of 
 a person who may be a coiner or — anything, for what 
 one knows. Make som? excuse and come away. I 
 wouldn't mention that I had a friend in the neighbour- 
 hood, if I were you, until I had decided on what steps 
 I meant to take, and arranged to take them; for this 
 Mr. Raynor m.ay try to keep you close if he has a sus- 
 picion that you are subject to outside influence. 
 
 "Say this letter calls you from Arrish Hall at once. 
 It isn't likely that, as Mr. Raynor is blind, the post- 
 mark will be noticed. There'll be a corner ready for 
 you here whenever you like to come, the sooner the 
 better. If to-day w^on't do, what do you say to to- 
 
274 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 ^' James, my servant, who gave. me my letters, men- 
 tioned that there was one for you," mildly observed 
 Mr. Raynor. " I trust there is no bad news?" 
 
 "Oh no, not exactly bad," I faltered. 
 
 "Something distressing, I fear, from your tone. 
 James noticed that the Lull postmark was on the let- 
 ter. I am glad that you have friends in the neighbour- 
 hood. It will make it pleasanter for you in the future. 
 I don't want to make you a recluse, Miss — er — 
 Burns." 
 
 I experienced a guilty pang. I did not mean to take 
 Miss Smith at her word; but I felt, somehow^, it must 
 be my fault that she had misjudged him. Even if it 
 had not been for the salary, I would not have left the 
 unfortunate invalid in the lurch, after all his kindly 
 consideration of me, no matter how mysteriously dis- 
 agreeable his house might be. 
 
 I was ashamed that I had intended to adopt the 
 advice received in my letter, keeping my friendship 
 with Miss Smith from Mr. Raynor; and I was half 
 glad, by way of self-punishment, that the small secret 
 had discovered itself. So far from wishing to shut me 
 up from outside influences, he was opening the door for 
 me unasked. 
 
 "I know Miss Smith, of The Pines, a mile from 
 here," I confessed, with belated frankness. "The let- 
 ter is from her. If you don't object, I should be glad 
 to walk over there this afternoon, when you are not 
 needing me. I'd only be away for an hour and a half 
 at most." 
 
 Perhaps I was mistaken, but it seemed to me that 
 
STORY THE HOUSEKEEPER TOLD 275 
 
 Mr. Raynor's face changed ever so slightly under the 
 green shade. 
 
 "Oh, of course, of course, if you desire it," he said. 
 ^'But listen to the rain beating against the window. It 
 will be a bad day, Mrs. Walsh prophesies. What 
 should I do if you took a cold, and lost your voice, 
 so that for days I was deprived of the pleasure of lis- 
 tening to it — the one pleasure which my wrecked life 
 can hold? I suppose you would not be willing to 
 write your friend a cordial little note, saying that, if 
 the weather permits, you will spend the day with her 
 to-morrow?" 
 
 "Certainly, I will write to-day instead of going," 
 I hastened to assure Mr. Raynor. "It does not matter 
 at all. To-morrow will do quite as well for a visit, 
 as Miss Smith doesn't expect me at any particular 
 time." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," Mr. Raynor ejaculated, 
 with such disproportionate display of gratitude that 
 again I felt quite guilty, as if I too had done the poor 
 old man an injustice. 
 
 I read aloud to him — letters, newspapers, a new 
 volume of travel by a famous man — until lunch-time. 
 Then I was free for an hour, before I should begin 
 a favourite poem of Browning's to continue until four 
 o'clock. I lunched in my sitting-room, and afterwards 
 scribbled a hurried note to Miss Smith, which Mr. 
 Raynor had already offered to let his man take by 
 hand to The Pines for me. 
 
 I drew her letter from my pocket, to use as a ref- 
 erence in writing to her, and noticed something which 
 
276 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 I had not seen In the hurry of opening It earlier In 
 the day. The' envelope had apparently been inade- 
 quately sealed, for the flap — which I had cut across 
 the top — had now almost entirely come off. 
 
 If Mr. Raynor had not been blind, and had taken 
 any special Interest In my Insignificant affairs, he might 
 easily have read the letter before I came down, with- 
 out my knowing anything about It. But he was blind, 
 and, besides, my correspondence could be of no pos- 
 sible Importance to my employer, or anyone else In his 
 odd household. I did not feel in the least appre- 
 hensive, when I came to think the matter over, lest the 
 letter had been tampered with. 
 
 And even If James's eye had slyly glanced over the 
 lines before mine had seen them, I could not see that 
 any real harm had been done. It was not my fault 
 that Miss Smith had cautioned me against the master 
 of Arrish Hall, and Invited m.e to abandon my en- 
 gagement In favour of a visit to her. 
 
 Mr. Raynor's prophecy regarding the weather 
 proved true. All day long the rain fell. When I 
 went down to begin a course of Browning, at about 
 three o'clock, a fire had been lighted in the room 
 where the blind man sat. Though we were in the 
 first days of August, the small blaze was welcome, 
 and gave a much-needed, if superficial, appearance of 
 cheerfulness to the dull, musty room. 
 
 I was invited to remain with Mr. Raynor for tea, 
 and accepted with concealed reluctance; but he made 
 the time pass agreeably enough with tales of India, 
 by which I should have been much entertained had I 
 
STORY THE HOUSEKEEPER TOLD 277 
 
 been in a state to care for anything outside my own 
 self-absorbing troubles; and he displayed a flattering 
 desire to draw from me particulars regarding my past 
 life and my Interests. 
 
 Again, we met at dinner, in a gloomy dining-room, 
 James waiting upon us, and Mr. Raynor kept me 
 for an hour or more at the piano afterwards. 
 
 At last, when he seemed willing to let me rest, I 
 rose. I was tired after last night's wakefulness, and 
 fancied hopefully that even the memory of Mrs. 
 Walsh's ghost-stories would not keep me from sleeping 
 now. 
 
 "If you don't care to hear any more singing, I think 
 I'll ask permission to go, Mr. Raynor," I said. 
 
 "Certainly; I trust I have not been too exacting. 
 But stop one moment before you leave me, Miss Burns. 
 I w^ant you to do me a little favour." 
 
 I waited In expectancy. Mr. Raynor's curious, 
 broken voice sounded almost eajier. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A GLASS OF GREEN CHARTREUSE 
 
 "The fire is out, I can tell by the chill in the 
 air," went on the blind man. "You are cold, I know, 
 and your voice sounds tired when you speak. To 
 please me, you will drink a glass of this green 
 chartreuse." 
 
 He put out his hand, and groped along the table 
 close to his arm-chair. The faithful James placed 
 within his master's reach a tray containing a delicate 
 little liqueur-flask and rv\'o small glasses, one amber- 
 coloured, the other red. I felt sure as I glanced at 
 these dainty things that they must have been among 
 the possessions brought down from London by Mr. 
 Raynor. 
 
 "Thank you, you are very kind, but I would rather 
 not have it," I objected hastily. "I have not been 
 used to wine or liqueurs of any kind, and they go to 
 my head. I am sure I shall be better without it." 
 
 "Let me prescribe for you," urged Mr. Raynor. 
 "This is an exceptional case. You cannot be too 
 careful of a voice like yours, and green chartreuse is 
 especially beneficial. I had it brought out on purpose. 
 As you are going to your room, it cannot matter if 
 it does 'go to your head,' as you say, but will only 
 278 
 
A GLASS OF GREEN CHARTREUSE 279 
 
 tend to make you sleep the more soundly — a sweet, 
 long sleep, without dreams." 
 
 "A sweet sleep, without dreams!" I echoed sadly. 
 "I should be glad of that. I do not like to dream 
 — lately. Still, I really don't think I need the liqueur, 
 and " 
 
 "If you wish me to sleep you will drink it," inter- 
 polated the blind man. "I feel you have done too 
 much for me. I have a sense of responsibility, and 
 I am anxious lest you should have caught a cold. I 
 may be fussy, but I can't help It, and you might be 
 kind, to set my mind at rest." 
 
 *'Oh, If I can do that so easily," I exclaimed, smil- 
 ing, "I will drink the liqueur with pleasure, and risk 
 the consequences." 
 
 "Thank you," he said, though thanks seemed due 
 entirely from the other side. 
 
 He poured the bright emerald liquid into the ruby 
 glass, with remarkable skill and precision for a blind 
 m.an, and extended it to me without spilling a drop, 
 then filled the amber glass for himself. 
 
 As he did so I noticed that the long white hand 
 trembled. I wished that his hand had been of a 
 different shape. It reminded me — only slightly, but 
 still too much — of another hand I had once seen, and 
 had some cause to remember. 
 
 "You will drink it all?" urged Mr. Raynor. "It Is 
 no use to prescribe, you know, unless the patient faith- 
 fully obeys orders." 
 
 *'I will do my best," I said, and sipped the liqueur, 
 which I had never tasted before. 
 
28o MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 It was sweet and strong, and rather nice, though 
 there was a faint suspicion of bitterness underneath 
 the syrupy sweetness. I would gladly have set the 
 little glass down half emptied, but it seemed a shame 
 to cheat the poor blind eyes that could not see whether 
 I kept faith or not, and so I loyally drained the liqueur 
 almost to the last drop. 
 
 "Good-night," said Mr. Raynor. "I wish you that 
 long, dreamless sleep which you desire." 
 
 I thanked him, and rang the bell for James, who 
 would help his master to bed. By the time I had 
 gone half-way upstairs I was already sleepy, and when 
 I had reached my own rooms the thought of bed 
 began to seem the most important thing in the world. 
 
 Before to-night, in the long days that had passed 
 since my banishment from fairyland, the moment I 
 had found myself alone, cruel memory had knocked 
 loudly at the door of my heart, refusing to be denied. 
 But now I thought of nothing, cared for nothing, save 
 rest. 
 
 I made myself ready for bed as quickly as I could, 
 half asleep as I undressed. I was not afraid of ghosts 
 that rapped to be let out of walls, or rubbed the 
 blood-stains from floors, to-night, and I locked the one 
 door in my bedroom, though more mechanically — be- 
 cause at other houses I had been accustomed to doing 
 so — than because I preferred the additional security. 
 
 The first night of my arrival I had found my win- 
 dow, which was a double one, tightly closed, excluding 
 all fresh air, and I had hastened to open both sashes. 
 To-night, though I had mentioned to Mrs. Walsh in 
 
A GLASS OF GREEN CHARTREUSE 281 
 
 the morning that I always slept with my window 
 open, it was closed again. 
 
 The atmosphere felt heavy and dead, though the 
 night was so chill for August; and, tired ae I was, at 
 the last moment, before putting out my gas, the de- 
 sirability of obtaining fresh air occurred to me. 
 
 I went to the window and tried to open it, but 
 the fastening would not yield, and at last I was 
 obliged to give up the attempt in despair. I could 
 hear the wail of wind and rain outside the closed panes, 
 and I consoled myself with the drowsy reflection that, 
 after all, perhaps things might be best as they were. 
 
 A moment more and I was in bed in the dark, for- 
 getful of the precaution I had taken the night before 
 against supernatural marauders. 
 
 "A long, sweet, dreamless sleep!" I repeated to my- 
 self, as I closed my eyes. *'That is what one might 
 say of death." 
 
 It was my last waking thought, for I had hardly 
 drawn breath before I was fathoms deep in slumber. 
 ******* 
 
 How long I had slept I do not know, but I was 
 wrenched awake with a feeling as if my nerves had 
 been torn and left quivering, bleeding. 
 
 It was a sensation poignant as the parting of soul 
 and body while it lasted. My brain seemed to be 
 whirling on a merry-go-round ; I could feel the wheels, 
 and see them. 
 
 For a moment I lay still, panting, and I do not 
 think that I even knew who I was; I was conscious 
 only of the thing called "I," which felt bruised and 
 
282 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 battered. So the whirligig went on ; then, as it slowed, 
 I began to remember that I was Consuelo Brand. I 
 had run away from home — no, not from home, but 
 from happiness. I was at an old house in Dorset- 
 shire — somebody's secretary. Whose? Oh, a blind 
 man's! His name was Raynes, or Raynor, or some- 
 thing like that. I was very miserable — the most mis- 
 erable girl in all the world ! Oh, why hadn't I stayed 
 asleep and forgotten it for awhile? 
 
 Yes, why hadn't I stayed asleep? What had waked 
 me? That something had — something outside myself 
 — I grew more and more sure as I came slowly, pain- 
 fully, to myself. My brain had never felt this before, 
 except once. I remembered that time well, for the 
 same physical sensations brought it vividly back. 
 
 It was after my dear mother's sudden death. The 
 shock had been almost too much for me, child as I 
 was; and, besides, I had been feeling ill in the train, 
 while I thought she Oinly slept — before I knew that 
 she would never open her eyes on earth again. I 
 had been almost mad with grief at the loss of her — 
 my only one — and for several nights I had not been 
 able to sleep, not even to lose the consciousness of 
 grief for a single moment. 
 
 Then the doctor had given me a preparation of lau- 
 danum. At first I had fallen dead asleep, but some 
 sound in the street had waked me, and I had gone 
 wellnigh out of my mind. 
 
 Instead of dozing once more, the drug had worked 
 like madness in my brain. I was wide, staring awake, 
 with a horrible, unnatural wakefulness, that had ap- 
 
A GLASS OF GREEN CHARTREUSE 283 
 
 peared to double the keenness of every sensation until 
 it became an agony. I must never take laudanum 
 again, the doctor had pronounced, when he had been 
 called in, for it was evident that it affected me 
 strangely, exciting instead of calming my nerves, after 
 I had slept off the first heaviness in a few moments 
 of stupor. 
 
 The case had struck him as being rather remarkable, 
 and he had told me, in the hope of turning my atten- 
 tion for a little from the one subject on which I 
 brooded, that he had written it down, and was send- 
 ing the account to a medical magazine, where I might 
 see it if it would interest me. 
 
 Now history repeated itself in my throbbing brain. 
 As I had felt on that night, more than five years ago, 
 I felt to-night. 
 
 Oh, how horrible even^thing seemed in the darkness 
 that almost choked me! All I had suffered during 
 the past week came over me in waves; I was over- 
 whelmed with the crushing weight of my own agony. 
 The great love I had felt for George Seaforth, and 
 the bitterness which had taken its place, were like two 
 spirits that had brooded above me, reminding me in 
 whispered accents of my intolerable loss — the hopeless- 
 ness of all my future. 
 
 "It won't be like this when morning comes," I tried 
 to think. "Things are always more terrible in the 
 dead of night. You must bear it now, and " 
 
 The last words w^ere choked back. There was a 
 sound of something moving in the room. I knew now 
 what had waked me. It had been such a sound as 
 
284 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 this — stealthy, slow, soft, yet unmistakable — a sound 
 of rubbing. 
 
 My heart stood still — not figuratively, for I believe 
 that for a long, long second it did stop beating. 
 
 The Thing had come. It was in the room with me. 
 But to save my life, to save my very soul, I could not 
 have moved, or uttered the faintest moan. 
 
 I heard the Thing — a hand rubbing, rubbing along a 
 surface that was smooth ; I heard my heart w^hen, with 
 a great bound, it began to beat again — thump, thump 
 — like a hammer against my side. 
 
 "It will kill me," I said to myself. "I shall die 
 hearing it, though it doesn't come any nearer. My 
 heart will stop again, and that will be — the end." 
 
 A little while ago I had believed that I wanted to 
 die; that death would be sweet, since youth and the 
 joy of life were over for me. But I did not wish 
 to die now — not like this. Oh, Heaven, not like this! 
 
 All my being concentrated in the act of listening; 
 I became an Ear. The sound which I had first heard 
 continued. It was like a hand rubbing up and down 
 on a surface of wood. After a moment it ceased, and 
 the stealthy noise of a cautiously-opening door fol- 
 lowed. I had a sensation of prickling at the roots of 
 my hair. 
 
 To-night my bedroom door was locked, and the key 
 had been left in. I remembered that, and I had a 
 dim impression that I had sleepily shot the bolt as 
 well. The door might be broken, but no human being 
 could in any other way open it from the other side. 
 
 Yet there was no other door, save only that of the 
 
A GLASS OF GREEN CHARTREUSE 285 
 
 cedar-lined wardrobe, and it was certain that nobody 
 had been concealed there, for I had happened to hang 
 up my gown on one of the hooks before I went to 
 bed. 
 
 Where did the noise come from ? I lost all sense of 
 direction, and tried in vain to remember in the dark- 
 ness how the bed stood in connection with the other 
 furniture of the room. My recollections of the place 
 had turned to chaos, and all the while I could hear 
 a soft sound of breathing. 
 
 Then, suddenly a board in the old floor creaked 
 under a footstep. My heart leaped until the bound- 
 ing blood in my veins well-night choked me ; but it was 
 intensest relief I felt, not added fear. Surely a ma- 
 terial board would not groan under the light, imma- 
 terial weight of a spirit foot. 
 
 The presence in my room must be human, like 
 myself. How it had come there I could not guess, 
 but the conviction held ; and as my horror of the super- 
 natural faded, my mind w^orked quickly. I thought 
 of the housekeeper, with her false hair and blinking 
 eyes. Perhaps she had only told me the ghostly stories 
 to prepare the way for this episode. She had some 
 sly reason for wishing to enter my room in the night, 
 and she hoped, if by chance I lay awake, to be taken 
 for a ghost. I hoped desperately that the breathing, 
 the footsteps, meant only Mrs. Walsh, for I was not 
 afraid of her. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 A FLASH OF LIGHT ON A WHITE HAND 
 
 After the board creaked all was still for a long 
 moment. Somebody was waiting, listening to find out 
 if the noise had roused the sleeper. 
 
 My dry lips half formed the words, "Who is 
 there?" but though a faint flush of returning life and 
 courage warmed my veins, I was still almost power- 
 less, after the shock I had received. Besides, I felt 
 dimly that silence was safer; and perhaps even if I 
 could have uttered the words I should have refrained. 
 
 My suspense was soon broken. Out of the darkness 
 a ray of light was born — a slim, straight, yellow ray 
 that grew as it travelled, while at the same time a 
 just perceptible odour of hot metal and burning oil 
 reached my nostrils. 
 
 I had never seen a dark lantern, but instinct told 
 me that I watched the working of some such thing 
 now. And ghosts did not carry dark lanterns. 
 
 The light was moving toward the bed. A second 
 or two more and it would find my face. Those eyes 
 which I could not see, would fain know whether mine 
 were open, staring through the darkness. When they 
 saw that I was awake — what then? 
 
 What if it were not the housekeeper paying a visit 
 286 
 
A FLASH OF LIGHT ON A HAND 287 
 
 of curiosity, but a thief, who would stab me rather 
 than I should have the chance of raising an alarm ? 
 
 By a strong effort I closed my lids. I shall never 
 forget how long they were in meeting, how stiff they 
 felt. 
 
 The light had caught my face now. It filtered be- 
 neath my lowered lashes, and I felt that, despite my 
 determination to lie passive, they flickered nervously. 
 
 My sensitive hearing could detect a faint rustling 
 as the bed-covering rose and fell over my wildly-beat- 
 ing heart. 
 
 I strove to make my breathing regular and natural 
 as that of a peaceful sleeper, but it whistled in my 
 own ears, and it seemed that I could not possibly de- 
 ceive other ears, sharpened by suspicion, as mine by 
 fear. 
 
 But, after remaining stationary for a time that ap- 
 peared interminable to me, the light moved away, the 
 soft pad, pad of slippered feet began once more. As- 
 sured that I slept, perhaps their ow^ner was not quite 
 as cautious as before. 
 
 Stiflfly again, I opened my eyes, with something like 
 the mechanical jerk of a French doll's. Oddly, I 
 thought of the simile, even in that moment of sus- 
 pense and fear. 
 
 The darkness was not as intense as it had been, 
 for the lantern had not closed, but was still moving 
 like a will-o'the-wisp in a marsh at night. It had 
 gone further away from the bed now, and while I 
 lay waiting for the thing that should happen next, 
 a hand came under the yellow ray — a long, pale hand 
 
c88 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 opening the drawer of my dressing-table. My heart 
 grew sick, for it was the hand of my blind employer, 
 Mr. Raynor. If he had been really blind, he would 
 not have needed a lantern to light him on his secret 
 expedition. It had been a lie, then — a monstrous fraud 
 from beginning to end — built up with deadly purpose. 
 Mr. Raynor was not blind! Even at this instant. I 
 knew that his eyes were helping his hands in a search 
 for something of mine that he wished to see. Either 
 the man was mad, and had advertised for a secretary 
 because of some morbid motive which I could not 
 fathom, or else 
 
 The thought of that something else chilled the blood 
 that rushed so wildly through my veins. 
 
 "A long, sweet, dreamless sleep!" I could hear Mr. 
 Raynor's strangely-muffled voice murmuring the wish 
 as he pressed me to drink the green chartreuse. It 
 was easy to find an inner meaning in that wish now 
 ■ — easy to see why he had urged me to drink the liqueur, 
 refusing to accept a denial. No wonder I had waked 
 with the same horrible sensations which had racked my 
 brain after taking that dose of laudanum years ago. A 
 few drops of the drug at the bottom of the ruby- 
 coloured glass had given the curious bitter "undertone" 
 I had detected, unsuspiciously attributing it to some 
 disagreeable quality in an unfamiliar drink. 
 
 With most people the small dose would have in- 
 duced a sound sleep, not to be broken by ordinary 
 noises; and the man who had administered it could 
 not possibly have guessed that I should be a somewhat 
 remarkable exception to the rule. Had he meant to 
 
A FLASH OF LIGHT ON A HAND 289 
 
 kill me, I wondered, or would he have been satisfied 
 to have me to sleep while he explored my room for the 
 thing which he had gone to such lengths in his desire 
 to obtain? I could not answer this question, but I 
 was sure that, if my employer at Arris Hall were the 
 person I began to take him for, he would not hesitate 
 to remove any obstacle which threatened his success. 
 
 He, who had so far carried out his plans with such 
 skill, would be clever enough to account for my death, 
 if it were necessary that I should die, without drawing 
 suspicion upon himself. Mr. Raynor, a helpless blind 
 man, w^ould not easily be suspected of a crime, com- 
 mitted seemingly without a motive. It would be 
 shown that I had killed myself; a letter would be 
 found, perhaps, with a confession. I could almost see 
 that letter as my mind projected itself into the future 
 — a future in which I as a living, breathing, human 
 being might have no part. 
 
 As my thoughts travelled, the light moved slowly, 
 purposefully about the room. By the stealthy sounds 
 I heard, I judged that every drawer had been opened 
 and thoroughly searched. My clothing, folded on a 
 chair, was examined ; I could guess why now. The man 
 hoped to find certain papers, which I might have sewn 
 Into one of my garments. Once I opened my eyes 
 far enough to see that the pocket of my black dress, 
 taken from the cedar wardrobe where I had hung it 
 up, was being turned wrong side out. 
 
 I shuddered with horror as instinct told me that 
 presently Mr. Raynor — who was Mr. Wynnstay as 
 well — would come creeping cautiously to the bed, and 
 
290 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 feel for what he wanted under the pillow. He would 
 look elsewhere first, it was probable, for there would 
 be the risk of arousing me, which he would doubtless be 
 glad to avoid; but in the end he would come. When 
 that happened, I could no longer trust myself to 
 simulate sleep. He must discover that I was awake, 
 that I had been watching him, and then — I dared not 
 think what he would be likely to do then. 
 
 I waited for the dreaded moment to come. I ex- 
 perienced a strange clarity of mental vision, looking 
 back into the past. I was sure now, when it was 
 too late to escape the consequences of credulity — more 
 sure than I had been when I met those eyes that did 
 not match, in the convex mirror — that I had not seen 
 Mr. Wynnstay for the first time at Holland Park 
 Mansions. He had been the kind old clergyman in 
 the train long ago, who lent papers to my mother and 
 me. 
 
 He had been as skilful, as calculating of future con- 
 sequences, then as he had shown himself of late. I 
 believed now that he had somehow been an active 
 agent in my mother's death. Perhaps he had not meant 
 to do murder, but he had determined to obtain any 
 papers which she might have with her, and probably 
 had obtained the letter which had excited her before 
 starting on our journey that morning, as certainly it 
 had disappeared. How he had contrived to administer 
 any drug or poison, I could not tell, but I believed 
 that he had done so, and my mother, who suffered from 
 heart disease, had readily fallen a victim to it. 
 
 That night at Holland Park Mansions, when I had 
 
A FLASH OF LIGHT ON A HAND 291 
 
 walked into his net, he had made another attempt 
 to possess himself of the papers which he fancied I 
 might carry about my person. Or, perhaps, failing 
 that, he would have put me out of the way of those 
 he served. I should never be sure what had been in 
 his mind that night ; but soon I should know what was 
 liis ultimate purpose now. For since then I had sealed 
 my own fate, and he had gone too far to let himself 
 fail at last. 
 
 The light that guided me to these deductions showed 
 me that I owed my present position to the deception 
 I had practised upon Diana Dunbar at Southwood 
 Park. I had told her then that I had found the secret 
 drawer of the Chippendale escritoire, and that hence- 
 forth the papers I had discovered there should never 
 leave me. 
 
 I guessed now that Mr. Wynnstay had been with 
 her that night, waiting in the carriage which had 
 brought her to Southwood, no doubt. She had given 
 him a rapid account of all that passed between 
 us, adding that, if I discovered her version of the 
 Seaforth story to be true, I would leave Sir George's 
 house — according to my own threat — without 
 delay. 
 
 She, possibly, had gone back to the house where she 
 and Lady Dunbar had been staying, while the man 
 had deemed it worth his while to wait upon my move- 
 ments. 
 
 No small, lurking creature of the night had made the 
 rustling I had heard in the shrubbery when I had 
 stolen out of the house an hour later. My enemy 
 
292 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 had been watching, taking it for granted that I would 
 keep my word ; and he had not been disappointed. 
 
 Others had failed, or had not cared, to find me. 
 But he had not failed; while I fancied myself safe 
 from pursuit, sadly congratulating m3'self on skilfully 
 covering my tracks, he had followed. He had known 
 from the first where I had gone, and had laid his plans 
 accordingly. 
 
 Once assured that I was in the neighbourhood of 
 The Pines, waiting for Miss Smith's return, he would 
 have had time to look for a house not too far away, 
 and take it. Mr. Raynor's haste to secure Arrlsh Hall 
 and move In was fully explained now. 
 
 Mr. Raynor had chosen to be blind because a green 
 shade of goodly dimensions, like charity, covered a 
 multitude of sins and obscured his features. Mr. Ray- 
 nor sat always in twilight, to render assurance doubly 
 sure, unwilling to test his grizzled disguise too severely. 
 He had shown himself clever at disguise a few years 
 ago, but would not trust his luck too much. 
 
 Mr. Raynor had talked with a muffled voice lest I 
 should remem.ber Mr. Wynnstay's accents; and Mr, 
 Raynor's hands had been pallid because those of Mr. 
 Wynnstay, whose shape could not be changed, had been 
 of a more natural, healthy tint. 
 
 How I had walked Into the trap of the advertise- 
 ment, meant solely to attract me, though I had mod- 
 estly feared to lose the chance In favour of someone 
 worthier! I wondered at my own stupidity, telling 
 myself fiercely that It was I who had been blind, not 
 my employer; but then I reflected that the plot had 
 
A FLASH OF LIGHT ON A HAND 293 
 
 been clever enough to deceive one more v^^orldly-wlse 
 than L 
 
 There had been every reason w^hy I should believe 
 the new master of Arrish Hall genuine, none why I 
 should self-consciously attribute his presence in Dor- 
 setshire, his advertisement, his preference for my voice 
 above other applicants', to a deep-laid scheme against 
 my liberty, perhaps my life. 
 
 One small flash of insight Into the past and Its 
 connection with the present led up to another, and 
 at the end of five minutes — it could scarcely have been 
 more — I felt that I held all but a complete chain In 
 my hands, joined by a series of links, only one missing 
 here and there. 
 
 I could almost have wished that the chain had not 
 been so complete, for it was dreadful to lie there, 
 piecing It together, link by link, realizing more and 
 more how slowly, yet relentlessly, the enemy's hand 
 had closed upon me, until I was completely In his 
 power. He could do with me as he liked. No one 
 would ever know the truth. 
 
 Now he was standing nearer, still cautiously, lest I 
 should wake, the slippered feet treading as softly as 
 those of a cat. The moment I had feared was 
 coming. 
 
 I tried to brace myself, to control the sudden trem- 
 bling that shook me from head to foot. But It was 
 useless. As soon as the man bent over me, he would 
 know that I was awake. 
 
 He had approached within a yard of the bed, when 
 I felt the light of the lantern he held creeping over 
 
994 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 my body, up towards my face. Instantly I closed my 
 eyes, which had been half open. 
 
 The light reached them, then — very suddenly — dis- 
 appeared. I could not resist peeping again, and to 
 my astonishment I saw that, instead of coming closer 
 to the bed, the yellow ray which told of the presence 
 was moving tow^ards the door which led into the ad- 
 joining sitting-room. Another second or tw^o, and I 
 heard the key softly turning in the lock. Mr. Wynn- 
 stay-Raynor had changed his mind, and was going to 
 search there before running the final risk of waking 
 me up. 
 
 I remembered now^ that I had left my small travel- 
 ling-bag in the next room; maybe he had looked for 
 it, and, not finding it in the bedroom, wished to make 
 sure that the papers he wanted were not hidden away 
 in some inner compartment of the bag. 
 
 Now, if ever, I was to have my one chance of escape. 
 I thought of the window^ and despairingly recalled the 
 fact that it had been fastened too tightly for me to 
 move the sash, when I had tried. There was no hope 
 there. Yet, somehow, this man had stolen into my 
 room, though the one door had been locked until he 
 unlocked it an instant ago. If I could find the way 
 out before he returned disappointed from his quest in 
 the sitting-room, I might go as he had come. 
 
 Without waiting to think the matter over, I sprang 
 from the bed, and groped along the wall, in the dark- 
 ness. Suddenly and unexpectedly — for its position was 
 changed — my hand touched the great cedar-lined 
 w^ardrobe. It no longer stood close against the wall, 
 
A FLASH OF LIGHT ON A HAND 295 
 
 but had been pushed, at one corner, a foot or two 
 farther out than before. 
 
 In the fraction of a second I had fathomed the 
 mystery of the man's intrusion. The enormous piece 
 of furniture had been imported to my room for the 
 express purpose of concealing a door behind it. 
 Through that door Mr. Wynnstay had come; through 
 that door I might hope even now to escape. 
 
 I forced my body into the aperture between the 
 wardrobe and the wall. Yes, there was the door, and 
 it was open. What lay beyond I did not know, for 
 all was darkness on the other side; but I 
 did not pause for that. I slipped through and shut 
 the door. My fingers felt for a key in the lock, and 
 turned it, though they trembled. 
 
 As I drew back my hand and stood hesitating in the 
 dark, not knowing which way to turn, I heard the 
 creaking of a board. It was on the other side of the 
 door I had just closed, in the room I had left. Mr. 
 Wynnstay had returned to the bedroom, and by this 
 time he knew that I was gone — ^how I had gone ! 
 
 My only hope now lay in eluding him before he 
 could rush out the other way, through my sitting-room, 
 and head me off in this mj^sterious region, which he 
 doubtless knew well, I not at all. 
 
 Stifling a cry that rose to my lips, I ran forward, 
 with my hands outstretched, lest I should blunder 
 against some object in my path. But the place seemed 
 empty, for I touched nothing, and at last, more by 
 luck than skill, I reached a door. To my joy, it opened, 
 «fld I came out into a room sparsely furnished, and 
 
296 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 faintly lighted by a jet of gas. There was a bed 
 which had not been slept in ; under the shaded gas- 
 jet, a table, where lay a mass of streaked, black-and- 
 white hair, and the green shade which blind Mr. Ray- 
 nor had worn over his eyes. These things I saw in 
 one flashing glance, almost unconsciously, for I thought 
 only of escape. 
 
 I had no means of knowing where the next door 
 might lead me, in this intricate old house; only too 
 likely that I might stumble upon the enemy lying in 
 wait to spring upon me at the moment when I hoped 
 for safety. But I darted through a door opposite the 
 one by which I had come in, and just outside struck 
 against a table. 
 
 Something fell from it as I rushed past. Involun- 
 tarily my hand went out to save it and prevent a 
 crash. I touched and grasped a candle-stick, which 
 must have stood upon the table by the door. A candle 
 had fallen half out, but I thrust it back into place, 
 and, groping, found the box of matches which had 
 lain beside it. Here, at last, w^as one piece of good 
 fortune ! 
 
 I struck a match, w^hich flickered and went out. 
 Another, which flared up as I held it to the charred 
 wick of the candle. As an answering flame sputtered 
 and rose into a pale star of light, the darkness of the 
 distance was suddenly broken. 
 
 With a great start I looked up. At the end of 
 a long passage I saw^ a man's figure in a long dressing- 
 gown, and a lantern, wide open now, throwing a strong 
 light ahead. 
 
A FLASH OF LIGHT ON A HAND 297 
 
 For a moment I stood staring, fascinated, powerless 
 to move. With great springing strides, noiseless as a 
 panther's, save when a loose board creaked under the 
 slippered feet, he came hurrying, and it was only when 
 he was close upon me that I shook myself free from 
 the stupor. With a loud scream, I flung the heavy 
 candlestick full into his face, and, turning, ran from 
 him down the passage. 
 
 I heard the candlestick crash on the bare floor; 
 I heard him stumble ; and I heard the curse he ut- 
 tered. 
 
 But In an Instant I knew that he was coming after 
 me. Still I ran, going I knew not where, hurrying 
 hither and thither in the dark, like a leaf blown 
 by the storm; and always my own wild shrieks rang 
 in my ears as If they had been uttered by someone 
 else. 
 
 Before I guessed that I had reached them I was 
 on the stairs. I had been going too fast to save myself, 
 and, though I caught by instinct at the balusters, I 
 pitched down, head foremost. 
 
 There was a noise below, which went on and on 
 as I fell, and seemed to be a part of the fall, as 
 were the stars that rained In a cataract before my 
 eyes while my head struck, again and again; yet I 
 knew that It was really not part of it, but separate 
 — quite separate, and far away. 
 
 "Thank God Fm to die like this, not by his hands!" 
 I thought, in the confusion of my senses. 
 
 And then, with a great thud, all the stars went out. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 AFTERWARDS 
 
 "Well, and how is she now?" asked a brisk voice. 
 
 "Quieter since midnight — much quieter," answered 
 another. 
 
 "And he — is he resting?" 
 
 "I persuaded him to go away, about half an hour 
 ago, for a nap. He's a wreck, poor fellow! but so 
 happy to see her better. It's quite pitiful. If she lives, 
 it will be he who saved her — after you, of course, 
 doctor." 
 
 "Not after me, Miss Smith. He has done every- 
 thing, I very little." 
 
 Somebody lay listening to the words. I wondered 
 dimly v>^ho the somebody was that seemed to hear with 
 my ears. I wondered, too, whose life had been saved, 
 and who had saved it, and who these people were 
 that talked about it. The first voice was a man's, 
 the other a woman's. Someone had called someone 
 else "Miss Smith." 
 
 I had known a Miss Smith in another world, long, 
 long ago, before I had come to live in a place where 
 everybody's head always ached, and noises roared in 
 their ears, and red and black clouds stitched with glit- 
 tering streaks of light hung before their eyes. 
 298 
 
AFTERWARDS 299 
 
 I wanted to remember something about the old times 
 when I had known Miss Smith, for it appeared vaguely 
 that many important matters were connected with that 
 name. But trying to remember hurt my head, and 
 wheels began whirring round in my brain, though 
 the red and black clouds were gone. 
 
 Because it hurt to remember, tears gathered thickly 
 in my eyes — or somebody's eyes that were not exactly 
 mine, but might have been once — and as they fell they 
 were burning hot. Suddenly I knew that they had 
 turned to molten iron, and were scarring my cheeks 
 as they ran down, making great furrows in the flesh. 
 
 There was only one person in the world who could 
 stop them from falling, for he could do anything. The 
 person had no name, but his hands were strong as steel ; 
 I could not rest for a moment without him. Why 
 didn't he come? How cruel of him to leave me alone 
 to sufEer like this, when he knew very well that he 
 was the only one in this new, horrible world who 
 could help me! 
 
 ''Where is he? where is he?" somebody was moan- 
 ing. "Oh, I shall die if he doesn't come now — now 
 — now ! 
 
 Somebody's voice sounded oddly weak and broken. 
 It was pitiful; it made me cry a great deal more. 
 
 "Oh, why doesn't he come?" 
 
 "Here I am, my own," said a voice, that made the 
 hot iron stop falling over my face, as if it had been 
 checked by magic. "Here I am; I won't leave you 
 again." 
 
 I put out my arms, and dimly I could see that 
 
300 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 they were thin h'ttle things, which waved feebly, quite 
 different from what they had been when I lived in 
 the world. Other arms, that were firm and strong, 
 slipped under my shoulders, and I nestled against 
 something better than the pillow, far more restful, 
 though I could not understand why, because it kept 
 beating, beating, just like a bird which struggled to 
 escape from a hand that held it. 
 
 As I lay I could look up at a haggard face. It 
 was brownish-white, with hollows in its cheeks, and 
 bluish marks under its eyes, that were sunken into 
 hollows. Its chin was all dark and rough with a 
 short stubbly beard, which had a dent, or a dimple, 
 or something in the middle, like a blacker shadow than 
 the rest; and suddenly this struck me as very funny. 
 I laughed, and laughed, foolishly. 
 
 "How queer you look!" I babbled. "What a face! 
 You're a fright — a fright! Did you know that? But 
 I like you. Who are you? I keep wondering, and it 
 makes my head ache so." 
 
 "Only somebody who loves you dearly, darling," 
 said the voice that belonged to the haggard face. It 
 was a very kind, soothing voice, though it shook a little. 
 
 "I don't see what's to become of you, if this is to 
 go on," another thinner voice whispered, almost fret- 
 fully. "You haven't had six hours' sleep in a fortnight. 
 It's more than human nature can stand. Just as 
 she's getting a little better, you'll break down, and 
 then " 
 
 "No, I shan't break down," said the face's voice. 
 "Don't you know it's life for me to think that she 
 
AFTERWARDS 301 
 
 needs me, that she calls for me when I leave her side? 
 I couldn't break down while she wants me." 
 
 "I want you, I want to know who you are," the 
 voice which was partly mine repeated. 
 
 One day I waked up and looked all round a cool, 
 pleasant room in a strange house. I was in bed, 
 and my hands were very little and white. A woman 
 in a gray dress like a nurse's uniform sat by me and 
 waved a fan. 
 
 Somebody had walked away as I opened my eyes, 
 but I did not feel enough curiosity to turn and see 
 who it was. I was hungry, and demanded things ta 
 eat. 
 
 The gray woman gave me soup, which was rather 
 nice; and when I asked questions afterwards, she said 
 that I had been very ill, but was fast getting better 
 now ; I was at a friend's house, and there was nothing 
 to worry about. If I were good, I should know every- 
 thing I wanted to know in a day or two. 
 
 So I was good; and often I had soup and other 
 things. But I could not be certain how long it was 
 before a nice ugly old lady came and smiled at me 
 over the nurse's shoulder. I knew her at once, and 
 said so. 
 
 **Why, you're plain Miss Smith!" I exclaimed, and 
 wondered why she laughed. 
 
 I was at her house, it seemed, and I was glad, 
 though I was rather angry with her because she would 
 not let me try to remember how I came there. 
 
 Presently, w^hen I was stronger and had begun to 
 
302 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 sit up, Anne Bryden came, and often she sat with 
 me for a long time quite alone when the nurse was 
 walking or resting, for I did not need much watch- 
 ing now. Once, when she thought I had been asleep, 
 I was really thinking. 
 
 "Why did you write me a cold letter, Anne?" I 
 asked; "I can't remember what it was about now, but 
 it made me feel so sad and lonely the day I had it." 
 
 To my surprise, she burst out crying. ''Oh, I've 
 been punished enough for what I did!" she sobbed. 
 "Can you ever forgive me? it's all my fault!" 
 
 But at this moment the nurse came in and scolded 
 Anne in a low voice, telling her she must have more 
 self-control. Anne was not left alone with me after 
 that. 
 
 It seemed, when I first began to try, that I should 
 have to learn how to walk all over again, and my 
 hair had been cut ofi short. I felt it with my fingers, 
 and it covered my head in short rings not much longer 
 than a baby's. It had been still shorter, but it had 
 begun to grow ver>^ fast, the nurse told me, and she 
 did not think it was coming out any darker; with 
 vvhich information she seemed to consider I should 
 be very pleased. 
 
 Miss Smith gave me a pink silk dressing-gown 
 trimmed with lace. I must try to get some colour to 
 match it in my cheeks, she said. The second day 
 that I wore it I was looking at some flowers which 
 had just been sent in (there were flowers every day, 
 quantities of them, "and such beauties, all out of 
 season!" I had heard the nurse exclaim), when Miss 
 
AFTERWARDS 3^3 
 
 Smith appeared to ask If I were well enough to see 
 an old friend. Lady Sophie de Gretton had come to 
 call on me because she could not wait any longer, and 
 she had been staying at a hotel near by for a week, 
 hoping to be given this opportunity, 
 
 A shudder ran through me from head to foot, and 
 the floodgates of memory were suddenly burst open; 
 but I pressed my lips together, and did not speak for 
 a moment. I was so well and strong again now that 
 I could bear the shock, or I suppose Miss Smith and 
 the doctor, talking it over again as they surely had, 
 would not have let Lady Sophie come. 
 
 "Yes, I will see her; I shall be glad," I said at 
 last, and the door opened. 
 
 How all the old times rushed back, how the old 
 days crowded round me like pale ghosts, as the hand- 
 some, elegantly-dressed woman moved silkily in! 
 
 She was very quiet, very subdued in her manner; 
 no doubt she had had her instructions. 
 
 "Poor little girl!" she said softly, and patted my 
 thin hand as she sat down by my sofa. The nurse and 
 Miss Smith had gone out. We were alone together. 
 
 "It is good of you to come," I said. "I want you 
 to tell me of things; will you?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered. "They said I might answer 
 any question you asked, for you have been patient, and 
 you are practically well now, only very weak, and 
 they thought if you saw me it might bring things back 
 in a safe way. They thought, too, you might rather 
 ask me than most other people, because I knew all the 
 circumstances from the beginning. And we were very 
 
304 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 good friends once; do say we are so still, for I have 
 been very unhappy, and shall be so till things between 
 us are as they were before." 
 
 "We are friends," I responded; ''It Is good to see 
 you again. But, you know, things can never be as 
 they were before; I remember everything — everything 
 now. I have just got to live my life the best I can, 
 as I am to get well. I wonder how I got well ? How 
 did I escape from that awful house, that awful man? 
 I am afraid of him still; I have seen his face in 
 dreams; it haunts me always, and did even before I 
 could recall where I had seen It, what it meant 
 to me." 
 
 "You need not be afraid of him any more," said 
 Lady Sophie; "he is dead. He has shot himself. I sup- 
 pose he saw that not only was the stake he had played 
 for lost, but that his life was hopelessly ruined. Per- 
 haps, too, there was enough decency left In his black 
 heart to make him wish not to involve his friends in 
 his ruin." 
 
 "He was a murderer!" I cried. "I know that he 
 killed my m.other. Perhaps I could never have proved 
 it. But I feel that it was true, nevertheless. Oh, the 
 horror of that awful night at Arrlsh Hall! I wonder 
 I have not died of it, even though by some miracle, 
 which I don't understand yet, I was saved." 
 
 "You have almost died of it, poor child! You have 
 had brain fever, and for many days and nights no one 
 dreamed that you could live. You couldn't have lived 
 if — If it had not been for one person who nursed you 
 back to life by sheer force of will, It seemed, and a 
 
AFTERWARDS 305 
 
 tremendous power of endurance when everyone else's 
 hope and strength had failed. 
 
 "Ah, yes, Sister Milton, the nurse," I echoed. ''Miss 
 Smith told me she had been most faithful and de- 
 voted." 
 
 "No doubt, but I don't mean Sister Milton." 
 
 "Who then? Did Miss Smith " 
 
 "I would tell you if you hadn't said one thing a 
 few minutes ago." 
 
 "I don't understand. What has that to do with it?" 
 
 "You said that nothing could be as it had been 
 before the night at Southwood Park. Of course, I 
 know how you intended me to take that." 
 
 I felt the colour stream up to my thin white face. 
 
 "I think I have forgiven him," I stammered. "Only, 
 of course, we can never meet. When your ideal is 
 broken, nothing can mend it, you know. Lady Sophie. 
 Sir George Seaforth wasn't the man I had thought 
 him; I wish you hadn't made me speak of him this 
 first day with you, but I can't pretend to misunder- 
 stand, and if you mean to try and get me to say I 
 will let him come here, it's useless. I never, never want 
 to see him again." 
 
 "Not even if it was he who saved your life — not 
 only once, on the night you spoke of, but a hundred 
 times since, almost losing his own in doing it ?" 
 
 I stared at her, aghast and dazed. 
 
 "It is true," she hurried on. "I am not exagger- 
 ating. He ought to tell you himself, but he would 
 not, I know. You would never hear a word of all 
 he has done from his lips. Perhaps, if not he, your 
 
3o6 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 friend Anne Bryden ought to tell you, for part of the 
 story concerns her. But it would be a hard thing for 
 her to confess to you. She has already confessed to me, 
 and conscience has punished her enough, so you shall 
 hear the history of that night, and the six weeks which 
 have passed since — if you care." 
 
 "Six weeks!" I repeated. "Six weeks! Oh yes, I 
 do — I do care to hear ! But " 
 
 "Don'jt say any 'huts' until I have finished. I must 
 begin before that night. There's a great deal to tell, 
 and it's hard to know how best to piece together all 
 the bits of the mosaic. You wrote to Anne Bryden 
 after you arrived at Lull, didn't you, and said you 
 thought of waiting at a fisherman's cottage for Miss 
 Smith to come back?" 
 
 "Yes," I said mechanically, in my suspense. 
 
 "Well, she was the only one who knew where you 
 were. Meanwhile, you can imagine the state of mind 
 George Seaforth was in, and I was almost as bad. 
 I don't think I ever knew George till then — of what 
 depths of feeling he was capable. I think even you 
 would have forgiven him, if you had seen him as I 
 saw him. One of the first things he did, after he 
 had applied for help to Scotland Yard and we had 
 talked over matters together, was to go to Miss Bry- 
 den, from whom I thought we might learn something. 
 She had already got your letter, the very day he saw 
 her, it seems; but she told him nothing." 
 
 "She knew I would not wish it," I defended Anne. 
 
 "No, it was not that. She has told me since why 
 it was. George laid his heart bare to her, humbling 
 
AFTERWARDS 3o7 
 
 herself, and pleading that if she knew anything of 
 you she would tell it. You would not listen to him, 
 but she did ; and she realized that he had not been the 
 cold-blooded, deliberate sinner you had believed him. 
 She felt, she says now, that if you had heard him 
 speak you would not have held out against him. Still, 
 she told him she was absolutely ignorant of your move- 
 ments. Can you guess why?" 
 
 "Not unless it was, somehow, for my sake." 
 *'It was for her own — her own selfishness. The 
 first time that she saw George she admired him above 
 all other men, and she used to dwell upon the thought 
 of him in secret, until it became a sort of fascination. 
 She was jealous of you, because you were beautiful 
 and could win his love, and because at my house j^ou 
 could meet him every day. 
 
 *'She guessed that he cared for you. When he came 
 to question her, she knew the whole truth of his feel- 
 ing, of course, and she told herself that she could not 
 give him up to you. He could never be anything to 
 her, but she could not bear that you should have every- 
 thing she was denied. That was the reason for her 
 silence, and it was a silence which nearly cost you 
 your life." 
 
 "Poor Anne!" I murmured. "Poor Anne!" 
 "How easy it is for you to forgive her! Not that 
 one grudges it to the poor girl, for she has bitterly 
 repented, and done her best to make amends. If she 
 had given George your address at first, you would have 
 been spared the horrors at Arrish Hall. She did not 
 do that, but she had not a peaceful moment after she 
 
3o8 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 had let him go. Her treachery to you was corroding 
 her heart : those are her own words about it to me. 
 
 "At last she came to my house and told how she 
 had sinned in omission. She gave me your letter, and 
 begged me to let George know as much of the truth 
 as necessary. Of course, I would not betray the con- 
 fession of her motive. I telegraphed him at once; he 
 was in Devonshire, following up a misleading clue sug- 
 gested by the police. 
 
 "But before all these developments had come about, 
 something else had happened, which you must hear 
 now, before you can understand how serious a misfor- 
 tune George and I had reason to think your disap- 
 pearance. In any case, his grief and remorse would 
 have been terribly hard to bear — anxiety as well; but 
 as it was we feared a great danger for you. 
 
 "You had left the drawers of the Chippendale desk 
 scattered over the floor of your room — or, rather, as 
 you had told me, Diana Dunbar had left them so. 
 When I called George to consult with me there, after 
 you had gone, I told him of her visit, what she had 
 said, what she had done. You and he had had a talk 
 about the man Wynnstay; George knew more than I 
 knew of the matter, but I remembered what you had 
 told me of the escritoire. 
 
 "We exchanged details of information, and agreed 
 that there was something exceedingly strange under the 
 Dunbars' interest in you, which they appeared to share 
 with their solicitor, Mr. Wynnstay. It was certain 
 that Diana had availed herself of her privileges as 
 George's friend and your acquaintance to gain access 
 
AFTERWARDS 309 
 
 to the room where she thought the desk would be, after 
 hearing of the sale from Wynnstay. 
 
 **George would not have touched the escritoire until 
 you should have been brought back; but I was very 
 much excited, very Indignant with the Dunbars for 
 everything, and I determined that the desk should not 
 be left alone and at the mercy of their scheming until 
 the secret drawer and the papers which might be hid- 
 den in it were found. I am not a patient woman, 
 as you know, and I acted without hesitation. 
 
 "I did not wait to search for such a drawer, but I 
 flung the escritoire on the floor before George could 
 stop me, and broke It. I found what I wanted, Con- 
 suelo; and it was a discovery worth making." 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 "ring out the old, ring in the new" 
 
 "What was the discovery ?" I echoed, with growing 
 interest. 
 
 "Wait!" cried Lady Sophie: "that will come by-and- 
 by. There are other things*to tell first, but now you 
 can guess why we were anxious about you. A motive 
 was supplied — a motive strong enough to tempt un- 
 scrupulous ones to evil things ; and though your friends 
 had not been able to trace you, we feared that your 
 enemies might have been better Informed from the first. 
 
 "When George got my telegram he started at once 
 for Dorsetshire, and went straight to Miss Smith at 
 The Pines. It was about ten o'clock when he reached 
 the house, and she was just going to bed; but when 
 he sent up a message, she dressed again and saw him.. 
 You were at Arrish Hall, engaged as secretary, and 
 had written In the afternoon that by your employer's 
 permission you would spend the following day with 
 her. 
 
 "There wasn't a scrap of evidence against the man 
 who called himself Raynor, but George, whose sus- 
 picions were ready to take fire, was horribly worried 
 and perplexed. He thought It possible that the adver- 
 tisement, of which Miss Smith told him, might have 
 310 
 
"RING IN THE NEW" 311: 
 
 been a plot arranged by those who interest it was to 
 secure you and certain things that were yours. 
 
 ''Still, there was no real reason to believe that your 
 situation was not genuine, and he hardly felt justified 
 in going to Arrish Hall at half-past eleven at night 
 (it would be that or after by the time he could arrive 
 there, as he and Miss Smith had talked for more than 
 an hour), demanding that you should come away with 
 him. 
 
 "The house would probably be closed for the night, 
 and the prospect of waking up the sleepers and ex- 
 plaining his errand seemed almost a hopeless one, espe- 
 cially as (if all were well) you would refuse to see 
 him — refuse, perhaps, to hear anything he wished to 
 say. 
 
 "Still, he could not rest and take the chances. Some 
 time later he walked over to Arrish Hall, found the 
 house shut up and quiet, only a big dog barking at 
 the intruder. Undecided and miserable, he started to 
 walk away, but he felt irresistibly drawn back, with 
 a horrible feeling that anything might be happening 
 in that lonely house. 
 
 "He resolved, finally, to risk all, and rouse the 
 house, rather than have to repent his hesitation too 
 late. As he reached the door he heard a scream from 
 within. 
 
 "In another three minutes he had broken in through 
 one of the lower windows, cut and bleeding from the 
 shattered glass, beating off the dog that clung to him 
 and tore at him as he struggled through. Now you 
 know how you were saved. If you want more details;> 
 
312 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 you shall hear them all some other time; but don't 
 speak yet. There's more to tell. 
 
 "Already you were delirious. George carried you 
 to The Pines in his arms. When he would have given 
 you into the care of Miss Smith, believing it better 
 that he should be out of your sight, you clung to 
 him, and would not let him go, though you did not 
 seem to know who he was. 
 
 "The doctor — fetched from Lull by a servant — said 
 that it would be dangerous to thwart you; and from 
 that night, for weeks, until you slept naturally and 
 came to yourself again, he never left you for more 
 than an hour on end. If he were sent away to sleep 
 • — ^half dead for want of it as he was — you would 
 call, and your voice would instantly bring him back. 
 
 "He was half skeleton, half ghost, at the^ end of 
 three weeks. How he lived, no one knew, but he 
 hardly seemed to be of flesh and blood — he was 
 iron. He never broke down until you had fallen 
 into a doze, like a child's, one day. Then, when he 
 was not needed, he sank into a chair, half fainting, 
 and cried like a baby — poor, unshaven, gaunt wretch 
 that he was. 
 
 "He looked like an escaped convict, who had been 
 lurking, haunte ' and starved, for a month in the 
 ditches and fore^ , It will be a long time before he's 
 the man he was^ unless you give him the only tonic 
 that can help him — your forgiveness. What do you 
 think, what do you say, Consuelo? Can you forgive 
 George Seaforth now?" 
 
 My eyes were streaming tears. 
 
"RING IN THE NEW" 313 
 
 "Where is he?" I asked. "Is he still at Lull?" 
 
 "He's in the next room," said Lady Sophie. "Shall 
 I call him?" 
 
 I nodded, for I could not speak. When the door 
 opened and someone came in, I could not see for the 
 mist of tears. But I held out my arms, and was clasped 
 closely — oh, so closely, yet so gently, as if I had a 
 butterfly body to break — against the heart that had 
 kept my lamp of life burning from its own flame, dur- 
 ing the past blank, yet lurid, weeks. 
 
 "Darling — my darling!" whispered the voice that 
 had soothed me in my delirium. "Do you forgive me?'* 
 
 "Do you forgive me?" I answered. "I love you — 
 I love you so." 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE CONTENTS OF THE SECRET DRAWER 
 
 That day I did not care to hear what had been 
 found In the secret drawer of the escritoire, or why 
 — because of what had lain there for so long, and what 
 it meant to me and to others — Lady Dunbar and the 
 man who served her had wished me out of their way. 
 They had gone farther than wishing, there was little 
 doubt; but the man Wynnstay was dead, by his own 
 hand, and Lady Dunbar and Diana had ''gone abroad." 
 They went rather suddenly, as I learned when I heard 
 the whole story. 
 
 Perhaps James, "Mr. Raynor's" valet, had been far 
 enough In his master's confidence to know that there 
 was an Intimate connection between the Dunbars' af- 
 fairs and Mr. Wynnstay 's, and so knowing, had sent 
 a telegram describing the manner of that sudden death 
 at Arrlsh Hall. 
 
 At all events. Lady Dunbar had received a telegram 
 at her cottage in Cowes, had appeared greatly upset, 
 and had directed her maid to pack a few things in 
 haste, as she and her daughter were called immediately 
 abroad. 
 
 The maid was left behind, and could give no further 
 information regarding Lady Dunbar and Miss Dun- 
 314 
 
CONTENTS OF THE SECRET DRAWER 315 
 
 bar's movements to Inquiring friends, save that they 
 had departed within the hour. But it was ascertained 
 by certain persons employed "on the other side" that the 
 large sum of £20,000 had been withdrawn from her 
 ladyship's bank, and that the mother and daughter had 
 taken a night train for France. 
 
 As for me and my interests, I had in the papers 
 found in the escritoire all the materials for a very 
 strong case — a case almost too strong to be contested, 
 especially in the compromising circumstances — ^which, 
 if successsful, w^ould have proved my right to the name 
 of Dunbar, and everything else that Lady Dunbar and 
 her daughter possessed. 
 
 There was my mother's diary, and there were many 
 letters, even one from Lady Dunbar herself, which she 
 might have been glad to reclaim. Joining the details 
 together, a romantic story was made — just such a story 
 as the readers of sensational papers delight in, par- 
 ticularly when such stories concern the aristocracy, 
 their family histories, their peccadilloes and follies, 
 their youthful love-making and middle-aged mistakes. 
 
 But this story of the young Viscount who loved and 
 secretly married a singer has never been allowed to 
 reach the public eye till now. The woman and the 
 girl who had tried to Injure me I could afford to let 
 go free, rather than set scandal In a blaze about my 
 ears and theirs. 
 
 I had George Seaforth's love, and I was going to be 
 his wife. The sooner we could both forget a past 
 which had come near to parting us, the better. I 
 did not need the Dunbar money or the Dunbar name. 
 
3i6 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 I was to be Consuelo Seaforth, and Brand (the name 
 which, my poor mother's diary confessed, had been 
 adopted in sorrow and despair, when she did not know 
 that she had a right to any name at all) was to be 
 laid away with the other things that did not need 
 remembering. 
 
 I did not want a cause celehre, and neither, to tell 
 the truth, did George; therefore we spared my ene- 
 mies, perhaps as much through consideration for our- 
 selves as because we were too happy to desire ven- 
 geance. 
 
 So it is that the Dunbar money will some day go 
 to the Crown, because the two women who have dis- 
 appeared into the unknown (where no one troubles to 
 search for them) dare not claim what they left be- 
 hind, and I will not. It is all well enough to talk 
 about the poetical justice w^hich should overtake the 
 villains of a story, whether in real life or fiction; but 
 it seemed to George and me that we needed to lift 
 no finger towards bringing it upon Lady Dunbar and 
 Diana. 
 
 Their punishment — ^banished from all that had made 
 existence worth having to them; their bitterness of 
 heart; their haunting, never-wholly-absent fear; their 
 shamed knowledge of the malicious gossip which must 
 surely follow their sudden flight, even though the true 
 reason for it were never known — more than satisfied 
 our sense of justice. 
 
 And the man Wynnstay had paid the penalty for 
 crimes committed and crimes intended left undone. 
 
 Still, in these happy days, when we have put sad- 
 
CONTENTS OF THE SECRET DRAWER 3^ 
 
 ness and misunderstandings far behind us, and George 
 and I are travelling round the world on our twelve 
 months' wedding trip, planning what we shall do when 
 we go home — how good we shall be to little Jimmy 
 East; how coals of fire shall be heaped on Cousin 
 Sarah's head; how we shall try to brighten and give 
 colour to Anne Bryden's gray life ; how often w^e shall 
 have "plain Miss Smith" to visit us in town and coun- 
 try — still I think constantly of my beautiful mother, 
 whose love-story was so cruelly different from mine. 
 
 Sometimes I read her diary, found in the escritoire, 
 and for an hour live in the past with her. I see her 
 as the popular singer, Margaret Sylvester, though I 
 had never been allowed to hear that "stage name" of 
 hers, except on the night when Lady Dunbar had 
 questioned me, aware only that her maiden name had 
 been Madge Slater; that as a widow, and my mother, 
 she had been called "Mrs. ^rand." 
 
 I see her "resting," after a hard season in opera, 
 far from the footlights, in a little Scotch village, meet- 
 ing there Lord Dunbar and his younger brother, 
 travelling with a friend they had made at Oxford — 
 a man older than either of the brothers — Richard 
 Wynnstay. 
 
 I see the love-story unfold in the pages of the poor 
 little tear-blotted diary, which speak so eloquently. I 
 even seem to be present in fancy at the Scotch mar- 
 riage, into which Margaret Sylvester was persuaded, 
 with Lord Dunbar's brother and Richard Wynnstay 
 for the only witnesses. 
 
 I enter into her unselfish readiness to keep the mar- 
 
3i8 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 riage secret, because "dearest Eric" would lose tht 
 great fortune expected from his mother's brother, a 
 querulous old invalid, if he married an actress; and 
 I am sorry for her as she tries not to wish the in- 
 valid's life shortened, that the truth may be proclaimed 
 to the world. 
 
 I understand — oh, so well, by light of later develop- 
 ments! — her distrust of Eric's brother, Napier, and of 
 Wynnstay, who persuaded Lord Dunbar that it would 
 be safer to have the marriage simply by agreement, 
 according to Scotch law, rather than "have a clergy- 
 man and a real wedding, with everything proper and 
 sweet, like other people." 
 
 I cry when I read of the months that follow, when 
 she was in London again and alone, while Lord Dun- 
 bar had been induced to accompany his brother and his 
 brother's friend to shoot big game in the Rockies. 
 Still faster do the tears fall when I take in my hands 
 the letter "Eric" wrote her from America, accusing 
 her of terrible things which gossip had said of her. I 
 can guess so well who had started the gossip. 
 
 And then, saddest of all, perhaps (for everything 
 might have come right if he had lived), I turn to 
 the paragraphs, cut from old newspapers, telling how 
 my father died in a desperate encounter with a grizzly 
 bear which had turned at bay when shot. 
 
 Only the younger brother and his friend had been 
 present, "unable to reach him in time to give him 
 any help." I wonder, as I read, whether those two 
 might not have told a different story had they spoken 
 all the truth? For I know now why they had both 
 
CONTENTS OF THE SECRET DRAWER 3^9 
 
 a reason for preventing Lord Dunbar's marriage i 
 they could. 
 
 'I know that, young as Lord Dunbar's brother was, 
 he had married Richard Wynnstay's sister, a handsome 
 widow, much older than he, and— though he had hid- 
 den the marriage from his elder, who would certainly 
 have disapproved— already had a daughter a year or 
 two old. I know that the invalid uncle died during 
 the brother's visit to America, and that the fortune 
 which was left to Lord Dunbar must go to the brother 
 (Napier) if the elder died unmarried. 
 
 And so I wonder greatly what was the true history 
 of that scene in the Rockies. 
 
 Eric, Lord Dunbar, had always said before meeting 
 the singer, Margaret Sylvester, that his love of sport 
 and travel would keep him from settling down to 
 married life ; and Napier had come to believe that his 
 brother would really remain a bachelor. Therefore he 
 had tried to smooth away the difficulties which had 
 arisen through miscalculation as best he could. 
 
 After Lord Dunbar's death, and his coming into the 
 title, he had answered a letter from my mother by 
 telling her that her marriage with his brother was not 
 legal ; Wynnstay, who was even then a solicitor, adding 
 his verdict to the same effect. 
 
 ^My mother, a girl of twenty, knowing less of the 
 real world than of the mimic world of the stage, had 
 believed their word— believed that the man she had 
 loved so well had deceived her— and, crushed by 
 anguish and humiliation, had left England to hidr her- 
 self in France. 
 
320 MY LADY CINDERELLA 
 
 There I was born, and there we had lived for sev- 
 eral years on her savings. It was only when they 
 were gone that Mrs. Brand, a widow, broken in health 
 and spirits, had gone to London to look for work as a 
 teacher of singing. 
 
 As I read all this, and live again through the years 
 of poverty and hardship which were my mother's lot, 
 my heart does stir with a desire for vengeance. 
 
 But Wynnstay, who found her after she had kept 
 herself hidden from him for so long — Wynnstay, who 
 shared his sister's income — is out of reach; and the 
 others who are left are but poor puppets, after all. 
 
 So I shut up the diary, and put away the letters, 
 telling myself that my mother, who loved me, would 
 be happy in my happiness; that, if she were here, she 
 would be the first to say: "Love is everything; let 
 the past rest." 
 
 THE END 
 
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