Peg's journey to England was one of the unhappiest memories of her life. She undertook the voyage deliberately to please her father, because he told her it would please him. But beneath this feeling of pleasing him was one of sullen resentment at being made to separate from him.
She planned all kinds of reprisals upon the unfortunate people she was going amongst. She would be so rude to them and so unbearable that they would be glad to send her back on the next boat. She schemed out her whole plan of action. She would contradict and disobey and berate and belittle. Nothing they would do would be right to her and nothing she would do or say would be right to them. She took infinite pleasure in her plan of campaign. Then when she was enjoying the pleasure of such resentful dreams she would think of her father waiting for news of her: of his pride in her: of how much he wanted her to succeed. She would realise how much the parting meant to HIM, and all her little plots would tumble down and she would resolve to try and please her relations, learn all she could, succeed beyond all expression and either go back to America prosperous, or send for her father to join her in England. All her dreams had her father, either centrifugally or centripetally, beating through them.
She refused all advances of friendship aboard ship. No one dared speak to her. She wanted to be alone in her sorrow. She and "MICHAEL" would romp on the lower deck, by favour of one of the seamen, who would keep a sharp look-out for officers.
This seaman—O'Farrell by name—took quite a liking to Peg and the dog and did many little kindly, gracious acts to minister to the comfort of both of them.
He warned her that they would not let "Michael" go with her from the dock until he had first been quarantined. This hurt Peg more than anything could. She burst into tears. To have "Michael" taken from her would be the last misfortune. She would indeed be alone in that strange country. She was inconsolable.
O'Farrell, at last, took it on himself to get the dog ashore. He would wrap him up in some sail cloths, and then he would carry "Michael" outside the gates when the Customs' authorities had examined her few belongings.
When they reached Liverpool O'Farrell was as good as his word, though many were the anxious moments they had as one or other of the Customs' officers would eye the suspicious package O'Farrell carried so carelessly under his arm.
At the dock a distinguished-looking gentleman came on board and after some considerable difficulty succeeded in locating Peg. He was a well-dressed, soft-speaking, vigorous man of forty-five. He inspired Peg with an instant dislike by his somewhat authoritative and pompous manner. He introduced himself as Mr. Montgomery Hawkes, the legal adviser for the Kingsnorth estate, and at once proceeded to take charge of Peg as a matter of course.
Poor Peg felt ashamed of her poor little bag, containing just a few changes of apparel, and her little paper bundle. She was mortified when she walked down the gangway with the prosperous-looking lawyer whilst extravagantly dressed people with piles of luggage dashed here and there endeavouring to get it examined.
But Mr. Hawkes did not appear to notice Peg's shabbiness. On the contrary he treated her and her belongings as though she were the most fashionable of fine ladies and her wardrobe the most complete.
Outside the gates she found O'Farrell waiting for her, with the precious "Michael" struggling to free himself from his coverings. Hawkes soon had a cab alongside. He helped Peg into it: then she stretched out her arms and O'Farrell opened the sail-cloths and out sprang "Michael," dusty and dirty and blear-eyed, but oh! such a happy, fussy, affectionate, relieved little canine when he saw his beloved owner waiting for him. He made one spring at her, much to the lawyer's dignified amazement, and began to bark at her, and lick her face and hands, and jump on and roll over and over upon Peg in an excess of joy at his release.
Peg offered O'Farrell an American dollar. She had very little left.
O'Farrell indignantly refused to take it.
"Oh, but ye must, indade ye must," cried Peg in distress. "Sure I won't lie aisy to-night if ye don't. But for you poor 'Michael' here might have been on that place ye spoke of—that Quarantine, whatever it is. Ye saved him from that. And don't despise it because it's an American dollar. Sure it has a value all over the wurrld. An' besides I have no English money." Poor Peg pleaded that O'Farrell should take it. He had been so nice to her all the way over.
Hawkes interposed skilfully, gave 'O'Farrell five shillings; thanked him warmly for his kindness to Peg and her dog; returned the dollar to Peg; let her say good-bye to the kindly sailor: told the cabman to drive to a certain railway station, and in a few seconds they were bowling along and Peg had entered a new country and a new life. They reached the railway station and Hawkes procured tickets and in half an hour they were on a train bound for the north of England.
During the journey Hawkes volunteered no information. He bought her papers and magazines and offered her lunch. This Peg refused. She said the ship had not agreed with her. She did not think she would want food for a long time to come.
After a while, tired out with the rush and excitement of the ship's arrival, Peg fell asleep.
In a few hours they reached their destination. Hawkes woke her and told her she was at her journey's end. He again hailed a cab, told the driver where to go and got in with Peg, "MICHAEL" and her luggage. In the cab he handed Peg a card and told her to go to the address written on it and ask the people there to allow her to wait until he joined her. He had a business call to make in the town. He would be as short a time as possible. She was just to tell the people that she had been asked to call there and wait.
After the cab had gone through a few streets it stopped before a big building; Hawkes got out, told the cabman where to take Peg, paid him, and with some final admonitions to Peg, disappeared through the swing-doors of the Town Hall.
The cabman took the wondering Peg along until he drove up to a very handsome Elizabethan house. There he stopped. Peg looked at the name on the gate-posts and then at the name on the card Mr. Hawkes had given her. They were the same. Once more she gathered up her belongings and her dog and passed in through the gateposts and wandered up the long drive on a tour of inspection. She walked through paths dividing rosebeds until she came to some open windows. The main entrance-hall of the house seemed to be hidden away somewhere amid the tall old trees.
Peg made straight for the open windows and walked into the most wonderful looking room she had ever seen. Everything in it was old and massive; it bespoke centuries gone by in every detail. Peg held her breath as she looked around her. Pictures and tapestries stared at her from the walls. Beautiful old vases were arranged in cabinets. The carpet was deep and soft and stifled all sound. Peg almost gave an ejaculation of surprise at the wonders of the room when she suddenly became conscious that she was not alone in the room: that others were there and that they were talking.
She looked in the direction the sounds came from and saw to her astonishment, a man with a woman in his arms. He was speaking to her in a most ardent manner. They were partially concealed by some statuary.
Peg concluded at once that she had intruded on some marital scene at which she was not desired, so she instantly sat down with her back to them.
She tried not to listen, but some of the words came distinctly to her. Just as she was becoming very uncomfortable and had half made up her mind to leave the room and find somewhere else to wait, she suddenly heard herself addressed, and in no uncertain tone of voice. There was indignation, surprise and anger in Ethel's question:
"How long have you been here?"
Peg turned round and saw a strikingly handsome, beautifully dressed young lady glaring down at her. Her manner was haughty in the extreme. Peg felt most unhappy as she looked at her and did not answer immediately.
A little distance away was a dark, handsome young man who was looking at Peg with a certain languid interest.
"How long have you been here?" again asked Ethel.
"Sure I only came in this minnit," said Peg innocently and with a little note of fear. She was not accustomed to fine-looking, splendidly-dressed young ladies like Ethel.
"What do you want?" demanded the young lady.
"Nothin'," said Peg reassuringly.
"NOTHING?" echoed Ethel, growing angrier every moment.
"Not a thing. I was just told to wait," said Peg.
"Who told you?"
"A gentleman," replied Peg.
"WHAT gentleman?" asked Ethel sharply and suspiciously.
"Just a gentleman." Peg, after fumbling nervously in her pocket, produced the card Mr. Hawkes had given her, which "MICHAEL" immediately attempted to take possession of. Peg snatched it away from the dog and handed it to the young lady.
"He told me to wait THERE."
Ethel took the card irritably and read:
"'Mrs. Chichester, Regal Villa.' And what do you want with Mrs. Chichester?" she asked Peg, at the same time looking at the shabby clothes, the hungry-looking dog, and the soiled parcel.
"I don't want anythin' with her. I was just told to wait!"
"Who are you?" Peg was now getting angry too. There was no mistaking the manner of the proud young lady. Peg chafed under it. She looked up sullenly into Ethel's face and said:
"I was not to say a wurrd, I'm tellin' ye. I was just to wait." Peg settled back in the chair and stroked "MICHAEL." This questioning was not at all to her liking. She wished Mr. Hawkes would come and get her out of a most embarrassing position. But until he DID she was not going to disobey his instructions. He told her to say nothing, so nothing would she say.
Ethel turned abruptly to Brent and found that gentleman looking at the odd little stranger somewhat admiringly. She gave an impatient ejaculation and turned back to Peg quickly:
"You say you have only been here a minute?"
"That's all," replied Peg. "Just a minnit."
"Were we talking when you came in?"
"Ye were."
Ethel could scarcely conceal her rage.
"Did you hear what we said?"
"Some of it. Not much," said Peg.
"WHAT did you hear?"
"Please don't—it's so hot this mornin'," said Peg with no attempt at imitation—just as if she were stating a simple, ordinary occurrence.
Ethel flushed scarlet. Brent smiled.
"You refuse to say why you're here or who you are?" Ethel again asked.
"It isn't ME that's refusin'. All the gentleman said to me was, 'Ye go to the place that's written down on the card and ye sit down there an' wait. And that's all ye do.'" Ethel again turned to the perplexed Brent: "Eh?"
"Extraordinary!" and Brent shook his head.
The position was unbearable. Ethel decided instantly how to relieve it. She looked freezingly down at the forlorn-looking little intruder and said:
"The servants' quarters are at the back of the house."
"ARE they?" asked Peg, without moving, and not in any way taking the statement to refer to her.
"And I may save you the trouble of WAITING by telling you we are quite provided with servants. We do not need any further assistance."
Peg just looked at Ethel and then bent down over "MICHAEL." Ethel's last shot had struck home. Poor Peg was cut through to her soul. How she longed at that moment to be back home with her father in New York. Before she could say anything Ethel continued:
"If you insist on waiting kindly do so there."
Peg took "MICHAEL" up in her arms, collected once more her packages and walked to the windows. Again she heard the cold hard tones of Ethel's voice speaking to her:
"Follow the path to your right until you come to a door. Knock and ask permission to wait there, and for your future guidance go to the BACK door of a house and ring, don't walk unannounced into a private room."
Peg tried to explain:
"Ye see, ma'am, I didn't know. All the gentleman said was 'Go there and wait'—"
"That will do."
"I'm sorry I disturbed yez." And she glanced at the embarrassed Brent.
"THAT WILL DO!" said Ethel finally.
Poor Peg nodded and wandered off through the windows sore at heart. She went down the path until she reached the door Ethel mentioned. She knocked at it. While she is waiting for admission we will return to the fortunes of the rudely-disturbed LOVERS(?).
Ethel turned indignantly to Brent, as the little figure went off down the path.
"Outrageous!" she cried.
"Poor little wretch." Brent walked to the windows and looked after her. "She's quite pretty."
Ethel looked understandingly at him: "IS she?"
"In a shabby sort of way. Didn't you think so?"
Ethel glared coldly at him.
"I never notice the lower orders. You apparently do."
"Oh, yes—often. They're very interesting—at times." He strained to get a last glimpse of the intruder:
"Do you know, she's the strangest little apparition—"
"She's only a few yards away if you care to follow her!"
Her tone brought Brent up sharply. He turned away from the window and found Ethel—arms folded, eyes flashing—waiting for him. Something in her manner alarmed him. He had gone too far.
"Why, Ethel,"—he said, as he came toward her.
"Suppose my mother had walked in here—or Alaric—instead of that creature? Never do such a thing again."
"I was carried away," he hastened to explain.
"Kindly exercise a little more restraint. You had better go now." There was a finality of dismissal in her tone as she passed him and crossed to the great staircase. He followed her:
"May I call to-morrow?"
"No," she answered decidedly. "Not to-morrow."
"The following day, then," he urged.
"Perhaps."
"Remember—I build on you."
She looked searchingly at him:
"I suppose we ARE worthy of each other."
Through the open windows came the sound of voices.
"Go!" she said imperatively and she passed on up the stairs. Brent went rapidly to the door. Before either he could open it or Ethel go out of sight Alaric burst in through the windows.
"Hello, Brent," he cried cheerfully. "Disturbin' ye?" And he caught Ethel as she was about to disappear: "Or you, Ethel?"
Ethel turned and answered coolly:
"You've not disturbed me."
"I'm just going," said Brent.
"Well, wait a moment," and Alaric turned to the window and beckoned to someone on the path and in from the garden came Mr. Montgomery Hawkes.
"Come in," said the energetic Alaric. "Come in. Ethel, I want you to meet Mr. Hawkes—Mr. Hawkes—my sister. Mr. Brent—Mr. Hawkes." Having satisfactorily introduced everyone he said to Ethel: "See if the mater's well enough to come down, like a dear, will ye? This gentleman has come from London to see her. D'ye mind? And come back yourself, too, like an angel. He says he has some business that concerns the whole family."
Ethel disappeared without a word.
Alaric bustled Hawkes into a chair and then seized the somewhat uncomfortable Brent by an unwilling hand and shook it warmly as he asked:
"MUST you go?"
"Yes," replied Brent with a sigh of relief.
Alaric dashed to the door and opened it as though to speed the visitor on his way.
"So sorry I was out when you called," lied Alaric nimbly. "Run in any time. Always delighted to see you. Delighted. Is the angel wife all well?"
Brent bowed: "Thank you."
"And the darling child?"
Brent frowned. He crossed to the door and turned in the frame and admonished Alaric:
"Please give my remembrances to your mother." Then he passed out. As he disappeared the irrepressible Alaric called after him:
"Certainly. She'll be so disappointed not to have seen you. Run in any time—any time at all." Alaric closed the door and saw his mother and Ethel coming down the stairs.
All traces of emotion had disappeared from Ethel's face and manner. She was once again in perfect command of herself. She carried a beautiful little French poodle in her arms and was feeding her with sugar.
Alaric fussily brought his mother forward.
"Mater, dear," he said; "I found this gentleman in a rose-bed enquiring the way to our lodge. He's come all the way from dear old London just to see you. Mr. Hawkes—my mother."
Mrs. Chichester looked at Hawkes anxiously.
"You have come to see me?"
"On a very important and a very private family matter," replied Hawkes, gravely. "IMPORTANT? PRIVATE?" asked Mrs. Chichester in surprise.
"We're the family, Mr. Hawkes," ventured Alaric, helpfully.
Mrs. Chichester's forebodings came uppermost. After the news of the bank's failure nothing would surprise her now in the way of calamity. What could this grave, dignified-looking man want with them? Her eyes filled.
"Is it BAD news?" she faltered.
"Oh, dear, no," answered Mr. Hawkes, genially.
"Well—is it GOOD news?" queried Alaric.
"In a measure," said the lawyer.
"Then for heaven's sake get at it. You've got me all clammy. We could do with a little good news. Wait a minute! Is it by any chance about the BANK?"
"No," replied Mr. Hawkes. He cleared his throat and said solemnly and impressively to Mrs. Chichester:
"It is about your LATE brother—Nathaniel Kingsnorth."
"Late!" cried Mrs. Chichester. "Is Nathaniel DEAD?"
"Yes, madam," said Hawkes gravely. "He died ten days ago."
Mrs. Chichester sat down and silently wept. Nathaniel to have died without her being with him to comfort him and arrange things with him! It was most unfortunate.
Alaric tried to feel sorry, but inasmuch as his uncle had always refused to see him he could not help thinking it may have been retribution. However, he tried to show a fair and decent measure of regret.
"Poor old Nat," he cried. "Eh, Ethel?"
"Never saw him," answered Ethel, her face and voice totally without emotion. "You say he died ten days ago?" asked Mrs. Chichester.
Mr. Hawkes bowed.
"Why was I not informed? The funeral—?"
"There was no funeral," replied Mr. Hawkes.
"No funeral?" said Alaric in astonishment.
"No," replied the lawyer. "In obedience to his written wishes he was cremated and no one was present except the chief executor and myself. If I may use Mr. Kingsnorth's words without giving pain, he said he so little regretted not having seen any of his relations for the last twenty years of his life-time he was sure THEY would regret equally little his death. On no account was anyone to wear mourning for him, nor were they to express any open sorrow. 'They wouldn't FEEL it, so why lie about it?' I use his own words," added Mr. Hawkes, as if disclaiming all responsibility for such a remarkable point of view.
"What a rum old bird!" remarked Alaric, contemplatively.
Mrs. Chichester wept as she said:
"He was always the most unfeeling, the most heartless—the most—"
"Now in his will—" interrupted the lawyer, producing a leather pocket-book filled with important-looking papers: "In his will—" he repeated—
Mrs. Chichester stopped crying:
"Eh? A will?"
"What?" said Alaric, beaming; "did the dear old gentleman leave a will?"
Even Ethel stopped playing with "Pet" and listened languidly to the conversation.
Mr. Hawkes, realising he had their complete interest, went on importantly: "As Mr. Kingsnorth's legal adviser up to the time of his untimely death I have come here to make you acquainted with some of its contents."
He spread a formidable-looking document wide-open on the table, adjusted his pince-nez and prepared to read. "Dear old Nat!" said Alaric reflectively. "Do you remember, mater, we met him at Victoria Station once when I was little more than a baby? Yet I can see him now as plainly as if it were yesterday. A portly, sandy-haired old buck, with three jolly chins."
"He was white toward the end, and very, very thin," said Mr. Hawkes softly.
"Was he?" from Alaric. "Fancy that. It just shows, mater, doesn't it?" He bent eagerly over the table as Hawkes traced some figures with a pencil on one of the pages of the will.
"How much did he leave?" And Alaric's voice rose to a pitch of well-defined interest.
"His estate is valued, approximately, at some two hundred thousand pounds," replied the lawyer.
Alaric gave a long, low whistle, and smiled a broad, comprehensive smile.
Ethel for the first time showed a gleam of genuine interest.
Mrs. Chichester began to cry again. "Perhaps it was my fault I didn't see him oftener," she said.
Alaric, unable to curb his curiosity, burst out with: "How did the old boy split it up?"
"To his immediate relations he left" Mr. Hawkes looked up from the will and found three pairs of eyes fixed on him. He stopped. It may be that constant association with the law courts destroys faith in human nature—but whatever the cause, it seemed to Mr. Hawkes in each of those eyes was reflected the one dominant feeling—GREED. The expression in the family's combined eyes was astonishing in its directness, its barefacedness. It struck the dignified gentleman suddenly dumb.
"Well? Well?" Cried Alaric. "How much? Don't stop right in the middle of an important thing like that. You make me as nervous as a chicken."
Mr. Hawkes returned to the will and after looking at it a moment without reading said:
"To his immediate relations Mr. Kingsnorth left, I regret to say—NOTHING."
A momentary silence fell like a pall over the stricken Chichester family.
Mrs. Chichester rose, indignation flashing from the eyes that a moment since showed a healthy hope.
"Nothing?" she cried incredulously.
"Not a penny-piece to anyone?" ventured Alaric.
The faintest suspicion of a smile flitted across Ethel's face.
Hawkes looked keenly at them and answered:
"I deeply regret to say—nothing."
Mrs. Chichester turned to Ethel, who had begun to stroke "Pet" again.
"His own flesh and blood!" cried the poor lady.
"What a shabby old beggar!" commented Alaric, indignantly.
"He was always the most selfish, the most—" began Mrs. Chichester, when Mr. Hawkes, who bad been turning over the pages of the document before him, gave an ejaculation of relief.
"Ah! Here we have it. This, Mrs. Chichester, is how Mr. Kingsnorth expressed his attitude toward his relations in his last will and testament."
"'I am the only member of the Kingsnorth family who ever made any money. All my precious relations either inherited it or married to get it.'—"
"I assure you—" began Mrs. Chichester.
Alaric checked her: "Half a moment, mater. Let us hear it out to the bitter end. He must have been an amusin' old gentleman!"
Mr. Hawkes resumed: "—'consequently I am not going to leave one penny to relations who are already, well-provided for.'"
Mrs. Chichester protested vehemently:
"But we are NOT provided for."
"No," added Alaric. "Our bank's bust."
"We're ruined," sobbed Mrs. Chichester.
"Broke!" said Alaric.
"We've nothing!" wailed the old lady.
"Not thruppence," from the son.
"Dear, dear," said the lawyer. "How extremely painful."
"PAINFUL? That's not the word. Disgustin' I call it," corrected Alaric.
Mr. Hawkes thought a moment. Then he said: "Under those circumstances, perhaps a clause in the will may have a certain interest and an element of relief."
As two drowning people clinging to the proverbial straws the mother and son waited breathlessly for Mr. Hawkes to go on.
Ethel showed no interest whatever.
"When Mr. Kingsnorth realised that he had not very much longer to live he spoke constantly of his other sister—Angela," resumed Mr. Hawkes.
"Angela?" cried Mrs. Chichester in surprise; "why, she is dead."
"That was why he spoke of her," said Hawkes gravely. "And not a word of me?" asked Mrs. Chichester.
"We will come to that a little later," and Mr. Hawkes again referred to the will. "It appears that this sister Angela married at the age of twenty, a certain Irishman by name O'Connell, and was cut off by her family—"
"The man was an agitator—a Fenian agitator. He hadn't a penny. It was a disgrace—"
Alaric checked his mother again.
Hawkes resumed: "—was cut off by her family—went to the United States of America with her husband, where a daughter was born. After going through many, conditions of misery with her husband, who never seemed to prosper, she died shortly after giving birth to the child." He looked up: "Mr. Kingsnorth elsewhere expresses his lasting regret that in one of his sister's acute stages of distress she wrote to him asking him, for the first time, to assist her. He replied: 'You have made your bed; lie in it.'"
"She had disgraced the family. He was justified," broke in Mrs. Chichester.
"With death approaching," resumed Hawkes, "Mr. Kingsnorth's conscience began to trouble him and the remembrance of his treatment of his unfortunate sister distressed him. If the child were alive he wanted to see her. I made inquiries and found that the girl was living with her father in very poor circumstances in the City of New York. We sent sufficient funds for the journey, together with a request to the father to allow her to visit Mr. Kingsnorth in England. The father consented. However, before the young girl sailed Mr. Kingsnorth died."
"Oh!" cried Alaric, who had been listening intently. "Died, eh? That was too bad. Died before seeing her. Did you let her sail, Mr. Hawkes?"
"Yes. We thought it best to bring her over here and acquaint her with the sad news after her arrival. Had she known before sailing she might not have taken the journey."
"But what was the use of bringing her over when Mr. Kingsnorth was dead?" asked Alaric.
"For this reason," replied Hawkes: "Realising that he might never see her, Mr. Kingsnorth made the most remarkable provision for her in his will."
"Provided for HER and not for—?" began Mrs. Chichester.
"Here is the provision," continued Mr. Hawkes, again reading from the will: "'I hereby direct that the sum of one thousand pounds a year be paid to any respectable well-connected woman of breeding and family, who will undertake the education and up-bringing of my niece, Margaret O'Connell, in accordance with the dignity and tradition of the Kingsnorths'—"
"He remembers a niece he never saw and his own sister—" and Mrs. Chichester once more burst into tears.
"It beats cock-fighting, that's all I can say," cried Alaric. "It simply beats cock-fighting."
Mr. Hawkes went on reading: "'If at the expiration of one year my niece is found to be, in the judgment of my executors, unworthy of further interest, she is to be returned to her father and the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds a year paid her to provide her with the necessities of life. If, on the other hand, she proves herself worthy of the best traditions of the Kingsnorth family, the course of training is to be continued until she reaches the age of twenty-one, when I hereby bequeath to her the sum of five thousand pounds a year, to be paid to her annually out of my estate during her life-time and to be continued after her death to any male issue she may have—by marriage.'"
Mr. Hawkes stopped, and once again looked at the strange family. Mrs. Chichester was sobbing: "And me—his own sister—"
Alaric was moving restlessly about: "Beats any thing I've heard of. Positively anything."
Ethel was looking intently at "Pet's" coat.
Hawkes continued: "'On no account is her father to be permitted to visit her, and should the course of training be continued after the first year, she must not on any account visit her father. After she reaches the age of twenty-one she can do as she pleases.'" Mr. Hawkes folded up the will with the air of a man who had finished an important duty.
Alaric burst out with:
"I don't see how that clause interests us in the least, Mr. Hawkes."
The lawyer removed his pince-nez and looking steadily at Mrs. Chichester said:
"Now, my dear Mrs. Chichester, it was Mr. Kingsnorth's wish that the first lady to be approached on the matter of undertaking the training of the young lady should be—YOU!"
Mrs. Chichester rose in astonishment: "I?"
Alaric arose in anger: "My mother?"
Ethel quietly pulled "Pet's" ear and waited.
Mr. Hawkes went on quietly:
"Mr. Kingsnorth said, 'he would be sure at least of his niece having a strict up-bringing in the best traditions of the Kingsnorths, and that though his sister Monica was somewhat narrow and conventional in ideas'—I use his own words—'still he felt sure she was eminently fitted to undertake such a charge.' There—you have the whole object of my visit. Now—will you undertake the training of the young lady?"
"I never heard of such a thing!" cried Mrs. Chichester furiously.
"Ridiculous!" said Ethel calmly.
"Tush and nonsense," with which Alaric dismissed the whole matter.
"Then I may take it you refuse?" queried the astonished lawyer.
"Absolutely!" from Mrs. Chichester.
"Entirely!" from Ethel.
"I should say so!" and Alaric brought up the rear.
Mr. Hawkes gathered up his papers and in a tone of regret ventured: "Then there is nothing more to be said. I was only carrying out the dead man's wishes by coming here and making the facts known to you. Mr. Kingsnorth was of the opinion that you were well provided for and, that, outside of the sentimental reason that the girl was your own niece, the additional thousand pounds a year might be welcome as, say, pin-money for your daughter."
Ethel laughed her dry, cheerless little laugh. "Ha! Pin-money!"
Alaric grew suddenly grave and drew his mother and sister out of Mr. Hawkes' vicinity.
"Listen, mater—Ethel. It's a cool thousand, you know? Thousands don't grow on raspberry bushes when your bank's gone up. What do ye think, eh?"
Mrs. Chichester brightened:
"It would keep things together," she said.
"The wolf from the door," urged Alaric.
"No charity," chimed in Ethel.
Mrs. Chichester looked from daughter to son. "Well? What do you think?"
"Whatever you say, mater," from Alaric.
"You decide, mamma," from Ethel.
"We might try it for a while, at least," said Mrs. Chichester.
"Until we can look around," agreed Alaric.
"Something may be saved from the wreck," reasoned Mrs. Chichester more hopefully.
"UntilIget really started," said Alaric with a sense of climax.
Mrs. Chichester turned to her daughter: "Ethel?"
"Whatever you decide, mamma."
Mrs. Chichester thought a moment—then decided "I'll do it," she said determinedly. "It will be hard, but I'll do it." She went slowly and deliberately to Mr. Hawkes, who by this time had disposed of all his documents and was preparing to go. A look in Mrs. Chichester's face stopped him. He smiled at her. "Well?" he asked.
"For the sake of the memory of my dead sister, I will do as Nathaniel wished," said Mrs. Chichester with great dignity and self-abnegation.
Mr. Hawkes breathed a sigh of relief.
"Good!" he said. "I'm delighted. It is splendid. Now that you have decided so happily there is one thing more I must tell you. The young lady is not to be told the conditions of the will, unless at the discretion of the executors should, some crisis arise. She will be to all intents and purposes—your GUEST. In that way we may be able to arrive at a more exact knowledge of her character. Is that understood?"
The family signified severally and collectively that it was.
"And now," beamed the lawyer, happy at the fortunate outcome of a situation that a few moments before seemed so strained, "where is your bell?"
Alaric indicated the bell.
"May I ring?" asked the lawyer.
"Certainly," replied Alaric.
Mr. Hawkes rang.
Alaric watched him curiously: "Want a sandwich or something?"
Hawkes smiled benignly on the unfortunate family and rubbed his hands together self-satisfiedly:
"Now I would like to send for the young lady,—the heiress."
"Where is she?" asked Mrs. Chichester.
"She arrived from New York this morning and I brought her straight here. I had to call on a client, so I gave her your address and told her to come here and wait."
At the word "wait" an uneasy feeling took possession of Ethel. That was the word used by that wretched-looking little creature who had so rudely intruded upon her and Brent. Could it be possible—?
The footman entered at that moment.
The lawyer questioned him.
"Is there a young lady waiting for Mr. Hawkes?"
"A YOUNG LADY, sir? No, sir." answered Jarvis. Mr. Hawkes was puzzled. What in the world had become of her? He told the cabman distinctly where to go.
Jarvis opened the door to go out, when a thought suddenly occurred to him. He turned back and spoke to the lawyer:
"There's a young person sitting in the kitchen: came up and knocked at the door and said she had to wait until a gentleman called. Can't get nothin' out of her." Hawkes brightened up.
"That must be Miss O'Connell," he said. He turned to Mrs. Chichester and asked her if he might bring the young lady in there.
"My niece in the kitchen!" said Mrs. Chichester to the unfortunate footman. "Surely you should know the difference between my niece and a servant!"
"I am truly sorry, madam," replied Jarvis in distress, "but there was nothing to tell."
"Another such mistake and you can leave my employment," Mrs. Chichester added severely.
Jarvis pleaded piteously:
"Upon my word, madam, no one could tell."
"That will do," thundered Mrs. Chichester. "Bring my niece here—at once."
The wretched Jarvis departed on his errand muttering to himself: "Wait until they see her. Who in the world could tell she was their relation."
Mrs. Chichester was very angry.
"It's monstrous!" she exclaimed.
"Stoopid!" agreed Alaric. "Doocid stoopid."
Ethel said nothing. The one thought that was passing through her mind was: "How much did that girl hear Brent say and how much did she see Mr. Brent do?"
Hawkes tried to smooth the misunderstanding out.
"I am afraid it was all my fault," he explained. "I told her not to talk. To just say that she was to wait. I wanted to have an opportunity to explain matters before introducing her."
"She should have been brought straight to me," complained Mrs. Chichester. "The poor thing." Then with a feeling of outraged pride she said: "My niece in kitchen. A Kingsnorth mistaken for a servant!"
The door opened and Jarvis came into the room. There was a look of half-triumph on his face as much as to say: "Now who would not make a mistake like that? Who could tell this girl was your niece?"
He beckoned Peg to come into the room.
Then the Chichester family received the second shock they had experienced that day—one compared with which the failure of the bank paled into insignificance. When they saw the strange, shabby, red-haired girl slouch into the room, with her parcels and that disgraceful-looking dog, they felt the hand of misfortune had indeed fallen upon them.
As Peg wandered into the room Mrs. Chichester and Alaric looked at her in horrified amazement.
Ethel took one swift glance at her and then turned her attention to "Pet."
Jarvis looked reproachfully at Mrs. Chichester as much as to say: "What did I tell you?" and went out.
Alaric whispered to his mother:
"Oh, I say, really, you know—it isn't true! It CAN'T be."
"Pet" suddenly saw "Michael" and began to bark furiously at him. "Michael" responded vigorously until Peg quieted him.
At this juncture Mr. Hawkes came forward and, taking Peg gently by the arm, reassured her by saying:
"Come here, my dear. Come here. Don't be frightened. We're all your friends."
He brought Peg over to Mrs. Chichester, who was staring at her with tears of mortification in her eyes. When Peg's eyes met her aunt's she bobbed a little curtsey she used to do as a child whenever she met a priest or some of the gentle folk.
Mrs. Chichester went cold when she saw the gauche act. Was it possible that this creature was her sister Angela's child? It seemed incredible.
"What is your name?" she asked sternly.
"Peg, ma'am."
"What?"
"Sure me name's Peg, ma'am," and she bobbed another little curtsey.
Mrs. Chichester closed her eyes and shivered. She asked Alaric to ring. As that young gentleman passed Ethel on his way to the bell he said: "It can't really be true! Eh, Ethel?"
"Quaint," was all his sister replied.
Hawkes genially drew Peg's attention to her aunt by introducing her:
"This lady is Mrs. Chichester—your aunt." Peg looked at her doubtfully a moment then turned to Hawkes and asked him:
"Where's me uncle?"
"Alas! my dear child, your uncle is dead."
"Dead!" exclaimed Peg in surprise. "Afther sendin' for me?"
"He died just before you sailed," added Hawkes.
"God rest his soul," said Peg piously. "Sure if I'd known that I'd never have come at all. I'm too late, then. Good day to yez," and she started for the door.
Mr. Hawkes stopped her.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to me father."
"Oh, nonsense."
"But I must go back to me father if me uncle's dead."
"It was Mr. Kingsnorth's last wish that you should stay here under your aunt's care. So she has kindly consented to give you a home."
Peg gazed at Mrs. Chichester curiously.
"Have yez?" she asked.
Mrs. Chichester, with despair in every tone, replied: "I have!"
"Thank yez," said Peg, bobbing another little curtsey, at which Mrs. Chichester covered her eyes with her hand as if to shut out some painful sight.
Peg looked at Mrs. Chichester and at the significant action. There was no mistaking its significance. It conveyed dislike and contempt so plainly that Peg felt it through her whole nature. She turned to Alaric and found him regarding her as though she were some strange animal. Ethel did not deign to notice her. And this was the family her father had sent her over to England to be put in amongst. She whispered to Hawkes:
"I can't stay here."
"Why not?" asked the lawyer.
"I'd be happier with me father," said Peg.
"Nonsense. You'll be quite happy here. Quite."
"They don't seem enthusiastic about us, do they?" and she looked down at "Michael" and up at Hawkes and indicated the Chichester family, who had by this time all turned their backs on her. She smiled a wan, lonely smile, and with a little pressure on "Michael's" back, murmured: "We're not wanted here, 'Michael!'"
The terrier looked up at her and then buried his head under her arm as though ashamed.
Jarvis came in response to the ring at that moment, bearing a pained, martyr-like expression on his face.
Mrs. Chichester directed him to take away Peg's parcels and the dog.
Peg frightenedly clutched the terrier.
"Oh, no, ma'am," she pleaded. "Plaze lave 'Michael' with me. Don't take him away from me."
"Take it away," commanded Mrs. Chichester severely, "and never let it INSIDE the house again."
"Well, if ye don't want HIM inside yer house ye don't want ME inside yer house," Peg snapped back.
Hawkes interposed. "Oh, come, come, Miss O'Connell, you can see the little dog whenever you want to," and he tried to take "Michael" out of her arms. "Come, let me have him."
But Peg resisted. She was positive when she said:
"No, I won't give him up. I won't. I had a hard enough time gettin' him ashore, I did."
Hawkes pleaded again.
"No," said Peg firmly. "I WILL NOT GIVE HIM UP. And that's all there is about it."
The lawyer tried again to take the dog from her: "Come, Miss O'Connell, you really must be reasonable."
"I don't care about being reasonable," replied Peg. "'Michael' was given to me by me father an' he's not very big and he's not a watchdog, he's a pet dog—and look—" She caught sight of Ethel's little poodle and with a cry of self-justification, she said:
"See, she has a dog in the house—right here in the house. Look at it!" and she pointed to where the little ball of white wool lay sleeping on Ethel's lap. Then Peg laughed heartily: "I didn't know what it was until it MOVED."
Peg finally weakened under Mr. Hawkes' powers of persuasion and on the understanding that she could see him whenever she wanted to, permitted the lawyer to take "Michael" out of her arms and give him to the disgusted footman, who held him at arm's length in mingled fear and disgust.
Then Hawkes took the bag and the parcels and handed them also to Jarvis. One of them burst open, disclosing her father's parting gifts. She kept the rosary and the miniature, and wrapping up the others carefully she placed them on the top of the other articles in the outraged Jarvis's arms, and then gave him her final injunctions. Patting "Michael" on the head she said to the footman:
"Ye won't hurt him, will ye?"
"Michael" at that stage licked her hand and whined as though he knew they were to be separated. Peg comforted him and went on: "And I'd be much obliged to ye if ye'd give him some wather and a bone. He loves mutton bones."
Jarvis, with as much dignity as he could assume, considering that he had one armful of shabby parcels and the other hand holding at arm's length a disgraceful looking mongrel, went out, almost on the verge of tears.
Peg looked down and found Alaric sitting at a desk near the door staring at her in disgust.
He was such a funny looking little fellow to Peg that she could not feel any resentment toward him. His sleek well-brushed hair; his carefully creased and admirably-cut clothes; his self-sufficiency; and above all his absolute assurance that whatever he did was right, amused Peg immensely. He was an entirely new type of young man to her and she was interested. She smiled at him now in a friendly way and said: "Ye must know 'Michael' is simply crazy about mutton. He LOVES mutton."
Alaric turned indignantly away from her. Peg followed him up. He had begun to fascinate her. She looked at his baby-collar with a well-tied bow gleaming from the centre; at his pointed shoes; his curious, little, querulous look. He was going to be good fun for Peg. She wanted to begin at once. And she would have too, not the icy accents of Mrs. Chichester interrupted Peg's plans for the moment.
"Come here," called Mrs. Chichester.
Peg walked over to her and when she got almost beside the old lady she turned to have another glimpse at Alaric and gave him a little, chuckling, good-natured laugh.
"Look at ME!" commanded Mrs. Chichester sternly.
"Yes, ma'am," replied Peg, with a little curtsey. Mrs. Chichester closed her eyes for a moment. What was to be done with this barbarian? Why should this affliction be thrust upon her? Then she thought of the thousand pounds a year. She opened her eyes and looked severely at Peg.
"Don't call me 'ma'am'!" she said.
"No, ma'am," replied Peg nervously, then instantly corrected herself: "No, ANT! No, ANT!"
"AUNT!" said Mrs. Chichester haughtily. "AUNT. Not ANT."
Alaric commented to Ethel:
"ANT! Like some little crawly insect."
Peg heard him, looked at him and laughed. He certainly was odd. Then she looked at Ethel, then at Mr. Hawkes, then all round the room as if she missed someone. Finally she faced Mrs. Chichester again.
"Are you me Uncle Nat's widdy?"
"No, I am not," contradicted the old lady sharply.
"Then how are you me—AUNT?" demanded Peg.
"I am your mother's sister," replied Mrs. Chichester.
"Oh!" cried Peg. "Then your name's Monica?"
"It is."
"What do ye think of that?" said Peg under her breath. She surreptitiously opened out the miniature and looked at it, then she scrutinised her aunt. She shook her head.
"Ye don't look a bit like me poor mother did."
"What have you there?" asked Mrs. Chichester.
"Me poor mother's picture," replied Peg softly.
"Let me see it!" and Mrs. Chichester held out her hand for it. Peg showed it to Mrs. Chichester, all the while keeping a jealous hold on a corner of the frame. No one would ever take it away from her. The old lady looked at it intently. Finally she said:
"She had changed very much since I last saw her—and in one year."
"Sorrow and poverty did that, Aunt Monica," and the tears sprang unbidden into Peg's eyes.
"AUNT will be quite sufficient. Put it away," and Mrs. Chichester released the miniature.
Peg hid it immediately in her bosom.
"Sit down," directed the old lady in the manner of a judge preparing to condemn a felon.
Peg sprawled into a chair with a great sigh of relief.
"Thank ye, ant—AUNT," she said. Then she looked at them all alternately and laughed heartily:
"Sure I had no idea in the wurrld I had such fine relations. Although of course my father often said to me, 'Now, Peg,' he would say, 'now, Peg, ye've got some grand folks on yer mother's side'—"
"Folks! Really—Ethel!" cried Alaric disgustedly.
"Yes, that's what he said. Grand FOLKS on me mother's side."
Mrs. Chichester silenced Peg.
"That will do. Don't sprawl in that way. Sit up. Try and remember where you are. Look at your cousin," and the mother indicated Ethel. Peg sat up demurely and looked at Ethel. She chuckled to herself as she turned back to Mrs. Chichester:
"Is she me cousin?"
"She is," replied the mother.
"And I am too," said Alaric. "Cousin Alaric."
Peg looked him all over and laughed openly. Then she turned to Ethel again, and then looked all around the room and appeared quite puzzled. Finally she asked Mrs. Chichester the following amazing question:
"Where's her husband?"
Ethel sprang to her feet. The blow was going to fall. She was to be disgraced before her family by that beggar-brat. It was unbearable.
Mrs. Chichester said in astonishment: "Her HUSBAND?"
"Yes," replied Peg insistently. "I saw her husband when I came in here first. I've been in this room before, ye know. I came in through those windows and I saw, her and her husband, she was—"
"What in heaven's name does she mean?" cried Alaric.
Peg persisted: "I tell ye it was SHE sent me to the kitchen—she and HIM."
"Him? Who in the world does she mean?" from Alaric.
"To whom does she refer, Ethel?" from Mrs. Chichester.
"Mr. Brent," said Ethel with admirable self-control. She was on thin ice, but she must keep calm. Nothing may come out yet if only she can silence that little chatterbox.
Alaric burst out laughing.
Mrs. Chichester looked relieved.
Peg went on:
"Sure, she thought I was a servant looking for a place and Mr. Hawkes told me not to say a word until he came—and I didn't say a word—" Mr. Hawkes now broke in and glancing at his watch said:
"My time, is short. Miss O'Connell, it was your uncle's wish that you should make your home here with Mrs. Chichester. She will give you every possible advantage to make you a happy, well-cared for, charming young lady."
Peg laughed.
"LADY? ME? Sure now—"
The lawyer went on:
"You must do everything she tells you. Try and please her in all things. On the first day of every month I will call and find out what progress you're making."
He handed Mrs. Chichester a card:
"This is my business address should you wish to communicate with me. And now I must take my leave." He picked up his hat and cane from the table.
Peg sprang up breathlessly and frightenedly. Now that Mr. Hawkes was going she felt deserted. He had at least been gentle and considerate to her. She tugged at his sleeve and looked straight up into his face with her big blue eyes wide open and pleaded:
"Plaze, sir, take me with ye and send me back to New York. I'd rather go home. Indade I would. I don't want to be a lady. I want me father. Plaze take me with you."
"Oh—come—come" Mr. Hawkes began.
"I want to go back to me father. Indade I do." Her eyes filled with tears. "He mightn't like me to stay here now that me uncle's dead."
"Why, it was your uncle's last wish that you should come here. Your father will be delighted at your good fortune." He gently pressed her back into the chair and smiled pleasantly and reassuringly down at her.
Just when he had negotiated everything most satisfactorily to have Peg endeavour to upset it all was most disturbing. He went on again: "Your aunt will do everything in her power to make you feel at home. Won't you, Mrs. Chichester?"
"Everything!" said Mrs. Chichester, as if she were walking over her own grave.
Peg looked at her aunt ruefully: her expression was most forbidding: at Ethel's expressive back; lastly at Alaric fitting a cigarette into a gold mounted holder. Her whole nature cried out against them. She made one last appeal to Mr. Hawkes:
"DO send me back to me father!"
"Nonsense, my dear Miss O'Connell. You would not disappoint your father in that way, would you? Wait for a month. I'll call on the first and I expect to hear only the most charming things about you. Now, good-bye," and he took her hand.
She looked wistfully up at him:
"Good-bye, sir. And thank ye very much for bein' so kind to me."
Hawkes bowed to Mrs. Chichester and Ethel and went to the door.
"Have a cab?" asked Alaric.
"No, thank you," replied the lawyer. "I have no luggage. Like the walk. Good-day," and Peg's only friend in England passed out and left her to face this terrible English family alone.
"Your name is Margaret," said Mrs. Chichester, as the door closed on Mr. Hawkes.
"No, ma'am—" Peg began, but immediately corrected herself; "no, aunt—I beg your pardon—no aunt—my name is Peg," cried she earnestly.
"That is only a CORRUPTION. We will call you Margaret," insisted Mrs. Chichester, dismissing the subject once and for all. But Peg was not to be turned so lightly aside. She stuck to her point.
"I wouldn't know myself as Margaret—indade I wouldn't. I might forget to answer to the name of Margaret." She stopped her pleading tone and said determinedly: "My name IS Peg." Then a little softer and more plaintively she added: "Me father always calls me Peg. It would put me in mind of me father if you'd let me be called Peg, aunt." She ended her plea with a little yearning cry.
"Kindly leave your father out of the conversation," snapped the old lady severely.
"Then it's all I will LAVE him out of!" cried Peg, springing up and confronting the stately lady of the house.
Mrs. Chichester regarded her in astonishment and anger.
"No TEMPER, if you please," and she motioned Peg to resume her seat.
Poor Peg sat down, breathing hard, her fingers locking and unlocking, her staunch little heart aching for the one human being she was told not to refer to.
This house was not going to hold her a prisoner if her father's name was to be slighted or ignored; on that point she was determined. Back to America she would go if her father's name was ever insulted before her. Mrs. Chichester's voice broke the silence:
"You must take my daughter as your model in all things."
Peg looked at Ethel and all her anger vanished temporarily. The idea of taking that young lady as a model appealed to her as being irresistibly amusing. She smiled broadly at Ethel. Mrs. Chichester went on:
"Everything my daughter does you must try and imitate. You could not have a better example. Mould yourself on her."
"Imitate her, is it?" asked Peg innocently with a twinkle in her eye and the suggestion of impishness in her manner.
"So far as lies in your power," replied Mrs. Chichester.
A picture of Ethel struggling in Brent's arms suddenly flashed across Peg, and before she could restrain herself she had said in exact imitation of her cousin:
"Please don't! It is so hot this morning!"
Then Peg laughed loudly to Ethel's horror and Mrs. Chichester's disgust.
"How dare you!" cried her aunt.
Peg looked at her a moment, all the mirth died away.
"Mustn't I laugh in this house?" she asked.
"You have a great deal to learn."
"Yes, aunt."
"Your education will begin to-morrow."
"Sure that will be foine," and she chuckled.
"No levity, if you please," said her aunt severely.
"No, aunt."
"Until some decent clothes can be procured for you we will find some from my daughter's wardrobe."
"Sure I've a beautiful dhress in me satchel I go to Mass in on Sundays. It's all silk, and—"
Mrs. Chichester stopped her:
"That will do. Ring, Alaric, please."
As Alaric walked over to press the electric button he looked at Peg in absolute disgust and entire disapproval. Peg caught the look and watched him go slowly across the room. He had the same morbid fascination for her that some uncanny elfish creature might have. If only her father could see him! She mentally decided to sketch Alaric and send it out to her father with a full description of him.
Mrs. Chichester again demanded her attention.
"You must try and realise that you have an opportunity few girls in your position are ever given. I only hope you will try and repay our interest and your late uncle's wishes by obedience, good conduct and hard study."
"Yes, aunt," said Peg demurely. Then she added quickly: "I hope ye don't mind me not having worn me silk dress, but ye see I couldn't wear it on the steamer—it 'ud have got all wet. Ye have to wear yer thravellin' clothes when ye're thravellin'."
"That will do," said Mrs. Chichester sharply.
"Well, but I don't want ye to think me father doesn't buy me pretty clothes. He's very proud of me, an' I am of him—an'—"
"That will do," commanded Mrs. Chichester as Jarvis came in reply to the bell.
"Tell Bennett to show my niece to the Mauve Room and to attend her," said Mrs. Chichester to the footman. Then turning to Peg she dismissed her.
"Go with him."
"Yes, aunt," replied Peg. "An' I am goin' to thry and do everythin' ye want me to. I will, indade I will."
Her little heart was craving for some show of kindness. If she was going to stay there she would make the best of it. She would make some friendly advances to them. She held her hand out to Mrs. Chichester:
"I'm sure I'm very grateful to you for taking me to live with yez here. An' me father will be too. But ye see it's all so strange to me here, an' I'm so far away—an' I miss me father so much."
Mrs. Chichester, ignoring the outstretched hand, stopped her peremptorily:
"Go with him!" and she pointed up the stairs, on the first landing of which stood the portly Jarvis waiting to conduct Peg out of the family's sight.
Peg dropped a little curtsey to Mrs. Chichester, smiled at Ethel, looked loftily at Alaric, then ran up the stairs and, following the footman's index finger pointing the way, she disappeared from Mrs. Chichester's unhappy gaze.
The three tortured people looked at each other in dismay.
"Awful!" said Alaric.
"Terrible!" agreed Mrs. Chichester.
"Dreadful!" nodded Ethel.
"It's our unlucky day, mater!" added Alaric. "One thing is absolutely necessary," Mrs. Chichester went on to say, "she must be kept away from every one for the present."
"I should say so!" cried Alaric energetically. Suddenly he ejaculated: "Good Lord! Jerry! HE mustn't see her. He'd laugh his head off at the idea of my having a relation like her. He'll probably run in to lunch."
"Then she must remain in her room until he's gone," said Mrs. Chichester, determinedly. "I'll go into town now and order some things for her and see about tutors. She must be taught and at once."
"Why put up with this annoyance at all?" asked Ethel, for the first time showing any real interest.
Mrs. Chichester put her arm around Ethel and a gentle look came into her eyes as she said:
"One thousand pounds a year—that is the reason—and rather than you or Alaric should have to make any sacrifice, dear, or have any discomfort, I would put up with worse than that."
Ethel thought a moment before she replied reflectively:
"Yes, I suppose you would. I wouldn't," and she went up the stairs. When she was little more than half way up Alaric, who had been watching her nervously, called to her:
"Where are you off to, Ethel?"
She looked down at him and a glow, all unsuspected, came into her eyes and a line of colour ran through her cheeks, and there was an unusual tremor in her voice, as she replied:
"To try to make up my mind, if I can, about something. The coming of PEG may do it for me."
She went on out of sight.
Alaric was half-inclined to follow her. He knew she was taking their bad luck to heart withal she said so little. He was really quite fond of Ethel in a selfish, brotherly way. But for the moment he decided to let Ethel worry it out alone while he would go to the railway station and meet his friend's train. He called to his mother as she passed through the door:
"Wait a minute, mater, and I'll go with you as far as the station-road and see if I can head Jerry off. His train is almost due if it's punctual."
He was genuinely concerned that his old chum should not meet that impossible little red-headed Irish heathen whom an unkind fate had dropped down in their midst.
At the hall-door Mrs. Chichester told Jarvis that her niece was not to leave her room without permission.
As Mrs. Chichester and Alaric passed out they little dreamt that the same relentless fate was planning still further humiliations for the unfortunate family and through the new and unwelcome addition to it.