Chapter Three.The Girl who Wished for Adventure.The girl who had wished for adventure journeyed back to her native village two days after the New Year’s party, and spent the following eighteen months in tramping monotonously along a well-worn rut. The only difference made by that oft-remembered conference was in her point of view. Before that date she had sighed for the unattainable; after it, the unattainable became the possible. Some day, if she but waited, opportunity would come; some day the end of a thread would float downward towards her hand, and grasping it, she would be led into a new world! To the best of her power, she cultivated this attitude, and each monotonous month, as it dragged past, added strength to her determination to snatch the first opportunity that came her way.At the end of eighteen months the girl packed up her trunk, and left home to pay a dull visit to a great-aunt.“Don’t expect me to write letters,” she said to her family at parting, and the family groaned in chorus, and cried: “Please, don’t! It’s quite enough for one of us to be victimised. Spare us the echoes of Aunt Eliza! Just send a postcard when you’re coming back.”Great-aunt Eliza was a daunting old lady who prided herself upon speaking the truth.“Goodness! How you have gone off,” was the first remark which she hurled at her great-niece’s head, after the conventional greetings had been exchanged. She poured out a cup of strong, stewed tea, and offered a slice of leathery muffin. “And you used to be quite nice looking!”Juliet smiled with the laboured brightness of a wallflower in a ballroom, and said, but did not for a moment mean:“I’m growing old, Aunt Eliza.”“You are, my dear,” agreed Aunt Eliza. “Twenty-eight, is it, or twenty-nine? And three other girls at home. Pity you haven’t married! Your father will have precious little to leave.”Juliet, who was twenty-six, and had never had a real definite proposal, smiled more laboriously than before, but the muffin tasted bitter as gall.On the third day of the visit, Aunt Eliza read a letter at the breakfast-table, and said suavely:“I shall have to curtail your visit, my dear! Cousin Maria Phillips writes that she is in the neighbourhood, and wishes to come over to see me. I can’t refuse to receive Maria, but two guests would upset the servants. You must come again later on. Perhaps there are some other friends you would like to visit?”Juliet replied haughtily that there were many other friends. When would Aunt Eliza wish—“Oh, there’s no hurry. Perhaps to-morrow,” said the old lady calmly. “This afternoon, my dear, I want you to go to the hospital for me. I distribute flowers in the Mary Wright Ward every Thursday, but I have a slight cold to-day, and daren’t venture out. Be ready by three, and the brougham will take you there. You can walk home.”At half-past three o’clock, therefore, Juliet entered the long bare stretch of the Mary Wright Ward, dedicated to female surgical cases, and passed from bed to bed, distributing little bunches of drooping flowers affixed to little white cards inscribed with texts. The patients accorded but a lukewarm welcome to these offerings, but were unaffectedly pleased to welcome the handsome girl whose coming made a break in the monotonous day. Some of the patients were sitting upright against their pillows, progressed so far towards convalescence as to be able to enjoy a chat; others could only give a wan smile of acknowledgment; at the extreme end of the ward the sight of a screened-off bed told its own sad tale.The woman in the nearest occupied bed related the story in a stage aside.“Accident case, brought in this morning. Dying, they think! Run over by a motor in the street. And only a bit of a girl like yourself! Mumbles a bit at times, delirious-like—nothing you can understand. There! she’s beginning again!”The sound of the thin, strained voice sent a shiver down Juliet’s spine, for there was in it a note which even her unaccustomed ears recognised. She turned to depart, with the natural shrinking of the young and healthy, but her haste made her careless, and the remaining bunches of flowers tilted out of her basket and rolled along the polished floor. Those that had fallen the farthest were almost touching the screen, and as Juliet bent to pick them up the mumbled voice seemed suddenly to grow into distinctness.It was a number that the voice was mumbling; number whispered over and over.“Eighty-one! ... Eighty-one! ... Grosvenor. Are you there? ... Eighty-one, are—you—there?”The mumbling died away, rose again, was lost in groans. Despite the weakness and the haste, the listener realised a quality in the voice which differentiated it from those of the other occupants of the ward. It was the voice of a woman of education and refinement, a woman belonging to her own class.Juliet shivered, and, clutching her flowers, walked quickly down the ward. Half-way down its length she met the Sister, and put a tentative question, to which was vouchsafed a cool, professional reply:“Yes. Very sad! Internal injuries. Sinking rapidly. Evidently a girl in good circumstances.”“Do you know her name—anything about her?”The Sister shrugged slightly.“Her clothes are marked ‘Alice White,’ and she had some American addresses and steamship tickets in her purse. TheLusitanialanded her passengers this morning. She has said nothing coherent, and, of course, cannot be questioned. The matron is making inquiries—”At that moment the quiet of the ward was broken by a sound of a cry of terrible import. Juliet quailed before it, and the Sister, darting forward, disappeared behind the screen.Alas for Alice White, who but a few hours ago had been young and strong, and heedless of disaster! Juliet descended the staircase of the hospital thrilling with horror at the remembrance of that cry, her mind seething with agitated questions. Who was Alice, and who—a thrill of excitement ran through her veins—who was Eighty-one, Grosvenor, with whom the dying girl’s thoughts had sought communion?Grosvenor? That meant London. Alice White, then, had friends in London. Would it not be better to communicate with them, rather than with mere officials in an office?At the door of the great building, Juliet hesitated and turned from the street as if to retrace her steps. Should she go back to the Mary Wright Ward, tell the Sister what she had overheard, and suggest telephoning forthwith? For a moment the suggestion found favour, then, with her foot outstretched to remount the first step, she drew back and walked rapidly away. In the flash of a moment it had darted into her brain as a crystallised resolution to give her information into no second hand, but to go herself to the nearest call office and ring up Eighty-one Grosvenor. The woman in the nearest bed had spoken of mutterings. The sister had caught no coherent words. If death had immediately followed her own interview, it seemed probable that no one but herself had overheard the number.Juliet’s eyes brightened, and a flush of colour showed in her cheeks. The information received might be of the driest; the sequel of reporting it to the hospital authorities promised but small excitement; nevertheless, in her uneventful life, small things counted as great, and the touch of uncertainty fired her blood.She seated herself in the little boxed-off room, and at the end of ten minutes’ wait received an affirmative answer to the oft-repeated question.“Yes. This is Eighty-one, Grosvenor. Who is speaking?”Though she had waited so long, Juliet was still pondering how to word her inquiries. It seemed useless to mention an unknown name, so on the impulse of the moment she decided to give a simple account of the accident.“Alice White—” She was about to add—“has been mortally injured,” or some such statement, when, cutting swiftly across her words, came a cry of relief from the other end of the wire:“Alice White!At last! We’ve been expecting to hear from you all day. It’s urgent. Why didn’t you wire?”“I—I—” Juliet stammered in confusion, and the voice, a woman’s voice, interrupted again, in a sharp, businesslike accent:“Never mind now. You can explain later. Are you alone?”“Yes.”“That’s right! Then listen to me, and give your answers in monosyllables. I will spell any names you miss, if you ask me to repeat. Don’t attempt to pronounce them yourself, but write them down in a note-book. There must be no mistake. Are you ready?”“One moment.” Juliet had no note-book, but a search in her bag found a pencil and the blank page of a letter. “Ready!”“You are ready to write instructions? I have been keeping over a case until your arrival, as it seemed in your line. It is urgent. Nice people. Comfortable surroundings. You would stay in the house as a guest. Can you go on first thing to-morrow?”For one second, barely a second, Juliet hesitated; then the answer came, short and sharp:“I can!”“That’s good! Go to the station to-day, and look up your route. There will be several changes. Have you your pencil? Write down ‘Maplestone—Antony Maplestone.’ Have you got it? ‘The Low House.’ L-o-w. ‘Nunkton.’ N-u-n-k-t-o-n. ‘Great Morley.’ ‘Maplestone, The Low House, Nunkton, Great Morley.’ Have you got that? Go on to-morrow by the first train. I will wire to Mr Maplestone to expect you. He will explain the case. Are you all right for money? Take your best clothes, as for a country visit. Report to me in the course of a week. Do your best. Good chance for you. (Yes, I’ve nearly finished. I’ve not had my three minutes.) You understand, Miss White? You quite understand?”“I quite understand,” said Juliet, and sat down heavily on the chair beside the receiver.How had it happened? How much was she to blame? From the moment of that first interruption it seemed as if she had had no chance to explain. Without any preconceived intention of taking the injured girl’s place, she had done so, as it were, without volition of her own. The spirit of adventure, so long nourished, had grasped at the opportunity, before the slower brain had had time to decide on its action.Juliet drew a deep breath, and stared with dilated eyes at the opposite wall. “HowcouldI?” she asked herself, breathlessly. “HowdaredI? HowcanI?” And then, with a bursting laugh, “But I will!” she cried, and leaped nimbly to her feet.“Urgent! Nice people! Good chance! A guest in the house!” Her lips moved in repetition of the different phrases as she walked rapidly back in the direction of the hospital. She knitted her brows in the effort to understand, to reconcile contradictions. What was this Alice White, and on what mission had she crossed the ocean? And who was Eighty-one, Grosvenor, who issued orders as to a subordinate, and gave instructions as to reports?Only one thing seemed certain, and that was that it would be many a long day, if ever, before poor Alice White was fit to take up any work, however interesting. Remembering that last choking cry, it seemed probable that even now—Juliet resolutely stifled further questionings until once more she stood within the portals of the hospital, and made her inquiries of the porter. He retired, and returned, after a few minutes’ absence, with a face appropriately lengthened.“Gone, miss! Directly you left. Went off in a moment.”Juliet nodded, and turned back to the street. What exactly had she intended to do had Alice White still been alive? Honestly, she did not know! It seemed as though she would never be able to answer that question. She waved it impatiently aside. Why trouble about might-have-beens? The girl was dead! The only question of importance which now remained was,what was she herself going to do?Juliet thought of the long years of boredom and waiting which had made up her life; she thought of her dull, comfortable home; of her dull, comfortable visits, and longingly, daringly, she thought of the interesting “case” which was “urgent,” and a “good chance.” She recalled with a tingling of excitement her aunt’s morning announcement, which necessitated her own departure on the morrow.“I could go over to Nunkton, and see what it meant. If there was anything I didn’t like I could move on at once to the Blakes. No one need know; no one need guess. Even if I stayed for a few days, it could be arranged!” She stopped short in the middle of the pavement, and drew a deep breath of excitement.“It’s my chance!” she cried to herself. “The chance I’ve been waiting for! Whatever happens, whatever comes of it—I shall go!”The next day Juliet set forth on her voyage of adventure, with the mingling of elation and nervousness inevitable under the circumstances. Remindful of telephone instructions, she attired herself with especial care, and was agreeably conscious that she looked her best. A travelling costume as smart as it was simple, a trig little hat, with just one dash of colour at the side to give the neededcachetand emphasise the tints of the face beneath. “Really quite a creditable face!” she told herself, smiling back at a reflection of grey eyes thickly fringed with black lashes, curling, humorous lips, and the prettiest flush of pink—genuine, washable pink—upon the cheeks. “If I were happy, if I were interested, I might be almost—beautiful,” she told herself with a sigh. “Every woman grows plain when she is superfluous and alone.”Seated in the train, drawing near to her destination, Juliet found herself repeating the words over and over, like a child rehearsing a lesson. “Alice White,” cried the mental voice, “Alice White,” and again, “Alice White. It’s my name! I must answer to it. I must give it when asked. I am Alice White, professionalsomething—I don’t know what. I am obeying a telephone summons meant for someone else, and, if I don’t want to be discovered within five minutes of my arrival, I must keep my wits about me, and think seventeen times at least before I utter a word. I’m to be met at the station and treated as one of the family, and to remember that appearance is a strong point, and wear my best clothes...” She knitted her brows, and for the hundredth time endeavoured to reach a solution of the mystery. “I can’t be a sick-nurse; the clothes settle that. If it had been that, I should have had to confess at once. But in other capacities I’m intelligent, I’m experienced, I’m willing. I’mmorethan willing—I’meager! There’s no reason why I should not do as well as the real Alice. After all, it’s quite a usual thing to take up work under a professional name. Writers do it, artists, actors; there can be no harm in using the poor girl’s name, if I do my best with her work.”The train drew up at the station, a small, flowery country station, and, opening the door, Juliet stepped lightly to the ground. Her carriage had been at the end of the train, and the length of platform stretched before her. A glance showed a solitary porter approaching the luggage van; one commanding figure of an unusually big man, in a tweed knickerbocker suit; and, farther off still, by the door of the booking-office, two ladies in navy-blue costumes, apparently awaiting the arrival of friends. At the extreme end of the train another door opened, and an elderly man carrying a bag made a heavy descent to the platform. The ladies stood motionless; the man in tweeds hurried towards where Juliet stood. She looked at him anxiously, met the glance of a pair of level brown eyes, and was instantly conscious of two things concerning his state of mind. He was embarrassed; he was also agreeably relieved. The next moment he was facing her, and was holding out his hand.“Miss White?”“Yes.”“I am Antony Maplestone.”“Oh!”Juliet was conscious that her own sensations exactly duplicated those of her companion. She was embarrassed; she was also agreeably relieved, for if adventure were to be her portion, no girl could have wished for a more attractive stage manager to initiate her into her part. She stood blushing and smiling, wondering what to say next, subconsciously aware the while that, by placing his tall form between her and the end of the platform, Maplestone was designedly screening her from the scrutiny of the blue-robed dames.“I have a dog-cart waiting,” he said hastily. “I’m going to drive you home, and explain thingsen route; my man will look after your boxes. Er—there’s just one thing—” The air of embarrassment grew more marked; a flush showed in his cheeks. “It’s a nuisance; there are two women over there—neighbours; I’m afraid I’ll be obliged to introduce you. Do you think, for a few minutes, until we can escape, you could manage to look a little—intimate?” His voice, his look, were so full of apology at the suggestion, that Juliet’s surprise gave way to amusement. She laughed, a bright girlish laugh, and said, “Certainly!” in crisp, matter-of-fact tones which were evidently a vast relief to her companion. He stepped quickly to one side, as if anxious that her smiling face should be seen by others besides himself, and led the way down the platform, inclining his head towards her with an air of deepest solicitude. “You have had a comfortable journey?”“Oh, yes,” Juliet nodded gaily, responding readily to his cue. He wished her to talk, he wished the watching women to believe that this was no first meeting, but a reunion of friends. For some unknown reason it was necessary to his interests that they should receive this impression. Very well, then, it should be done. “Alice White” was not going to fail in the first call upon her.“Oh, yes, quite comfy. I had a tea basket.Chinatea. Did you know you could getChinatea in baskets? And a ducky little pot of jam, all to myself. Isn’t this station pretty? Such sweet flowers!”They were close to the ticket office by this time. The man’s eyes flashed a look of gratitude and appreciation. He laid a light touch on her arm, and brought her to a stand before the waiting women.“Here she is! I’m not disappointed, you see. I want to introduce you to each other while I have a chance. Miss Clare Lawson, Lady Lorrima, Miss Bridges.”Juliet bowed and smiled, her senses momentarily stunned by the responsibility of yet another cognomen. Now she would have to begin all over again and train herself to be “Clare.”The eyes of the two women were keenly critical; their words were cordial, if somewhat mysterious.“Sopleased to meet you! Quite an honour to be the first to welcome you. The Squirewillbe delighted!”“I shall be delighted to see him,” Juliet declared smiling. She disliked the attitude of these women as much as she was attracted by that of the man by her side. Despite their assurances, she had a conviction that they werenotpleased at her arrival; that it was a disappointment to them to find her appearance beyond criticism. The big man stood silent by her side; she divined also that he was nervous and troubled, momentarily dreading a slip on her part. She was determined to make no slip. Already she had ranked herself on his side, and felt the stirring of the true actor’s joy in making the best of his part.The younger of the two women gave a difficult, unmirthful laugh. She was a thin, elegant-looking creature, rather over thirty, whose good looks were marred by an expression of discontent.“Really, you know,” she cried in affected tones, “we were beginning to think that your name was Harris, and that Antony had invented you for his own convenience. It seemed so strange that he had never spoken of you before.”Juliet’s little laugh of response was quite sweet and unruffled. “Oh, I’m very real, I assure you. A most substantial person. I’m so glad he didn’t bore you with descriptions; they lead to so much disappointment.” She held out her hand with a charming assurance. “Good-bye! Perhaps we may meet again.”The next moment they were passing through the office, out of view of the curious eyes, and a low-toned “Bravo!” acclaimed the success of her effort. Juliet laughed in involuntary self-congratulation, and Maplestone laughed in sympathy. The two women, catching a sight of the dog-cart as it wheeled down the lane, saw the two laughing faces turned towards each other in mutual enjoyment, and the sight was not good in their eyes.“It’s true, then; an absolute fact. And quite presentable, too. Well, Honoria, I’m sorry!”Meanwhile Juliet was putting her first question to her companion.“Please—why am I Clare Lawson?”His face fell. Amusement gave place to embarrassment. “Do you object? I’m sorry to have sprung it upon you so suddenly, but—well, you had to have some name, hadn’t you? I suppose one is as good as another.”“Perhaps so, but it’s just a trifle confusing, because—” Juliet drew herself up on the verge of an incriminating confession. “As you say, it doesn’t really matter, but I am naturally interested. WhoisClare Lawson?”“Er—as a matter of fact, there is no such person. I invented a fictitious girl, then, suddenly, was called upon for her name, so had to christen her on the spur of the moment. Clare happened to be the name of the heroine in a novel I’d just finished reading, and Lawson was the first surname which came to my mind. It’s not such abadname, is it?”Juliet made an expressive little grimace.“Considered as an artistic effort, I can’t say much for it. You might have done so much better. Clare! I’m not a bit like a Clare. And who is Claresupposedto be?”He looked at her with a keen, comprehensive glance. Juliet had an impression that what he saw increased his embarrassment, from the very reason of his admiration. What he had to say would evidently have been easier if she had been less attractive, had not so obviously belonged to his own class. The flush mounted once more to his cheeks.“Miss Lawson, I should like to begin with a word of self-defence. I have the reputation of being straight in my dealings and I think I may say that it is deserved, yet at this moment, owing to an—impulse, to—er—the folly of a moment, I find myself stranded, implicated—how shall I express it? I’m in the dickens of a hole, anyway, and for the moment can’t imagine how I am ever to get out.”“And if you only knew it,soamI!” was Juliet’s mental reflection. Aloud, she said sententiously, “Such thingsdohappen. I’ve heard of them. Please tell me about it. Perhaps I can help.”“That’s ripping of you! You see, obviously, therehadto be a girl, and, obviously also, I couldn’t ask a friend. There was nothing for it but to get someone from outside. I searched the newspapers and spotted your office. They said they employed ladies, and being trained to detec—to inquiry work, I thought it would come easy to act a part.”In after years Juliet never quite understood how she retained her balance at that moment, and did not topple sideways, fall out of the high cart, and find a solution of her troubles. The sudden realisation that she was masquerading as nothing more or less than a lady detective, was so stunning in its unexpectedness and chagrin, that even the tactful softening of the term to that of inquiry agent failed to restore her equanimity. Now, indeed, there was nothing before her but confession, for her whole nature revolted from the position of a “spy” in the household. It required a strong effort to speak in a natural voice.“Wouldn’t it be better if you began at the beginning and told me the whole story?”“That’s what I am trying to do, but it’s so difficult... The Squire, Mr Maplestone, is my uncle. He and his wife have been like parents to me. I am in the army—Indian regiment—home on a year’s leave. They have no children, and I am their heir. Naturally, under the circumstances, they are anxious that I should—er—”“Marry!”“Quite so. Well!” in a tone of aggrieved self-vindication, “Imeanto marry. Every fellow does when he gets past thirty. I came home this time with the determination to get engaged at the first opportunity, but—er—the time has passed by, and—it hasn’t come off. I’ve met lots of girls, charming girls. I can’t honestly say that I haven’t had theopportunity, but when it came to the point”—he shrugged again—“I simply didn’t want them, and that was the end of the matter. The dickens of it is, my leave is up in two months from now, and the old man is at the end of his patience. Last week he had an attack of gout, a bad one too, and that brought matters to a crisis. He declared he’d cut me off there and then if I did not get engaged at once. I was sorry for the old fellow; he was in horrible pain; the doctor said he must be soothed at all costs, so—er—er—on the spur of the moment I invented Clare. I said I was engaged to Clare, but that Clare was afraid of the Indian climate, and refused to marry me till the regiment returned home, two years from now. I hardly realised what I was saying. I was between the devil and the deep sea. But he swallowed it whole, went off to sleep, and woke up as bright as a button. I was inclined to congratulate myself on having done a clever thing, for as I told you, Iintendto marry. I am only waiting for the right girl to turn up. I may very likely meet her on the voyage out. Many men do. But, retribution fell upon me. He demanded to see Clare. I prevaricated. He grew suspicious. There was another scene, another relapse; it was a case of confessing all, at goodness knows what risk, or of finding Clare, and producing her for inspection. So—you see—”Juliet sat silent; petrified, aflame. While he had been speaking, Maplestone had kept his eyes rigorously averted from her face; he continued to do so now, and they drove along the quiet lane in a silence which could befelt—a throbbing, palpitating, scorching silence, which grew momentarily more unendurable. Juliet told herself fiercely that she was a fool to feel embarrassed. Alice White would not have been embarrassed. Alice White would have accepted the position as a pure matter of business. As Alice White’s substitute, she must pull herself together and discuss the matter in a cool, rational fashion. If only her cheeks were not quite so hot!“It’s—er—rather an unusual proposition, isn’t it? It is, as you say, somewhat difficult to discuss. Suppose,” she cried desperately, “we treat it with a sense of humour!Don’tlet us be serious. Let us laugh over it, and then it will become quite easy.”“Oh, thank you, yes. How ripping of you!” His eyes flashed relief. “I can promise you that it won’t be nearly as trying as it sounds. The old people will be all that is kind, and—er—you understand that he is an invalid, and his wife is his nurse. They are engrossed with their own affairs, and won’t worry you with questions. It is only in your supposed connection with me that you will—er—enter into their lives. As to myself, I have the reputation of being reserved to a fault. They won’t expect me to—er—er—”Juliet forced a determined smile. “Precisely so! We’ll be a model of all that an engaged couple—ought to be. But I had better not make myself too agreeable, in case the subsequent breaking off should prejudice the old people against you. I conclude I am to break it off?”“Yes, please, if you don’t mind—when I meet the real girl. But please do me creditpro tem. The great thing is to demonstrate to the old man that I seriously think of marriage, and those two years give plenty of time. You understand that you have an insuperable objection to the Indian climate?”“Certainly; that’s easy. I’ve always longed to go, so I shall just turn my arguments upside down. And—er—where did we meet?”“Oh, yes, of course, we must have some mutual coaching. There’s not much time now, but after tea they’ll expect us to have atête-à-tête; we’ll go over it then. I was introduced to you at Henley. You’re the sister of Phil Lawson, an old school friend. It—er—it was a case at first sight. We got engaged on the third day.”“Most unwise!” said Juliet primly, and they laughed together with the heartiness born of relief from a painful situation. Really, this sense-of-humour attitude was an admirable solution.Antony slackened the reins and, fumbling in a pocket, drew out a small box.“May I—just for the next few days—beg your acceptance of this bauble?”“Oh, thank you.” Juliet drew off her gloves and held up a well-shaped hand, on the third finger of which sparkled a row of diamonds. “It’s not necessary. I can put this one on my left hand. It has quite an engagementy look about it, and I’d rather—”“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it won’t do. This is a family heirloom. The old man would consider it a slight if it were not used. Just for one week.”He opened the box, and showed a great square-cut emerald set in a border of diamonds—an antique jewel, evidently of considerable value—lifted it between finger and thumb, and held it out with calm expectancy. Quite calmly also, Juliet extended her left hand; but at the mutual touch, it was impossible to resist a thrill of embarrassment, a lightning realisation of what the moment might have meant had the action been real instead of masquerade. Juliet hastily drew on her gloves; Antony became engrossed in driving. They drove in silence up a long drive, and saw before them an old stone mansion, covered with clustering ivy.The butler stared, the footman stared. Raising her eyes as she passed under the great well of the staircase, Juliet caught the flash of a white cap hurriedly withdrawn. A baize door, obviously leading into the servants’ quarters, creaked eloquently upon its hinges. The back of Antony’s neck grew ever redder and redder as he led the way onwards; finally the drawing-room door was flung open, and across a space of chintz, and tapestry, and massed-up roses, Juliet beheld two figures rise hurriedly in welcome.The aunt’s thin locks were parted in the middle, and surmounted by a lace cap with a lavender bow. She wore a douce black silk dress, with a douce lace collar. She looked Victorian, and downtrodden, and meek, and Juliet dismissed her in half a dozen words.“She’ll swallow anything!”The Squire had a short neck, a red face, steel blue eyes, and a white waistcoat. He stood about five feet four in his boots and bore himself with the air of a giant.“He’ll swallownothing!” was Juliet’s second diagnosis, and she braced herself for the fray. The introduction was simple in the extreme.“This is Clare!” said Antony, whereupon Mrs Maplestone said hurriedly: “How d’you do. So pleased! You must have tea!” and the Squire said nothing at all, but cleared his throat, and pulled forward a chair. Then they all sat down, and Mrs Maplestone busied herself over the tea-tray, while her husband took his turn to stare.He began at Juliet’s feet, and considered them judiciously. Large, but well shaped, wore a good boot. Next he studied her hands, cocking a jealous eye at the emerald ring. Large again, but white; good fingers; manicured nails. Thirdly he considered her figure, and was pleased to approve. Pine girl, some flesh on her bones, none of your modern skeletons. Last of all he looked at her face. “Humph! not so bad. Points; distinctly points! Antony was not such a fool as he looked!” In five minutes’ time the Squire could have passed an examination on the subject of Juliet’s appearance, and she realised as much, and felt correspondingly elated when the hard eyes softened, and an offer of hot scones was prefaced by, “My dear.” My dear had been examined and found correct. My dear was approved. By the time that cups were filled for the second time, the Squire had thawed to the point of jocularity.“Well, Miss Clare, and what tales has this fine fellow been telling you about me? Wicked uncle, eh? Cruel ogre. Gouty old tartar, who insists upon having his own way, and bullies his unfortunate nephew till he is obliged to give in for the sake of peace? That’s it, eh? That’s what he told you.”Juliet looked across at Antony, discovered him flushed, frowning, supremely uncomfortable, and tilted her head with a charming audacity.“Does that mean that he was bullied into having Me? It wouldn’t be exactly ‘peaceful’ for him, if I believed that! He certainly would not dare to tell me anything so unflattering.”The Squire hastened to eat his words. The girl was a nice girl; frank, friendly, with a touch of the devil which was entirely to his taste. Not for the world would he prejudice her against the boy.“No, no; not at all, not at all. Precious little notice he took of my wishes, until it suited himself to follow my advice. Obstinate fellow, you know; obstinate as a mule. Wouldn’t think it to see him sitting there, looking as if he couldn’t say boo to a goose; but it’s a fact. You’ll find it out another day!”“I like a man to have a strong will,” Juliet said with the air of a meek, gentle, little fiancée, and the Squire laughed loudly, and made a characteristic change of front.“Glad to hear it! Glad you don’t go in for any of this fashionable nonsense about independence and equality. You obey your husband, my dear, and stay quietly in your home, and content yourself with your house duties, as your mother did before you. What hasshegot to say about this precious engagement?”“Mother thinks of me. She is glad of anything that makes me happy,” Juliet said, and flattered herself that she had rounded the corner rather neatly. Antony looked at her quickly, and as quickly looked away. Little Mrs Maplestone gave a soft murmur of approval.“She must be, dear! I am sure she must be and I’m sure she’ll like Antony when she knows him better. I hope we shall soon meet your parents. It was through your brother that you met, was it not? An old school friend. At Henley?”“Yes, Henley. Yes, Phil! Please don’t ask me about it! The whole thing was such a rush. Only three days! It seems like a dream. I—I forget everything but the one great fact!” cried Juliet, taking refuge in truth, and thereby winning smiles of approval from her old-fashioned hearers, who considered such confusion suitable and becoming. They beamed upon her, and Juliet began to feel the dawnings of pride in her own diplomacy. She was getting on well; surprisingly well! She allowed herself to believe that Alice White could have done no better.“Three days, eh?” repeated the Squire complacently. “Bowled him over in three days, did you, after being bullet-proof all these years! How in the world did you manage to do it?”“I can’t think!” declared Juliet, truthfully again, but she smiled as she spoke, and showed a dimple, and dropped her eyelids, so that the dark lashes rested on the pink of her cheeks, whereat the young man looked more embarrassed than ever, and the old one laughed till he choked, and offered her more cake, and called her “my dear” twice over in a single sentence, and delivered himself of the opinion that Antony was a lucky dog.“Doesn’t deserve it, after all his slackness and procrastination! Let’s hope he’ll appreciate his good luck. But what’s this nonsense about waiting two years? What’s this nonsense about not going back with him at once?”Juliet looked as she felt, flustered, and taken aback.“It’s so—sudden!” she pleaded, and blushed as she said the word. “I—I don’t approve of marrying in a rush. Only two months before he sails. Suppose he regretted it? S-suppose he changed his mind?”“It’s for him to answer that question! Speak up, Antony! Are you likely to change your mind? Do you feel any inclination to give up Miss Clare now that you have got her to promise to take you for better for worse?”“I’m not given to changing my mind, sir,” Antony said, discreetly answering the last question but one. He rose hastily as he spoke, evidently afraid lest his turn of cross-questioning was about to begin, and said hurriedly: “Clare is tired, Uncle. She’ll answer all your questions later on. I’m going to take her into the garden for a little fresh air, and then send her upstairs to rest.”So for the next half-hour Antony Maplestone and Juliet, alias Alice, Clare, sat in a rose-shaded arbour, and discussed the plan of attack. There was so much to be settled. It was like making up a play, and coaching each other in the leading parts. Juliet was inclined to give herself airs on the success of her first scene, and discovered with surprise that her companion vouchsafed only a mitigated admiration.“You must be veryusedto it!” he said grudgingly whereupon Juliet bridled, and declared:“I’m not! It’s the very first case I’ve had, when—All my experiences so far, have been strictly business-like. I think you might give mesomeencouragement. I thought I was so clever!”“You were, you were! Uncommonly clever, and I felt all sorts of a fool. I’m not used to playing a part, and it comes harder than I expected. It’s a comfort to escape and feel that we can talk openly together!” He stretched his arms, and drew a big sigh of relief. Juliet sighed too, but not for the same reason.“I think it might be a wise precaution,” she said presently, “if I sent my parents abroad to travel for several months! Mrs Maplestone spoke of wishing to see them, and it would be awkward to produce a suitable pair at a moment’s notice. And dangerous! Think of the pitfalls that would yawn before us over reminiscences of childhood? Perhaps they’d better go for health! That would explain their leaving home just at this time. We must send them to a foreign spa for a six-weeks’ course. Where shall they go?”“Marienbad,” Antony said promptly, whereon Juliet drew herself up haughtily, and put on an air of offence.“No aspersions, if you please.Myparents are thin! It shall be rheumatism, I think. That’s quite ordinary and eminently respectable. They mightbothhave it, if it comes to that.”But Antony objected.“No. Not both! That’s too drastic. My uncle would certainly object that you would inherit a tendency. Only your father! A recent attack...”“Just so; and they are anxious to take it in time. Mother goes with him, as they are a devoted couple and couldn’t endure to be parted for six weeks. Mud baths, I think. There’s such a sound of verisimilitude about mud baths! I think we must really decide on mud baths.”“Poor beggar, yes! I’m afraid there’s no help for him. Where are they, by the way? I’ve no idea. Have you?”“Oh, yes. They are in Germany somewhere. Or is it Italy? Somewhere about that part of the world,” Juliet said vaguely, whereupon Antony took out his pocket-book and wrote down a memorandum.“A dutiful daughter ought to have her parents’ address! I’ll find that out before dinner. As a matter of fact, I don’t think my uncle will trouble his head about your relations. There would have been the dickens to pay if he had not approved of you, but he was quite unusually amiable, took to you at first sight, and the aunt too. It went off far better than I expected.”“Just let me be quite clear on one point,” Juliet demanded. “Am I nice, and amiable, and meek, or am I dashing and sportive?”“Neither one nor the other, a useful blend. Don’t worry about that. You are perfectly all right as you are.”“And—just as a guide for moments of expansion—mightit be ‘Tony’?”“Tony it must be. Most decidedly Tony.” His voice was brisk with decision. The brown eyes brightened in anticipation. “Perhaps even occasionally, ‘Dear.’”“Oh, no!” Juliet shook her head obstinately. “No ‘dears’! I’ve been strictly brought up. I’m shy.Nodemonstrations in public. I’ve no brothers, you see, and have led a secluded life.”“Yes, yes, there’s Phil; you must remember Phil. It was your brother Phil who introduced us at Henley. You were staying with friends.”“Ihavefriends near Henley. Their name is Jones. Can you remember Jones? Mr Jones, solicitor; Mrs Jones; Miss Jones; Miss Florence Jones; Mr Reginald Jones, son, junior partner.”“Just so. Reginald, of course, is Philip’s friend. Phil is, like myself, home on leave. That simplifies things for you. By the by, he is in China, in the Customs.”“Poor dear Philip; with all these horrid riots. Idofeel anxious about him!” sighed naughty Juliet in response; then, suddenly, “I wonder,” she had cried soberly, “if Iought! I hate to deceive people, even for their own good. I wonder if I ought to go on.”“But surely”—he stared at her in amazement—“it’s yourprofession! It would be impossible to do inquiry work if people knew from the beginning what you were about. Why did you—excuse me—choose such a profession if your conscience is so tender?”“I—I didn’t realise. It was arranged in a hurry. I don’t think I shall take any more cases.”“No, don’t!” Antony cried eagerly. “It’s all right this time, for you have fallen among people who will treat you properly, but it might be so different. Haven’t you a home where you can live safely and comfortably?”“Very comfortably indeed, but I happen to be one of the horde of superfluous women who need something more than comfort.”Antony looked at her curiously at that, but he had asked no questions. Juliet was thankful for his silence; for the absence of obvious compliments. The situation would be intolerable with a man of another type. With Maplestone one had a comfortable feeling of security—a very comfortable feeling. Juliet fell asleep that night with a smile on her lips.For three days all went well, the Squire approving, his wife motherly, Antony chivalrous and attentive. Whatever the real experience might be, Juliet was satisfied that pretending to be engaged was an agreeable sensation. Morning and afternoon Antony drove her abroad, sat with her in the rose garden, or escorted her on long walks over the countryside, and soon, wonderfully soon, there was no further need of coaching between them, for the lives of each, and the experiences thereof, the hopes, aspirations, and rebuffs, had been spread as in an opened book before the eyes of the other, with just one reservation on Juliet’s side, the disclosure of her own identity!“I have had an adventurous life. The one thing I have not had to complain of is monotony,” said Antony.“And I have had nothing else. Until recently I have gone on, year after year, existing, not living, in the same little rut.”“No wonder you broke loose. A girl like you was never made for stagnation. You ought to travel: to see the world. I never met a woman with so keen an appreciation of beauty. Gad! how you would enjoy India, and the scenery we have over there. Last year we were stationed in the north, above Darjeeling. I’d like to blindfold you, and take you to a spot I know, and then take off the bandage, and show you—the snows! That would be a moment worth living for.”“Ah, yes. Unfortunately, however, the climate of India is prejudicial to my health,” Juliet reminded him primly.“Oh, hang the climate of India!” cried Antony Maplestone.The Squire also was inclined to “hang” the Indian climate in its bearing upon the health of his guest. He cross-questioned his prospective niece upon the subject with increasing irritability.“What’s the matter with your health? You look strong enough. Can’t have a liver with that complexion. Can’t have a heart, rushing about all day long. Given it away, eh, what? Antony, what’s wrong with her heart?”“Nothing, sir. It’s a tip-top heart; in first-class working condition.”“What’s wrong, then—what’s wrong? Nothing but nerves and nonsense. If I were a young man and my fiancée didn’t care enough about me to face a bit of discomfort, I’d—I’d comfort myself with the first nice girl thatwould! If you let him go off to India alone, young lady, you’ll have yourself to thank if you are left in the lurch.”Juliet took out her handkerchief and pretended to cry. It was a comfort to be able to hide one’s face, and besides, just between herself and the handkerchief therewasa tear. Shewouldbe left in the lurch, and, oh, my goodness, how dull it would be!From the end of the room sounded three separate gasps of consternation.“Leave heroine, uncle! It’s my affair. Clare,don’tcry!”“He doesn’t mean it, dear; he doesn’t mean it. Antony never would.”“Kiss her, you stupid fellow, kiss her! What’s the use of glowering there?”Then, in the midst of a thrilling silence, Juliet felt strong arms enfold her, felt the sweep of a moustache against her cheek. It was the first, the very first time in the course of her twenty-six years that any man but a blood relation had offered her a caress, and—she liked the sensation! She felt a horrible, horrible inclination to abandon herself to that strong support; to lift her own lips to meet his. The rebound from the temptation gave energy to the gesture with which she pushed him away and leaped, flaming, to her feet.“It’s my own heart, and I know best what it can stand! And—and—there are snakes—and rats—and insects, crawly-creepy things dropping from the ceilings! He can have anyone he likes... I don’t care... I don’t want him. I’ll stay at home!” She dashed wildly from the room.Antony and his aunt stared blankly at each other. The Squire chuckled complacently and rubbed his hands.“That’sall right,” he cried cheerily. “That’s done it. She’ll go with you, my boy. She’ll go all right. Book a second passage to-morrow, and I’ll stand the risk.”At dinner that night there was an air of festival. The feast was sumptuous, the table was decorated with exquisite hothouse flowers, purely, spotlessly white—a bridal white, unmistakable in its significance. Juliet blushed as she beheld that table, and blushed again looking down on her own white robe. Upstairs in her own room she had cried, and stormed, and blushed, and trembled, and vowed fiercely to leave the house by the first train on the following morning, and sobbed again at the thought of departure. Also, she had vowed with fervour to be cold as ice to Antony Maplestone, and to prove to him by the haughtiness of her demeanour that his caress was unpardonable, without excuse. And then, being a woman, and a particularly feminine one at that, she had naturally selected her very best dress, and had arrayed herself therein for his delectation.Now what bad luck that the dress happened to be white!The Squire over-ate himself recklessly. “Hang it all, my dear,” he informed his protesting wife, “a man can’t always be thinking of diet. Thereareoccasions—” He nodded meaningly towards his guest, and quaffed a bumper of champagne.After dinner, when the pseudo-lovers were left alone for the nightlytête-à-tête, the subject of the Squire’s indiscretion was eagerly seized upon as a subject for conversation, to lessen the embarrassment from which both were suffering.Said Antony, “It’s madness. He has not yet recovered from the last attack. One would think that a man who has suffered such agonies would have learned wisdom!”Said Juliet gloomily, “Who does? Nobody does! It certainly doesn’t becomeusto—er—”“Oh, well,” he interrupted quickly, “let’s hope he escapes this time. It’s hard on a man to be everlastingly prudent. I’m not at all sure that the greatest wisdom does not exist in occasionally breaking loose!”Juliet faced him, erect and dignified. She had scented a personal application in his words, and was determined to stand no nonsense.“Mr Maplestone, I have been here four days; it seems to me inadvisable to stay any longer. To-morrow morning I propose to receive a telegram summoning me home. I should be obliged if you could make it convenient to be out after eleven o’clock. It would make it easier for me to get away.”There was consternation in his glance; more than consternation—dismay.“Go! Why on earth should you go? Is it the office! Do they want you back at the office? Letmewrite. Surely if I write and say—”“As a matter of fact there isnooffice. It’s a mistake. I—I am not what I seem!” cried Juliet, with a touch of melodrama, born of desperation. Not another moment could she stand the deception; not another moment could she masquerade under another woman’s name. “I amnotan inquiry agent. Never was. Never will be. It was just—just—”“Sit down. Sit down. Take your own time. Tell me all about it.” Antony pushed a deep-cushioned chair towards her, seated himself near at hand, leaned forward, gazing into her eyes. There was no consternation on his face this time; no dismay; nothing but happiest relief. “If you only knew howthankfulI am! I hated the thought of such work for you. Now—tell me!”And Juliet told him. Told him how, among a party of friends, she had avowed her yearning for adventure, and had been bidden to hold fast to the thought, and await an opportunity. All things, she was told, come in good time to those who wait. And she had waited; through long, monotonous, uneventful months she had waited, and waited in vain. And then, suddenly, a chance, an opening—a possibility which must be taken, or left, while a moment ticked away its course! She told of the dead girl whose place she had taken, honestly determining to do her best, and allow no one to suffer through the exchange.“If it had been work of which I was incapable I should have left at once. You believe it, don’t you? Youdobelieve it?”Antony seemed to ignore the question as beneath his notice. Something infinitely more important was occupying his mind.“Then, what is your real name?”“Juliet! All that I have told you of my people is true. Everything is true, but the name and the work. Perhaps, in time to come, you might explain to your uncle that Clare Lawson was just a professional name which I adopted when I tried to take up work. It is quite usual. Many women do it.”“Juliet!” he repeated softly. From his manner he appeared to have heard only her name. “Juliet! It’s perfect. A name that suits you above all others. Of course you are Juliet. I was a fool not to know that before. Juliet, I am so glad you are not Clare!”“I’m not Clare, and I’m not Alice. It’s a—a joke in two moves, but it is time it should come to an end. To-morrow I must go.”“You must not go. It’s madness! Is it because of—of what happened to-day? It need never happen again. I was dreadfully sorry. I would not for the world—”“Of course, of course. Iquiteunderstand. You were driven to it. It was as disagreeable to you as to me,” Juliet said sourly.She feltsour; more ruffled by the explanation than she had been by the offence itself.What would have happened next there is no saying, but at that moment the door opened, and Mrs Maplestone appeared on the threshold. Uncle Godfrey was in pain. He wished to go to bed. Would Tony come and give him an arm?Retribution sure and swift fell upon the Squire. All night long he tossed in pain, and in the early morn the doctor was summoned, who delivered himself of a gloomy verdict: Serious. One bad attack following hard on the top of another. The patient had been warned, and the patient had transgressed. The patient’s heart was not in a condition to stand these repeated strains. The patient must have a nurse. Must be kept quiet. The patient must be safeguarded against irritation and strain. Excitement at this juncture might have serious effects.Then the doctor drove away, and the patient, who was to be kept quiet, proceeded to work himself into a condition of fuss and antagonism against every separate member of the household, and in especial against Antony, his heir. It was Antony’s fault that he was laid low; the contrariety of Antony which had ruined his health; and now he lay at death’s door (he was at death’s door; hechoseto lie at death’s door! It was his own business, he supposed, at whose door he should lie?); now, even at this last moment, Antony delayed, prevaricated, shilly-shallied, talked calmly of waiting a couple of years! It was not the girl’s fault. The girl was willing enough. She was making a pretence of unwillingness. All girls made a pretence. Let Antony stand up to her like a man, and she would give in; be glad to give in. Summon Antony! Summon the girl! Let them be brought before him. Let this matter be settled once for all!Trembling, Mrs Maplestone obeyed his orders. Trembling, Juliet obeyed, and stood beside the patient’s bed. Antony was not trembling, but his cheek was pale. Crimson cheeked, bright of eye, the patient made his pronouncement: He had waited long enough; he could wait no longer; within the next few days he intended to die—probably to-morrow, or the day after; but before he died he wished to see his heir married to the woman of his choice. Send instantly for a priest!“My dear uncle,” Antony protested, “the thing’s impossible. Even if—even if—There are preliminaries. Banns. Licences. It is a case of weeks; ofseveralweeks—”But the Squire knew better. There were such things as special licences. When money was no object, when life and death hung in the balance, mountains had been, mountains could again be, removed. With a shaking hand he beckoned Juliet to his side, and levied a shocking question:“Girl, do you wish to kill me?”“You don’t understand, you don’t understand!” wailed the unhappy girl. “Dear Mr Maplestone, try to be quiet; try not to worry about us. Only get better, and then—then—”“I shall never get better,” reiterated the Squire. His small bright eyes glittered with a sudden suspicion. “Is he playing with you? Playing fast and loose, to suit his own convenience? Has he been unkind to you, cold, disappointing? Are you tired already of the fellow?”“Oh, no, oh, no, youdon’tunderstand! Dear Mr Maplestone, do leave it until you are stronger.”The crimson of the Squire’s cheeks turned to a deeper hue, a spasm of pain contorted his lips, his eyes rolled, closed, opened again, and turned with a dreadful intensity upon his nephew.“I’m dying!” he cried. “You are killing me between you.Antony!”Then Antony stepped forward and took Juliet by the hands. White to the lips was he, but there was no flinching in his eyes, no tremor in the tone of his strong voice.“My darling,” said Antony, “will you marry me this week? As God is my witness, it is my dearest wish. As God is my witness, I will make you happy.”At the opposite side of the bed Mrs Maplestone subsided helplessly into tears. Writhing, gasping in pain, the Squire muttered to himself, “What a fuss to make! What a fuss about nothing!”To Juliet, as to Antony, they might have been at the other side of the world. They had ceased to exist. He stood, drawn up to his full height, gazing down into her face. She looked up, looked deep, deep into the steady brown eyes, and read therein what she most longed to see.“Yes, Tony, I will. The sooner the better,” answered Juliet. And, so saying, started trustfully upon life’s greatest adventure.
The girl who had wished for adventure journeyed back to her native village two days after the New Year’s party, and spent the following eighteen months in tramping monotonously along a well-worn rut. The only difference made by that oft-remembered conference was in her point of view. Before that date she had sighed for the unattainable; after it, the unattainable became the possible. Some day, if she but waited, opportunity would come; some day the end of a thread would float downward towards her hand, and grasping it, she would be led into a new world! To the best of her power, she cultivated this attitude, and each monotonous month, as it dragged past, added strength to her determination to snatch the first opportunity that came her way.
At the end of eighteen months the girl packed up her trunk, and left home to pay a dull visit to a great-aunt.
“Don’t expect me to write letters,” she said to her family at parting, and the family groaned in chorus, and cried: “Please, don’t! It’s quite enough for one of us to be victimised. Spare us the echoes of Aunt Eliza! Just send a postcard when you’re coming back.”
Great-aunt Eliza was a daunting old lady who prided herself upon speaking the truth.
“Goodness! How you have gone off,” was the first remark which she hurled at her great-niece’s head, after the conventional greetings had been exchanged. She poured out a cup of strong, stewed tea, and offered a slice of leathery muffin. “And you used to be quite nice looking!”
Juliet smiled with the laboured brightness of a wallflower in a ballroom, and said, but did not for a moment mean:
“I’m growing old, Aunt Eliza.”
“You are, my dear,” agreed Aunt Eliza. “Twenty-eight, is it, or twenty-nine? And three other girls at home. Pity you haven’t married! Your father will have precious little to leave.”
Juliet, who was twenty-six, and had never had a real definite proposal, smiled more laboriously than before, but the muffin tasted bitter as gall.
On the third day of the visit, Aunt Eliza read a letter at the breakfast-table, and said suavely:
“I shall have to curtail your visit, my dear! Cousin Maria Phillips writes that she is in the neighbourhood, and wishes to come over to see me. I can’t refuse to receive Maria, but two guests would upset the servants. You must come again later on. Perhaps there are some other friends you would like to visit?”
Juliet replied haughtily that there were many other friends. When would Aunt Eliza wish—
“Oh, there’s no hurry. Perhaps to-morrow,” said the old lady calmly. “This afternoon, my dear, I want you to go to the hospital for me. I distribute flowers in the Mary Wright Ward every Thursday, but I have a slight cold to-day, and daren’t venture out. Be ready by three, and the brougham will take you there. You can walk home.”
At half-past three o’clock, therefore, Juliet entered the long bare stretch of the Mary Wright Ward, dedicated to female surgical cases, and passed from bed to bed, distributing little bunches of drooping flowers affixed to little white cards inscribed with texts. The patients accorded but a lukewarm welcome to these offerings, but were unaffectedly pleased to welcome the handsome girl whose coming made a break in the monotonous day. Some of the patients were sitting upright against their pillows, progressed so far towards convalescence as to be able to enjoy a chat; others could only give a wan smile of acknowledgment; at the extreme end of the ward the sight of a screened-off bed told its own sad tale.
The woman in the nearest occupied bed related the story in a stage aside.
“Accident case, brought in this morning. Dying, they think! Run over by a motor in the street. And only a bit of a girl like yourself! Mumbles a bit at times, delirious-like—nothing you can understand. There! she’s beginning again!”
The sound of the thin, strained voice sent a shiver down Juliet’s spine, for there was in it a note which even her unaccustomed ears recognised. She turned to depart, with the natural shrinking of the young and healthy, but her haste made her careless, and the remaining bunches of flowers tilted out of her basket and rolled along the polished floor. Those that had fallen the farthest were almost touching the screen, and as Juliet bent to pick them up the mumbled voice seemed suddenly to grow into distinctness.
It was a number that the voice was mumbling; number whispered over and over.
“Eighty-one! ... Eighty-one! ... Grosvenor. Are you there? ... Eighty-one, are—you—there?”
The mumbling died away, rose again, was lost in groans. Despite the weakness and the haste, the listener realised a quality in the voice which differentiated it from those of the other occupants of the ward. It was the voice of a woman of education and refinement, a woman belonging to her own class.
Juliet shivered, and, clutching her flowers, walked quickly down the ward. Half-way down its length she met the Sister, and put a tentative question, to which was vouchsafed a cool, professional reply:
“Yes. Very sad! Internal injuries. Sinking rapidly. Evidently a girl in good circumstances.”
“Do you know her name—anything about her?”
The Sister shrugged slightly.
“Her clothes are marked ‘Alice White,’ and she had some American addresses and steamship tickets in her purse. TheLusitanialanded her passengers this morning. She has said nothing coherent, and, of course, cannot be questioned. The matron is making inquiries—”
At that moment the quiet of the ward was broken by a sound of a cry of terrible import. Juliet quailed before it, and the Sister, darting forward, disappeared behind the screen.
Alas for Alice White, who but a few hours ago had been young and strong, and heedless of disaster! Juliet descended the staircase of the hospital thrilling with horror at the remembrance of that cry, her mind seething with agitated questions. Who was Alice, and who—a thrill of excitement ran through her veins—who was Eighty-one, Grosvenor, with whom the dying girl’s thoughts had sought communion?
Grosvenor? That meant London. Alice White, then, had friends in London. Would it not be better to communicate with them, rather than with mere officials in an office?
At the door of the great building, Juliet hesitated and turned from the street as if to retrace her steps. Should she go back to the Mary Wright Ward, tell the Sister what she had overheard, and suggest telephoning forthwith? For a moment the suggestion found favour, then, with her foot outstretched to remount the first step, she drew back and walked rapidly away. In the flash of a moment it had darted into her brain as a crystallised resolution to give her information into no second hand, but to go herself to the nearest call office and ring up Eighty-one Grosvenor. The woman in the nearest bed had spoken of mutterings. The sister had caught no coherent words. If death had immediately followed her own interview, it seemed probable that no one but herself had overheard the number.
Juliet’s eyes brightened, and a flush of colour showed in her cheeks. The information received might be of the driest; the sequel of reporting it to the hospital authorities promised but small excitement; nevertheless, in her uneventful life, small things counted as great, and the touch of uncertainty fired her blood.
She seated herself in the little boxed-off room, and at the end of ten minutes’ wait received an affirmative answer to the oft-repeated question.
“Yes. This is Eighty-one, Grosvenor. Who is speaking?”
Though she had waited so long, Juliet was still pondering how to word her inquiries. It seemed useless to mention an unknown name, so on the impulse of the moment she decided to give a simple account of the accident.
“Alice White—” She was about to add—“has been mortally injured,” or some such statement, when, cutting swiftly across her words, came a cry of relief from the other end of the wire:
“Alice White!At last! We’ve been expecting to hear from you all day. It’s urgent. Why didn’t you wire?”
“I—I—” Juliet stammered in confusion, and the voice, a woman’s voice, interrupted again, in a sharp, businesslike accent:
“Never mind now. You can explain later. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“That’s right! Then listen to me, and give your answers in monosyllables. I will spell any names you miss, if you ask me to repeat. Don’t attempt to pronounce them yourself, but write them down in a note-book. There must be no mistake. Are you ready?”
“One moment.” Juliet had no note-book, but a search in her bag found a pencil and the blank page of a letter. “Ready!”
“You are ready to write instructions? I have been keeping over a case until your arrival, as it seemed in your line. It is urgent. Nice people. Comfortable surroundings. You would stay in the house as a guest. Can you go on first thing to-morrow?”
For one second, barely a second, Juliet hesitated; then the answer came, short and sharp:
“I can!”
“That’s good! Go to the station to-day, and look up your route. There will be several changes. Have you your pencil? Write down ‘Maplestone—Antony Maplestone.’ Have you got it? ‘The Low House.’ L-o-w. ‘Nunkton.’ N-u-n-k-t-o-n. ‘Great Morley.’ ‘Maplestone, The Low House, Nunkton, Great Morley.’ Have you got that? Go on to-morrow by the first train. I will wire to Mr Maplestone to expect you. He will explain the case. Are you all right for money? Take your best clothes, as for a country visit. Report to me in the course of a week. Do your best. Good chance for you. (Yes, I’ve nearly finished. I’ve not had my three minutes.) You understand, Miss White? You quite understand?”
“I quite understand,” said Juliet, and sat down heavily on the chair beside the receiver.
How had it happened? How much was she to blame? From the moment of that first interruption it seemed as if she had had no chance to explain. Without any preconceived intention of taking the injured girl’s place, she had done so, as it were, without volition of her own. The spirit of adventure, so long nourished, had grasped at the opportunity, before the slower brain had had time to decide on its action.
Juliet drew a deep breath, and stared with dilated eyes at the opposite wall. “HowcouldI?” she asked herself, breathlessly. “HowdaredI? HowcanI?” And then, with a bursting laugh, “But I will!” she cried, and leaped nimbly to her feet.
“Urgent! Nice people! Good chance! A guest in the house!” Her lips moved in repetition of the different phrases as she walked rapidly back in the direction of the hospital. She knitted her brows in the effort to understand, to reconcile contradictions. What was this Alice White, and on what mission had she crossed the ocean? And who was Eighty-one, Grosvenor, who issued orders as to a subordinate, and gave instructions as to reports?
Only one thing seemed certain, and that was that it would be many a long day, if ever, before poor Alice White was fit to take up any work, however interesting. Remembering that last choking cry, it seemed probable that even now—Juliet resolutely stifled further questionings until once more she stood within the portals of the hospital, and made her inquiries of the porter. He retired, and returned, after a few minutes’ absence, with a face appropriately lengthened.
“Gone, miss! Directly you left. Went off in a moment.”
Juliet nodded, and turned back to the street. What exactly had she intended to do had Alice White still been alive? Honestly, she did not know! It seemed as though she would never be able to answer that question. She waved it impatiently aside. Why trouble about might-have-beens? The girl was dead! The only question of importance which now remained was,what was she herself going to do?
Juliet thought of the long years of boredom and waiting which had made up her life; she thought of her dull, comfortable home; of her dull, comfortable visits, and longingly, daringly, she thought of the interesting “case” which was “urgent,” and a “good chance.” She recalled with a tingling of excitement her aunt’s morning announcement, which necessitated her own departure on the morrow.
“I could go over to Nunkton, and see what it meant. If there was anything I didn’t like I could move on at once to the Blakes. No one need know; no one need guess. Even if I stayed for a few days, it could be arranged!” She stopped short in the middle of the pavement, and drew a deep breath of excitement.
“It’s my chance!” she cried to herself. “The chance I’ve been waiting for! Whatever happens, whatever comes of it—I shall go!”
The next day Juliet set forth on her voyage of adventure, with the mingling of elation and nervousness inevitable under the circumstances. Remindful of telephone instructions, she attired herself with especial care, and was agreeably conscious that she looked her best. A travelling costume as smart as it was simple, a trig little hat, with just one dash of colour at the side to give the neededcachetand emphasise the tints of the face beneath. “Really quite a creditable face!” she told herself, smiling back at a reflection of grey eyes thickly fringed with black lashes, curling, humorous lips, and the prettiest flush of pink—genuine, washable pink—upon the cheeks. “If I were happy, if I were interested, I might be almost—beautiful,” she told herself with a sigh. “Every woman grows plain when she is superfluous and alone.”
Seated in the train, drawing near to her destination, Juliet found herself repeating the words over and over, like a child rehearsing a lesson. “Alice White,” cried the mental voice, “Alice White,” and again, “Alice White. It’s my name! I must answer to it. I must give it when asked. I am Alice White, professionalsomething—I don’t know what. I am obeying a telephone summons meant for someone else, and, if I don’t want to be discovered within five minutes of my arrival, I must keep my wits about me, and think seventeen times at least before I utter a word. I’m to be met at the station and treated as one of the family, and to remember that appearance is a strong point, and wear my best clothes...” She knitted her brows, and for the hundredth time endeavoured to reach a solution of the mystery. “I can’t be a sick-nurse; the clothes settle that. If it had been that, I should have had to confess at once. But in other capacities I’m intelligent, I’m experienced, I’m willing. I’mmorethan willing—I’meager! There’s no reason why I should not do as well as the real Alice. After all, it’s quite a usual thing to take up work under a professional name. Writers do it, artists, actors; there can be no harm in using the poor girl’s name, if I do my best with her work.”
The train drew up at the station, a small, flowery country station, and, opening the door, Juliet stepped lightly to the ground. Her carriage had been at the end of the train, and the length of platform stretched before her. A glance showed a solitary porter approaching the luggage van; one commanding figure of an unusually big man, in a tweed knickerbocker suit; and, farther off still, by the door of the booking-office, two ladies in navy-blue costumes, apparently awaiting the arrival of friends. At the extreme end of the train another door opened, and an elderly man carrying a bag made a heavy descent to the platform. The ladies stood motionless; the man in tweeds hurried towards where Juliet stood. She looked at him anxiously, met the glance of a pair of level brown eyes, and was instantly conscious of two things concerning his state of mind. He was embarrassed; he was also agreeably relieved. The next moment he was facing her, and was holding out his hand.
“Miss White?”
“Yes.”
“I am Antony Maplestone.”
“Oh!”
Juliet was conscious that her own sensations exactly duplicated those of her companion. She was embarrassed; she was also agreeably relieved, for if adventure were to be her portion, no girl could have wished for a more attractive stage manager to initiate her into her part. She stood blushing and smiling, wondering what to say next, subconsciously aware the while that, by placing his tall form between her and the end of the platform, Maplestone was designedly screening her from the scrutiny of the blue-robed dames.
“I have a dog-cart waiting,” he said hastily. “I’m going to drive you home, and explain thingsen route; my man will look after your boxes. Er—there’s just one thing—” The air of embarrassment grew more marked; a flush showed in his cheeks. “It’s a nuisance; there are two women over there—neighbours; I’m afraid I’ll be obliged to introduce you. Do you think, for a few minutes, until we can escape, you could manage to look a little—intimate?” His voice, his look, were so full of apology at the suggestion, that Juliet’s surprise gave way to amusement. She laughed, a bright girlish laugh, and said, “Certainly!” in crisp, matter-of-fact tones which were evidently a vast relief to her companion. He stepped quickly to one side, as if anxious that her smiling face should be seen by others besides himself, and led the way down the platform, inclining his head towards her with an air of deepest solicitude. “You have had a comfortable journey?”
“Oh, yes,” Juliet nodded gaily, responding readily to his cue. He wished her to talk, he wished the watching women to believe that this was no first meeting, but a reunion of friends. For some unknown reason it was necessary to his interests that they should receive this impression. Very well, then, it should be done. “Alice White” was not going to fail in the first call upon her.
“Oh, yes, quite comfy. I had a tea basket.Chinatea. Did you know you could getChinatea in baskets? And a ducky little pot of jam, all to myself. Isn’t this station pretty? Such sweet flowers!”
They were close to the ticket office by this time. The man’s eyes flashed a look of gratitude and appreciation. He laid a light touch on her arm, and brought her to a stand before the waiting women.
“Here she is! I’m not disappointed, you see. I want to introduce you to each other while I have a chance. Miss Clare Lawson, Lady Lorrima, Miss Bridges.”
Juliet bowed and smiled, her senses momentarily stunned by the responsibility of yet another cognomen. Now she would have to begin all over again and train herself to be “Clare.”
The eyes of the two women were keenly critical; their words were cordial, if somewhat mysterious.
“Sopleased to meet you! Quite an honour to be the first to welcome you. The Squirewillbe delighted!”
“I shall be delighted to see him,” Juliet declared smiling. She disliked the attitude of these women as much as she was attracted by that of the man by her side. Despite their assurances, she had a conviction that they werenotpleased at her arrival; that it was a disappointment to them to find her appearance beyond criticism. The big man stood silent by her side; she divined also that he was nervous and troubled, momentarily dreading a slip on her part. She was determined to make no slip. Already she had ranked herself on his side, and felt the stirring of the true actor’s joy in making the best of his part.
The younger of the two women gave a difficult, unmirthful laugh. She was a thin, elegant-looking creature, rather over thirty, whose good looks were marred by an expression of discontent.
“Really, you know,” she cried in affected tones, “we were beginning to think that your name was Harris, and that Antony had invented you for his own convenience. It seemed so strange that he had never spoken of you before.”
Juliet’s little laugh of response was quite sweet and unruffled. “Oh, I’m very real, I assure you. A most substantial person. I’m so glad he didn’t bore you with descriptions; they lead to so much disappointment.” She held out her hand with a charming assurance. “Good-bye! Perhaps we may meet again.”
The next moment they were passing through the office, out of view of the curious eyes, and a low-toned “Bravo!” acclaimed the success of her effort. Juliet laughed in involuntary self-congratulation, and Maplestone laughed in sympathy. The two women, catching a sight of the dog-cart as it wheeled down the lane, saw the two laughing faces turned towards each other in mutual enjoyment, and the sight was not good in their eyes.
“It’s true, then; an absolute fact. And quite presentable, too. Well, Honoria, I’m sorry!”
Meanwhile Juliet was putting her first question to her companion.
“Please—why am I Clare Lawson?”
His face fell. Amusement gave place to embarrassment. “Do you object? I’m sorry to have sprung it upon you so suddenly, but—well, you had to have some name, hadn’t you? I suppose one is as good as another.”
“Perhaps so, but it’s just a trifle confusing, because—” Juliet drew herself up on the verge of an incriminating confession. “As you say, it doesn’t really matter, but I am naturally interested. WhoisClare Lawson?”
“Er—as a matter of fact, there is no such person. I invented a fictitious girl, then, suddenly, was called upon for her name, so had to christen her on the spur of the moment. Clare happened to be the name of the heroine in a novel I’d just finished reading, and Lawson was the first surname which came to my mind. It’s not such abadname, is it?”
Juliet made an expressive little grimace.
“Considered as an artistic effort, I can’t say much for it. You might have done so much better. Clare! I’m not a bit like a Clare. And who is Claresupposedto be?”
He looked at her with a keen, comprehensive glance. Juliet had an impression that what he saw increased his embarrassment, from the very reason of his admiration. What he had to say would evidently have been easier if she had been less attractive, had not so obviously belonged to his own class. The flush mounted once more to his cheeks.
“Miss Lawson, I should like to begin with a word of self-defence. I have the reputation of being straight in my dealings and I think I may say that it is deserved, yet at this moment, owing to an—impulse, to—er—the folly of a moment, I find myself stranded, implicated—how shall I express it? I’m in the dickens of a hole, anyway, and for the moment can’t imagine how I am ever to get out.”
“And if you only knew it,soamI!” was Juliet’s mental reflection. Aloud, she said sententiously, “Such thingsdohappen. I’ve heard of them. Please tell me about it. Perhaps I can help.”
“That’s ripping of you! You see, obviously, therehadto be a girl, and, obviously also, I couldn’t ask a friend. There was nothing for it but to get someone from outside. I searched the newspapers and spotted your office. They said they employed ladies, and being trained to detec—to inquiry work, I thought it would come easy to act a part.”
In after years Juliet never quite understood how she retained her balance at that moment, and did not topple sideways, fall out of the high cart, and find a solution of her troubles. The sudden realisation that she was masquerading as nothing more or less than a lady detective, was so stunning in its unexpectedness and chagrin, that even the tactful softening of the term to that of inquiry agent failed to restore her equanimity. Now, indeed, there was nothing before her but confession, for her whole nature revolted from the position of a “spy” in the household. It required a strong effort to speak in a natural voice.
“Wouldn’t it be better if you began at the beginning and told me the whole story?”
“That’s what I am trying to do, but it’s so difficult... The Squire, Mr Maplestone, is my uncle. He and his wife have been like parents to me. I am in the army—Indian regiment—home on a year’s leave. They have no children, and I am their heir. Naturally, under the circumstances, they are anxious that I should—er—”
“Marry!”
“Quite so. Well!” in a tone of aggrieved self-vindication, “Imeanto marry. Every fellow does when he gets past thirty. I came home this time with the determination to get engaged at the first opportunity, but—er—the time has passed by, and—it hasn’t come off. I’ve met lots of girls, charming girls. I can’t honestly say that I haven’t had theopportunity, but when it came to the point”—he shrugged again—“I simply didn’t want them, and that was the end of the matter. The dickens of it is, my leave is up in two months from now, and the old man is at the end of his patience. Last week he had an attack of gout, a bad one too, and that brought matters to a crisis. He declared he’d cut me off there and then if I did not get engaged at once. I was sorry for the old fellow; he was in horrible pain; the doctor said he must be soothed at all costs, so—er—er—on the spur of the moment I invented Clare. I said I was engaged to Clare, but that Clare was afraid of the Indian climate, and refused to marry me till the regiment returned home, two years from now. I hardly realised what I was saying. I was between the devil and the deep sea. But he swallowed it whole, went off to sleep, and woke up as bright as a button. I was inclined to congratulate myself on having done a clever thing, for as I told you, Iintendto marry. I am only waiting for the right girl to turn up. I may very likely meet her on the voyage out. Many men do. But, retribution fell upon me. He demanded to see Clare. I prevaricated. He grew suspicious. There was another scene, another relapse; it was a case of confessing all, at goodness knows what risk, or of finding Clare, and producing her for inspection. So—you see—”
Juliet sat silent; petrified, aflame. While he had been speaking, Maplestone had kept his eyes rigorously averted from her face; he continued to do so now, and they drove along the quiet lane in a silence which could befelt—a throbbing, palpitating, scorching silence, which grew momentarily more unendurable. Juliet told herself fiercely that she was a fool to feel embarrassed. Alice White would not have been embarrassed. Alice White would have accepted the position as a pure matter of business. As Alice White’s substitute, she must pull herself together and discuss the matter in a cool, rational fashion. If only her cheeks were not quite so hot!
“It’s—er—rather an unusual proposition, isn’t it? It is, as you say, somewhat difficult to discuss. Suppose,” she cried desperately, “we treat it with a sense of humour!Don’tlet us be serious. Let us laugh over it, and then it will become quite easy.”
“Oh, thank you, yes. How ripping of you!” His eyes flashed relief. “I can promise you that it won’t be nearly as trying as it sounds. The old people will be all that is kind, and—er—you understand that he is an invalid, and his wife is his nurse. They are engrossed with their own affairs, and won’t worry you with questions. It is only in your supposed connection with me that you will—er—enter into their lives. As to myself, I have the reputation of being reserved to a fault. They won’t expect me to—er—er—”
Juliet forced a determined smile. “Precisely so! We’ll be a model of all that an engaged couple—ought to be. But I had better not make myself too agreeable, in case the subsequent breaking off should prejudice the old people against you. I conclude I am to break it off?”
“Yes, please, if you don’t mind—when I meet the real girl. But please do me creditpro tem. The great thing is to demonstrate to the old man that I seriously think of marriage, and those two years give plenty of time. You understand that you have an insuperable objection to the Indian climate?”
“Certainly; that’s easy. I’ve always longed to go, so I shall just turn my arguments upside down. And—er—where did we meet?”
“Oh, yes, of course, we must have some mutual coaching. There’s not much time now, but after tea they’ll expect us to have atête-à-tête; we’ll go over it then. I was introduced to you at Henley. You’re the sister of Phil Lawson, an old school friend. It—er—it was a case at first sight. We got engaged on the third day.”
“Most unwise!” said Juliet primly, and they laughed together with the heartiness born of relief from a painful situation. Really, this sense-of-humour attitude was an admirable solution.
Antony slackened the reins and, fumbling in a pocket, drew out a small box.
“May I—just for the next few days—beg your acceptance of this bauble?”
“Oh, thank you.” Juliet drew off her gloves and held up a well-shaped hand, on the third finger of which sparkled a row of diamonds. “It’s not necessary. I can put this one on my left hand. It has quite an engagementy look about it, and I’d rather—”
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it won’t do. This is a family heirloom. The old man would consider it a slight if it were not used. Just for one week.”
He opened the box, and showed a great square-cut emerald set in a border of diamonds—an antique jewel, evidently of considerable value—lifted it between finger and thumb, and held it out with calm expectancy. Quite calmly also, Juliet extended her left hand; but at the mutual touch, it was impossible to resist a thrill of embarrassment, a lightning realisation of what the moment might have meant had the action been real instead of masquerade. Juliet hastily drew on her gloves; Antony became engrossed in driving. They drove in silence up a long drive, and saw before them an old stone mansion, covered with clustering ivy.
The butler stared, the footman stared. Raising her eyes as she passed under the great well of the staircase, Juliet caught the flash of a white cap hurriedly withdrawn. A baize door, obviously leading into the servants’ quarters, creaked eloquently upon its hinges. The back of Antony’s neck grew ever redder and redder as he led the way onwards; finally the drawing-room door was flung open, and across a space of chintz, and tapestry, and massed-up roses, Juliet beheld two figures rise hurriedly in welcome.
The aunt’s thin locks were parted in the middle, and surmounted by a lace cap with a lavender bow. She wore a douce black silk dress, with a douce lace collar. She looked Victorian, and downtrodden, and meek, and Juliet dismissed her in half a dozen words.
“She’ll swallow anything!”
The Squire had a short neck, a red face, steel blue eyes, and a white waistcoat. He stood about five feet four in his boots and bore himself with the air of a giant.
“He’ll swallownothing!” was Juliet’s second diagnosis, and she braced herself for the fray. The introduction was simple in the extreme.
“This is Clare!” said Antony, whereupon Mrs Maplestone said hurriedly: “How d’you do. So pleased! You must have tea!” and the Squire said nothing at all, but cleared his throat, and pulled forward a chair. Then they all sat down, and Mrs Maplestone busied herself over the tea-tray, while her husband took his turn to stare.
He began at Juliet’s feet, and considered them judiciously. Large, but well shaped, wore a good boot. Next he studied her hands, cocking a jealous eye at the emerald ring. Large again, but white; good fingers; manicured nails. Thirdly he considered her figure, and was pleased to approve. Pine girl, some flesh on her bones, none of your modern skeletons. Last of all he looked at her face. “Humph! not so bad. Points; distinctly points! Antony was not such a fool as he looked!” In five minutes’ time the Squire could have passed an examination on the subject of Juliet’s appearance, and she realised as much, and felt correspondingly elated when the hard eyes softened, and an offer of hot scones was prefaced by, “My dear.” My dear had been examined and found correct. My dear was approved. By the time that cups were filled for the second time, the Squire had thawed to the point of jocularity.
“Well, Miss Clare, and what tales has this fine fellow been telling you about me? Wicked uncle, eh? Cruel ogre. Gouty old tartar, who insists upon having his own way, and bullies his unfortunate nephew till he is obliged to give in for the sake of peace? That’s it, eh? That’s what he told you.”
Juliet looked across at Antony, discovered him flushed, frowning, supremely uncomfortable, and tilted her head with a charming audacity.
“Does that mean that he was bullied into having Me? It wouldn’t be exactly ‘peaceful’ for him, if I believed that! He certainly would not dare to tell me anything so unflattering.”
The Squire hastened to eat his words. The girl was a nice girl; frank, friendly, with a touch of the devil which was entirely to his taste. Not for the world would he prejudice her against the boy.
“No, no; not at all, not at all. Precious little notice he took of my wishes, until it suited himself to follow my advice. Obstinate fellow, you know; obstinate as a mule. Wouldn’t think it to see him sitting there, looking as if he couldn’t say boo to a goose; but it’s a fact. You’ll find it out another day!”
“I like a man to have a strong will,” Juliet said with the air of a meek, gentle, little fiancée, and the Squire laughed loudly, and made a characteristic change of front.
“Glad to hear it! Glad you don’t go in for any of this fashionable nonsense about independence and equality. You obey your husband, my dear, and stay quietly in your home, and content yourself with your house duties, as your mother did before you. What hasshegot to say about this precious engagement?”
“Mother thinks of me. She is glad of anything that makes me happy,” Juliet said, and flattered herself that she had rounded the corner rather neatly. Antony looked at her quickly, and as quickly looked away. Little Mrs Maplestone gave a soft murmur of approval.
“She must be, dear! I am sure she must be and I’m sure she’ll like Antony when she knows him better. I hope we shall soon meet your parents. It was through your brother that you met, was it not? An old school friend. At Henley?”
“Yes, Henley. Yes, Phil! Please don’t ask me about it! The whole thing was such a rush. Only three days! It seems like a dream. I—I forget everything but the one great fact!” cried Juliet, taking refuge in truth, and thereby winning smiles of approval from her old-fashioned hearers, who considered such confusion suitable and becoming. They beamed upon her, and Juliet began to feel the dawnings of pride in her own diplomacy. She was getting on well; surprisingly well! She allowed herself to believe that Alice White could have done no better.
“Three days, eh?” repeated the Squire complacently. “Bowled him over in three days, did you, after being bullet-proof all these years! How in the world did you manage to do it?”
“I can’t think!” declared Juliet, truthfully again, but she smiled as she spoke, and showed a dimple, and dropped her eyelids, so that the dark lashes rested on the pink of her cheeks, whereat the young man looked more embarrassed than ever, and the old one laughed till he choked, and offered her more cake, and called her “my dear” twice over in a single sentence, and delivered himself of the opinion that Antony was a lucky dog.
“Doesn’t deserve it, after all his slackness and procrastination! Let’s hope he’ll appreciate his good luck. But what’s this nonsense about waiting two years? What’s this nonsense about not going back with him at once?”
Juliet looked as she felt, flustered, and taken aback.
“It’s so—sudden!” she pleaded, and blushed as she said the word. “I—I don’t approve of marrying in a rush. Only two months before he sails. Suppose he regretted it? S-suppose he changed his mind?”
“It’s for him to answer that question! Speak up, Antony! Are you likely to change your mind? Do you feel any inclination to give up Miss Clare now that you have got her to promise to take you for better for worse?”
“I’m not given to changing my mind, sir,” Antony said, discreetly answering the last question but one. He rose hastily as he spoke, evidently afraid lest his turn of cross-questioning was about to begin, and said hurriedly: “Clare is tired, Uncle. She’ll answer all your questions later on. I’m going to take her into the garden for a little fresh air, and then send her upstairs to rest.”
So for the next half-hour Antony Maplestone and Juliet, alias Alice, Clare, sat in a rose-shaded arbour, and discussed the plan of attack. There was so much to be settled. It was like making up a play, and coaching each other in the leading parts. Juliet was inclined to give herself airs on the success of her first scene, and discovered with surprise that her companion vouchsafed only a mitigated admiration.
“You must be veryusedto it!” he said grudgingly whereupon Juliet bridled, and declared:
“I’m not! It’s the very first case I’ve had, when—All my experiences so far, have been strictly business-like. I think you might give mesomeencouragement. I thought I was so clever!”
“You were, you were! Uncommonly clever, and I felt all sorts of a fool. I’m not used to playing a part, and it comes harder than I expected. It’s a comfort to escape and feel that we can talk openly together!” He stretched his arms, and drew a big sigh of relief. Juliet sighed too, but not for the same reason.
“I think it might be a wise precaution,” she said presently, “if I sent my parents abroad to travel for several months! Mrs Maplestone spoke of wishing to see them, and it would be awkward to produce a suitable pair at a moment’s notice. And dangerous! Think of the pitfalls that would yawn before us over reminiscences of childhood? Perhaps they’d better go for health! That would explain their leaving home just at this time. We must send them to a foreign spa for a six-weeks’ course. Where shall they go?”
“Marienbad,” Antony said promptly, whereon Juliet drew herself up haughtily, and put on an air of offence.
“No aspersions, if you please.Myparents are thin! It shall be rheumatism, I think. That’s quite ordinary and eminently respectable. They mightbothhave it, if it comes to that.”
But Antony objected.
“No. Not both! That’s too drastic. My uncle would certainly object that you would inherit a tendency. Only your father! A recent attack...”
“Just so; and they are anxious to take it in time. Mother goes with him, as they are a devoted couple and couldn’t endure to be parted for six weeks. Mud baths, I think. There’s such a sound of verisimilitude about mud baths! I think we must really decide on mud baths.”
“Poor beggar, yes! I’m afraid there’s no help for him. Where are they, by the way? I’ve no idea. Have you?”
“Oh, yes. They are in Germany somewhere. Or is it Italy? Somewhere about that part of the world,” Juliet said vaguely, whereupon Antony took out his pocket-book and wrote down a memorandum.
“A dutiful daughter ought to have her parents’ address! I’ll find that out before dinner. As a matter of fact, I don’t think my uncle will trouble his head about your relations. There would have been the dickens to pay if he had not approved of you, but he was quite unusually amiable, took to you at first sight, and the aunt too. It went off far better than I expected.”
“Just let me be quite clear on one point,” Juliet demanded. “Am I nice, and amiable, and meek, or am I dashing and sportive?”
“Neither one nor the other, a useful blend. Don’t worry about that. You are perfectly all right as you are.”
“And—just as a guide for moments of expansion—mightit be ‘Tony’?”
“Tony it must be. Most decidedly Tony.” His voice was brisk with decision. The brown eyes brightened in anticipation. “Perhaps even occasionally, ‘Dear.’”
“Oh, no!” Juliet shook her head obstinately. “No ‘dears’! I’ve been strictly brought up. I’m shy.Nodemonstrations in public. I’ve no brothers, you see, and have led a secluded life.”
“Yes, yes, there’s Phil; you must remember Phil. It was your brother Phil who introduced us at Henley. You were staying with friends.”
“Ihavefriends near Henley. Their name is Jones. Can you remember Jones? Mr Jones, solicitor; Mrs Jones; Miss Jones; Miss Florence Jones; Mr Reginald Jones, son, junior partner.”
“Just so. Reginald, of course, is Philip’s friend. Phil is, like myself, home on leave. That simplifies things for you. By the by, he is in China, in the Customs.”
“Poor dear Philip; with all these horrid riots. Idofeel anxious about him!” sighed naughty Juliet in response; then, suddenly, “I wonder,” she had cried soberly, “if Iought! I hate to deceive people, even for their own good. I wonder if I ought to go on.”
“But surely”—he stared at her in amazement—“it’s yourprofession! It would be impossible to do inquiry work if people knew from the beginning what you were about. Why did you—excuse me—choose such a profession if your conscience is so tender?”
“I—I didn’t realise. It was arranged in a hurry. I don’t think I shall take any more cases.”
“No, don’t!” Antony cried eagerly. “It’s all right this time, for you have fallen among people who will treat you properly, but it might be so different. Haven’t you a home where you can live safely and comfortably?”
“Very comfortably indeed, but I happen to be one of the horde of superfluous women who need something more than comfort.”
Antony looked at her curiously at that, but he had asked no questions. Juliet was thankful for his silence; for the absence of obvious compliments. The situation would be intolerable with a man of another type. With Maplestone one had a comfortable feeling of security—a very comfortable feeling. Juliet fell asleep that night with a smile on her lips.
For three days all went well, the Squire approving, his wife motherly, Antony chivalrous and attentive. Whatever the real experience might be, Juliet was satisfied that pretending to be engaged was an agreeable sensation. Morning and afternoon Antony drove her abroad, sat with her in the rose garden, or escorted her on long walks over the countryside, and soon, wonderfully soon, there was no further need of coaching between them, for the lives of each, and the experiences thereof, the hopes, aspirations, and rebuffs, had been spread as in an opened book before the eyes of the other, with just one reservation on Juliet’s side, the disclosure of her own identity!
“I have had an adventurous life. The one thing I have not had to complain of is monotony,” said Antony.
“And I have had nothing else. Until recently I have gone on, year after year, existing, not living, in the same little rut.”
“No wonder you broke loose. A girl like you was never made for stagnation. You ought to travel: to see the world. I never met a woman with so keen an appreciation of beauty. Gad! how you would enjoy India, and the scenery we have over there. Last year we were stationed in the north, above Darjeeling. I’d like to blindfold you, and take you to a spot I know, and then take off the bandage, and show you—the snows! That would be a moment worth living for.”
“Ah, yes. Unfortunately, however, the climate of India is prejudicial to my health,” Juliet reminded him primly.
“Oh, hang the climate of India!” cried Antony Maplestone.
The Squire also was inclined to “hang” the Indian climate in its bearing upon the health of his guest. He cross-questioned his prospective niece upon the subject with increasing irritability.
“What’s the matter with your health? You look strong enough. Can’t have a liver with that complexion. Can’t have a heart, rushing about all day long. Given it away, eh, what? Antony, what’s wrong with her heart?”
“Nothing, sir. It’s a tip-top heart; in first-class working condition.”
“What’s wrong, then—what’s wrong? Nothing but nerves and nonsense. If I were a young man and my fiancée didn’t care enough about me to face a bit of discomfort, I’d—I’d comfort myself with the first nice girl thatwould! If you let him go off to India alone, young lady, you’ll have yourself to thank if you are left in the lurch.”
Juliet took out her handkerchief and pretended to cry. It was a comfort to be able to hide one’s face, and besides, just between herself and the handkerchief therewasa tear. Shewouldbe left in the lurch, and, oh, my goodness, how dull it would be!
From the end of the room sounded three separate gasps of consternation.
“Leave heroine, uncle! It’s my affair. Clare,don’tcry!”
“He doesn’t mean it, dear; he doesn’t mean it. Antony never would.”
“Kiss her, you stupid fellow, kiss her! What’s the use of glowering there?”
Then, in the midst of a thrilling silence, Juliet felt strong arms enfold her, felt the sweep of a moustache against her cheek. It was the first, the very first time in the course of her twenty-six years that any man but a blood relation had offered her a caress, and—she liked the sensation! She felt a horrible, horrible inclination to abandon herself to that strong support; to lift her own lips to meet his. The rebound from the temptation gave energy to the gesture with which she pushed him away and leaped, flaming, to her feet.
“It’s my own heart, and I know best what it can stand! And—and—there are snakes—and rats—and insects, crawly-creepy things dropping from the ceilings! He can have anyone he likes... I don’t care... I don’t want him. I’ll stay at home!” She dashed wildly from the room.
Antony and his aunt stared blankly at each other. The Squire chuckled complacently and rubbed his hands.
“That’sall right,” he cried cheerily. “That’s done it. She’ll go with you, my boy. She’ll go all right. Book a second passage to-morrow, and I’ll stand the risk.”
At dinner that night there was an air of festival. The feast was sumptuous, the table was decorated with exquisite hothouse flowers, purely, spotlessly white—a bridal white, unmistakable in its significance. Juliet blushed as she beheld that table, and blushed again looking down on her own white robe. Upstairs in her own room she had cried, and stormed, and blushed, and trembled, and vowed fiercely to leave the house by the first train on the following morning, and sobbed again at the thought of departure. Also, she had vowed with fervour to be cold as ice to Antony Maplestone, and to prove to him by the haughtiness of her demeanour that his caress was unpardonable, without excuse. And then, being a woman, and a particularly feminine one at that, she had naturally selected her very best dress, and had arrayed herself therein for his delectation.
Now what bad luck that the dress happened to be white!
The Squire over-ate himself recklessly. “Hang it all, my dear,” he informed his protesting wife, “a man can’t always be thinking of diet. Thereareoccasions—” He nodded meaningly towards his guest, and quaffed a bumper of champagne.
After dinner, when the pseudo-lovers were left alone for the nightlytête-à-tête, the subject of the Squire’s indiscretion was eagerly seized upon as a subject for conversation, to lessen the embarrassment from which both were suffering.
Said Antony, “It’s madness. He has not yet recovered from the last attack. One would think that a man who has suffered such agonies would have learned wisdom!”
Said Juliet gloomily, “Who does? Nobody does! It certainly doesn’t becomeusto—er—”
“Oh, well,” he interrupted quickly, “let’s hope he escapes this time. It’s hard on a man to be everlastingly prudent. I’m not at all sure that the greatest wisdom does not exist in occasionally breaking loose!”
Juliet faced him, erect and dignified. She had scented a personal application in his words, and was determined to stand no nonsense.
“Mr Maplestone, I have been here four days; it seems to me inadvisable to stay any longer. To-morrow morning I propose to receive a telegram summoning me home. I should be obliged if you could make it convenient to be out after eleven o’clock. It would make it easier for me to get away.”
There was consternation in his glance; more than consternation—dismay.
“Go! Why on earth should you go? Is it the office! Do they want you back at the office? Letmewrite. Surely if I write and say—”
“As a matter of fact there isnooffice. It’s a mistake. I—I am not what I seem!” cried Juliet, with a touch of melodrama, born of desperation. Not another moment could she stand the deception; not another moment could she masquerade under another woman’s name. “I amnotan inquiry agent. Never was. Never will be. It was just—just—”
“Sit down. Sit down. Take your own time. Tell me all about it.” Antony pushed a deep-cushioned chair towards her, seated himself near at hand, leaned forward, gazing into her eyes. There was no consternation on his face this time; no dismay; nothing but happiest relief. “If you only knew howthankfulI am! I hated the thought of such work for you. Now—tell me!”
And Juliet told him. Told him how, among a party of friends, she had avowed her yearning for adventure, and had been bidden to hold fast to the thought, and await an opportunity. All things, she was told, come in good time to those who wait. And she had waited; through long, monotonous, uneventful months she had waited, and waited in vain. And then, suddenly, a chance, an opening—a possibility which must be taken, or left, while a moment ticked away its course! She told of the dead girl whose place she had taken, honestly determining to do her best, and allow no one to suffer through the exchange.
“If it had been work of which I was incapable I should have left at once. You believe it, don’t you? Youdobelieve it?”
Antony seemed to ignore the question as beneath his notice. Something infinitely more important was occupying his mind.
“Then, what is your real name?”
“Juliet! All that I have told you of my people is true. Everything is true, but the name and the work. Perhaps, in time to come, you might explain to your uncle that Clare Lawson was just a professional name which I adopted when I tried to take up work. It is quite usual. Many women do it.”
“Juliet!” he repeated softly. From his manner he appeared to have heard only her name. “Juliet! It’s perfect. A name that suits you above all others. Of course you are Juliet. I was a fool not to know that before. Juliet, I am so glad you are not Clare!”
“I’m not Clare, and I’m not Alice. It’s a—a joke in two moves, but it is time it should come to an end. To-morrow I must go.”
“You must not go. It’s madness! Is it because of—of what happened to-day? It need never happen again. I was dreadfully sorry. I would not for the world—”
“Of course, of course. Iquiteunderstand. You were driven to it. It was as disagreeable to you as to me,” Juliet said sourly.She feltsour; more ruffled by the explanation than she had been by the offence itself.
What would have happened next there is no saying, but at that moment the door opened, and Mrs Maplestone appeared on the threshold. Uncle Godfrey was in pain. He wished to go to bed. Would Tony come and give him an arm?
Retribution sure and swift fell upon the Squire. All night long he tossed in pain, and in the early morn the doctor was summoned, who delivered himself of a gloomy verdict: Serious. One bad attack following hard on the top of another. The patient had been warned, and the patient had transgressed. The patient’s heart was not in a condition to stand these repeated strains. The patient must have a nurse. Must be kept quiet. The patient must be safeguarded against irritation and strain. Excitement at this juncture might have serious effects.
Then the doctor drove away, and the patient, who was to be kept quiet, proceeded to work himself into a condition of fuss and antagonism against every separate member of the household, and in especial against Antony, his heir. It was Antony’s fault that he was laid low; the contrariety of Antony which had ruined his health; and now he lay at death’s door (he was at death’s door; hechoseto lie at death’s door! It was his own business, he supposed, at whose door he should lie?); now, even at this last moment, Antony delayed, prevaricated, shilly-shallied, talked calmly of waiting a couple of years! It was not the girl’s fault. The girl was willing enough. She was making a pretence of unwillingness. All girls made a pretence. Let Antony stand up to her like a man, and she would give in; be glad to give in. Summon Antony! Summon the girl! Let them be brought before him. Let this matter be settled once for all!
Trembling, Mrs Maplestone obeyed his orders. Trembling, Juliet obeyed, and stood beside the patient’s bed. Antony was not trembling, but his cheek was pale. Crimson cheeked, bright of eye, the patient made his pronouncement: He had waited long enough; he could wait no longer; within the next few days he intended to die—probably to-morrow, or the day after; but before he died he wished to see his heir married to the woman of his choice. Send instantly for a priest!
“My dear uncle,” Antony protested, “the thing’s impossible. Even if—even if—There are preliminaries. Banns. Licences. It is a case of weeks; ofseveralweeks—”
But the Squire knew better. There were such things as special licences. When money was no object, when life and death hung in the balance, mountains had been, mountains could again be, removed. With a shaking hand he beckoned Juliet to his side, and levied a shocking question:
“Girl, do you wish to kill me?”
“You don’t understand, you don’t understand!” wailed the unhappy girl. “Dear Mr Maplestone, try to be quiet; try not to worry about us. Only get better, and then—then—”
“I shall never get better,” reiterated the Squire. His small bright eyes glittered with a sudden suspicion. “Is he playing with you? Playing fast and loose, to suit his own convenience? Has he been unkind to you, cold, disappointing? Are you tired already of the fellow?”
“Oh, no, oh, no, youdon’tunderstand! Dear Mr Maplestone, do leave it until you are stronger.”
The crimson of the Squire’s cheeks turned to a deeper hue, a spasm of pain contorted his lips, his eyes rolled, closed, opened again, and turned with a dreadful intensity upon his nephew.
“I’m dying!” he cried. “You are killing me between you.Antony!”
Then Antony stepped forward and took Juliet by the hands. White to the lips was he, but there was no flinching in his eyes, no tremor in the tone of his strong voice.
“My darling,” said Antony, “will you marry me this week? As God is my witness, it is my dearest wish. As God is my witness, I will make you happy.”
At the opposite side of the bed Mrs Maplestone subsided helplessly into tears. Writhing, gasping in pain, the Squire muttered to himself, “What a fuss to make! What a fuss about nothing!”
To Juliet, as to Antony, they might have been at the other side of the world. They had ceased to exist. He stood, drawn up to his full height, gazing down into her face. She looked up, looked deep, deep into the steady brown eyes, and read therein what she most longed to see.
“Yes, Tony, I will. The sooner the better,” answered Juliet. And, so saying, started trustfully upon life’s greatest adventure.