“Her health was not very good—and there was some other reason—which I have not been told.”
“I know the reason, and can tell you, if you like,” said Mrs. Langrishe, with an air of affectionate confidence.
Here was an unexpected opportunity of planting a dart in her adversary’s side.
“There is no object in keeping the matter secret, it is just as foolish as that scheme of young Jervis’s, who was like an ostrich sticking his head in the sand. By the way, it appears that that is quite an exploded idea! Every one in Hoyle knows Miss Fairy Gordon’s appearance—she is extraordinary lovely—but——”
“But not mad? Don’t say she is mad!” protested Mrs. Brande, excitedly.
“No, no; not so bad as that. But,” looking steadily into her listener’s eyes, she added, “poor little creature, she is a dwarf! She never grew after she was ten, I am told. Yes, it is a dreadful pity,” gazing into her hostess’s horrified countenance. “Sitting down, she is just like other people—but when she stands up, she seems to have no legs.”
“A dwarf! No legs! And she thought of coming to me! And I was just going to write and ask her to start in November,” repeated Mrs. Brande in gasps.
“Well, my dear, it is a most fortunate circumstance that your letter has not gone. What could you have done with her? You could never have taken her out except after dark.”
This was a terribly effective thrust. Mrs. Brande was wholly unable to retaliate, and made no reply.
“A dwarf!” Her mind conjured up a little fat sallow woman, such as she had once seen outside a show at a fair, and that miserable stunted native who was carried about Shirani, begging, on the shoulders of a boy.