“This idea, which suggested itself to Forbes when he found the letter in the bookshop, was taken up enthusiastically by the group of undergraduates composing the little club. The fabrication of the story was the chief amusement of the term.
“It would be unfair to me and to the other men not to say frankly that the whim was not taken up in any malicious or underhand spirit. Given the idea as it first came to the man in the bookshop, the rest flowed naturally out of it, urged by high spirits. I must tell you honestly that the characters of that letter became very real to us. We speculated endlessly on their personalities, tastes, and ages. We all became frantic admirers of the lady who had signed the letter, and considered ourselves jealous rivals of the man 'Joe,' to whom, as we supposed, it had been written. And when the end of term came, the five members who had entered most completely into the spirit of the game agreed to come to Wolverhampton for the express purpose of attempting to make the acquaintance of the Kathleen who had so engaged their fancy.”
“Really, I think this is dreadfully silly,” said Kathleen, colouring. “Joe, are we characters in a serial, or are we real persons?”
“This confession is very painful for me, Mr. Kent,” said Blair, “because things don't seem to have turned out at all as we thought, and I'm afraid we have abused your hospitality barbarously. I can only beg that you will forgive this wild prank, which was actuated by the most innocent motives.”
“Then do I understand,” asked Mr. Kent, “that your interest in Wolverhampton history was merely simulated, for the purpose of making the acquaintance of my daughter?”
“You make me very much ashamed, sir, but that is the truth.”
Mr. Kent rose to his feet, leaning on his cane.
“Well, well,” he said, “I have no wish to seem crabbed. I'm sorry to lose so excellent a listener. I thought it was too good to be true! But when one has a daughter one must expect her to grow up, and become the heroine of serial stories. I trust that that story is not to be published—I can ask that, at least!”
“Our intention,” said Blair, “was to give the manuscript to Miss Kent as a token of our united admiration.”
“Well,” said Mr. Kent, “make my apologies to the other conspirators. I take it that that dreadful Eliza Thick was one of them. I hope our cook will be back to-morrow. Upon my word, those stuffed eggs were indescribable! Joe, my dear, suppose you let me take you up to see your aunt. I expect these people will want to recriminate each other a little, and reach some sort of misunderstanding.”