CHAPTER XIII.
THE FACE AT THE BROKEN WINDOW.
Miss Clara sat down—perhaps I should say collapsed down. But for the fact that a huge Chesterfield stood immediately at her back, ready to receive the fair burden of her charms, I am persuaded that her ultimate destination would have been the floor. The suddenness of my statement "dropped" her as neatly as a good marksman "drops" his bird.
Sinking—"all of a flutter," as she afterwards described it, thus unconsciously confirming the aptness of my bird imagery—upon the Chesterfield, this truly remarkable woman merely observed, "Well, I never!" and then as speedily recovering herself, sat up and said, quietly:
"I knew there was something behind it all along."
This was said, I may observe, not in relation to the Chesterfield which had so fortunately been behind her, but to my story.
"Of course you did," I said. "Anyone could see that with half an eye. There are two things behind it. First, I want you to help me to marry your niece, and second, I want to help you to get your brother out of the hands of these blackmailers."
In thus coupling our common interests, and in thus bespeaking, if not assuming, her assistance on my behalf, I was taking a good deal for granted, but she did not seem to resent it.
"You have plenty of impudence, young man," she said, smiling grimly. "You'll be wanting someone to help you to marry me next."
"That," I answered, "is the one regret I shall have, if I succeed in winning your niece. It will prevent me from ever hoping to win the heart and hand (and what a pretty hand it is too!) of her charming and accomplished aunt."