"No," I promised, against my will, "of course not, unless you consent; the secret is half yours, but I really think it would be the best way."
Adelaide was greatly interested in our report. "I am to have my violin dress for the concert made at Madame Céleste's," she said, "and I mean to ask her about this Mrs. Halsey."
Jim came with the package while we were at supper, and Adelaide ran down to the office to receive it. She told us that he was an undersized, stoop-shouldered boy, with a cough which she fancied he had contracted by driving in the early morning mists. He took off his hat like a little gentleman, however, and his finger-nails and teeth were clean. Any clown might wear good clothes, Adelaide insisted, but these little details marked the gentleman. He had at first declined the dime which Adelaide proffered, but accepted it on her insistence that it was only for car-fare and it was raining. He put it away carefully in a little worn purse which contained just one cent, at the same time remarking, "I don't mind the rain, and I can get Ma the quinine the doctor says she ought to be taking."
"That's the boy for me," Witch Winnie remarked; "he's got clear grit, and tenderness for his mother besides."
And Guinevere's gown? It was a beauty. The golden lilies gave it a sumptuous effect, and it fulfilled almost exactly the promises of the forged letter; there was even a rivière of fish-scale pearls and glass beads down the side, which really resembled a châtelaine. The Hornets were overcome with amazement—simply dazzled and dazed. According to Adelaide—who always resorted to French to express her superlatives, and, when that language proved inadequate, pieced it out with translations of American slang or coinage of her own—they were "Completement bouleversées, stupefiées, mortifiées, et frappée plus haute q'un—q'un—kite!"
CHAPTER III.
THE PRINCESS.
