Thus did Mrs. Darrow's bombshell burst with but little real result—so little that the lady could but with difficulty conceal her disappointment. She was ready to discredit Miriam's explanation altogether, but Barton, delighted at her discomfiture, put an end to that.
"I knew Michael Crane very well myself," he said. "Indeed, I have often heard him sing his comic songs, though I cannot say I have heard this particular one. So I think you owe Miss Crane a very deep apology, Julia, for the most unpleasant way you chose of putting things."
Miriam gave the Squire a glance full of gratitude.
"Oh, not at all," she said. "It was a very natural mistake to make—I mean about the name. As for the other thing, that hardly matters, does it?—after all, whatever I have done in the past can concern no one but myself. Now that it is settled that I am still a respectable member of society, if you really wish to hear me, I will sing." And without taking any notice of the effect of her words, Miriam turned to the key-board and commenced the prelude of the song she had chosen.
As her noble voice rolled through the room, Hilda and Mrs. Darrow exchanged glances of extreme significance. Their little plot had failed. They had been ignominiously beaten, and they knew it. Mrs. Darrow rapidly surveyed the position in her own mind, and decided to make the best of a very bad job. So when Miriam had finished her song she approached her.
"I am afraid I was very wrong, Miss Crane," she tittered. "But you must admit it was a wholly excusable mistake."
"I have already said so, Mrs. Darrow," replied Miriam coldly, "very excusable. Please think no more about it."
But when the party broke up, Gerald managed to get close to Miriam, and to whisper something in her ear.
"I knew your face was familiar to me," he said. "It was at the 'Frivolity' I saw you. But fear nothing from me. I will keep your secret!"