By the midday post I received an impetuous letter from Cannington, who informed me that he had snaffled--the word is his own--a couple of weeks' leave. For the present he was staying with his aunt, Lady Denham, because Mabel wished it, but proposed, when I came up, to take rooms at a hotel, where he would--as he put it--be less tied by the leg. Then he went on to say that I had remained long enough at Burwain, and that if I did not come to him he would come to me, like Mahomet and the proverbial mountain. Bearing in mind Mr. Monk's aspirations for a titled son-in-law, this was the last thing I desired, so I arranged promptly in my own mind to accept his invitation. Besides, after my interview with Gertrude, in which I hoped to come to an understanding, there would be no need for me to remain at Burwain. Her story might send me farther afield in search of new clues.
Reading between the lines of Cannington's letter, I saw that he was devoured with curiosity concerning Miss Monk. He knew that I had fallen in love with the portrait, and as he had always regarded me as a particularly staid, sedate personage, he naturally doubted if I would carry on so fantastic a romance. However, he evidently had his suspicions, since I chose to linger in a dull country village, and therefore was desperately anxious to see the lady who could thus move my elderly heart. As Cannington was a most pertinacious mortal, I wrote by the next post that I would be in London next week, and then would have much to tell him about the case. And as a matter of fact I did wish to have some safe person with whom to discuss matters. I could always rely on Cannington to hold his tongue, even if his advice did not prove to be particularly good. At all events the boy could always be relied upon to keep silent, which was more than I could say for many people I know. So to Cannington I resolved to confide the full tale of my discoveries, and--in the interests of my wooing--I ended my letter with a repetition of the fact that I was coming to see him. Had I not emphasized this the boy might have appeared the next day to make inquiries.
After posting this letter I consulted with Mrs. Gilfin about afternoon tea, and that able old creature bustled about to some purpose. She arranged flowers in my sitting room, stoked the fire, dusted the furniture unnecessarily, and spread a truly gorgeous tea for my visitor. I protested that neither one of us could eat so many cakes and buns and jam and bread as loaded the table. Mrs. Gilfin--who had some idea of my state of mind--admitted with a beaming smile that love did spoil the appetite. But she objected to the presence of my second portmanteau in the sitting-room.
"It do spile the looks of things," said Mrs. Gilfin; "why not put it in the bedroom, Master Cyrus?"
"I have use for it here, Cuckoo," I answered, and so I had, for in it was snugly folded the celebrated cloak, which I proposed to show to Gertrude when the time came for explanations.
At four o'clock all was spic and span, as the room was as comfortable as the afternoon tea was tempting. Miss Monk duly arrived--this time without Puddles as an escort--and looked more beautiful than ever in her plain dress. Poor girl, she nearly always wore the same frock, which showed how very short in cash Mr. Monk kept her. She should have been arrayed in silk attire, and I inwardly swore, when establishing her in a deep-seated armchair by the fire, that some day she should be, at my expense. Meantime I handed her a cup of tea, and piled her with thin bread and butter, much to Mrs. Gilfin's satisfaction. That good lady had looked in to see that we were comfortable. "Eat all you can, miss," urged Mrs. Gilfin, "you don't look as fat as you ought to be."
Gertrude shuddered. "I don't want to grow fat," said she, laughing.
"There's worse things than fat," said Mrs. Gilfin sensibly. "Lean people with wrinkles are never so nice as them without. If Miss Destiny had more flesh on her bones she be more popular," and after delivering herself of this dictum the landlady departed with a fat chuckle.
Gertrude's face clouded when her aunt was mentioned. I noticed this and commented thereon. "You are not fond of Miss Destiny," I remarked.
"I have little reason to be," she replied with a nervous air. "Aunt Julia----"