'Maybe not, but it's the best,' she commented, 'an' as I always sed about Miss Marryun——'
'Mrs. Rawlings,' I corrected.
'Lor', I'll never get used to the name. Mrs. Roarings, then, 'as only got me to thank for the present 'appy state o' things.'
'What do you mean?' I asked, only half interested.
'Well, it's like this yeer,' answered Elizabeth, 'I see from the very first that Mr. Roarings an' Miss Marryun were just suited to each other. The trouble was they didn't see it theirselves, an' so I 'elped to open their eyes like.'
'Explain,' I commanded.
Elizabeth did so. She unfolded a tale that, as she proceeded step by step, left me speechless with horror. That she should have so basely conspired to throw William and Marion at each other and, by misrepresentations, lies and every kind of deception, brought about the match, utterly appalled me. Everything suddenly became clear. William had married through a misplaced sense of chivalry—offered himself up as a sacrifice as it were. I understood then why Marion had written so much about luggage and nothing about connubial bliss—the union was bound to turn out a ghastly failure under such circumstances. Worst of all, I, quite unconsciously, had aided and abetted the whole disgraceful scheme.
'Elizabeth!' I exclaimed at last in dismay, 'you shameless, intriguing creature, I will never forgive you for this. You have ruined two lives, and I am involved in it as well. The only thing to do is to explain the whole situation to Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings when they come to-day.'
She changed colour. 'You'd never do that, 'm.'
'I shall tell them everything. It will, at any rate, help them to begin life on a different understanding.'