He was interrupted. A waiter came in with the news that a Young Person desired instant speech with Mr Wyndham.
Correctly divining this mythical being to be herself, Pen said: “What can that nonsensical girl want now? I wish I had never come to Queen Charlton! Oh, very well! Show the young person in!”
“Good God, can it be Lydia?” exclaimed Piers, when the waiter had withdrawn.
The young person was not Miss Daubenay, but her personal maid, a rosy damsel, who appeared to be strongly imbued with her mistress’s romantic ideals. She came in heavily veiled, and presented Pen with a sealed letter. While Pen tore it open, and read its agitated message, Piers besieged the girl with urgent questions, to which, however, she only replied with evasive answers, punctuated by giggles.
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Pen, deciphering Miss Daubenay’s scrawl. “Matters are now desperate! She says she will elope with you.”
“What?” Piers abandoned the servant, and strode to Pen’s side. “Here, give it to me!”
Pen warded him off. “She says they are going to send her to the Wilds of Lincolnshire.”
“Yes, yes, that is where her grandmother lives! When does she go?”
“I can’t read it—oh yes, I see! To-morrow morning, with her Papa. She says I am to tell you to arrange for the elopement this evening, without fail.”
“Good God!” Piers snatched the letter from her, and read it for himself. “Yes, you are right: she does say tomorrow morning! Pen, if she goes, it will be the end of everything! I never meant to do anything so improper as to elope with her, but I have now no choice! It is not as though her parents disapprove of me, or—or that I am not eligible. If that were so, it would be different. But until they quarrelled—however, talking is to no purpose!” He turned to the maidservant, who had by this time put back her veil, and was listening to him with her mouth open. “Are you in your mistress’s confidence?” he demanded.