The Colonel winced. "I fear I have another appointment."
"Oh, rot! I'll bring him," said the Major. "Where do you hang out?"
"22 Oxbridge,"—her hesitation was barely perceptible—"Crescent."
The Colonel started. "Do you know it, Colonel?" She looked at him ingenuously.
"No, but how odd! My other appointment is at 22 Oxbridge Terrace."
"How funny!" laughed Eileen. "Just round the corner. Then you'll be able to kill two ladies with one cab." And she fled from the Major's cachinnation.
XVIII
She had missed her turn at the third Hall, but she did not care. She went on and gave a spiritless performance. It fell dead, but she cared less. Her head throbbed with a dozen possibilities. She was still undiscovered. As she sat resting on her couch ere resuming her work-a-day gown, her nerves stretched to snapping point, and old Irish songs crooning themselves irrelevantly in her brain, a telegram was handed her.
"He has found out," she thought, going hot and cold. She tore open the pink envelope... and burst into a shriek of laughter. The dresser rushed in, wondering. Nelly O'Neill merely held her sides, jollity embodied. "Oh, the Show, the Show!" she gasped, the tears streaking her painted cheeks.