“Suppose”—her voice was so faint that it was scarcely audible—“suppose I don’t happen to be the daughter of Lord Carabbas?”
“Yes, by all means,” he said, with boyish glee. “Let us suppose you are plain Miss Brown. Why not? Rank doesn’t make a pennyworth of difference as far as I am concerned. True, I’ve set up a title of my own. But it’s only for advertising purposes.” The laugh of my lord was very frank. “It helps me in business you know. In many ways, I don’t mind telling you I should be more comfortable without any rank at all.”
In the silence, the rather irksome silence which followed, this almost too-honest man began to feel, as he so often did, that “he had put his foot in it as usual.” That phase, however, was brief. For suddenly he began to realize that he was listening to the recital of a story almost inconceivably strange.
Girlie’s confession achieved a certain dignity. Her amazing account of a weak nature in the toils of a strong one gathered force and coherence as it went on. Lord Duckingfield could hardly believe his ears. As he turned to look at the scared and quivering creature by his side he became the prey of strong emotions. The one, however, by which he was dominated was anger. The little fraud, how dare she! How dare any slip of a girl play such a trick! For a moment a primitive savagery filled his heart. Yet being a man who prided himself on his sense of humor, after the first shock he was able to laugh.
His mirth was not very spontaneous, nevertheless. It sounded hollow. He would be a public laughing stock. But to do Lord Duckingfield justice, he saw at once that this aspect of the case was not the one that was going to hurt most. Rooted somewhere in his robust nature was a genuine regard for this inconceivably weak and foolish child. She was extremely pretty, her helplessness was pathetic, she appealed to the highly developed protective instinct of a strong-willed male of five and forty.
It was the most genuinely comic story he had ever heard. And it was entirely amazing. He did not doubt that every word was true. But for all his balance of mind and his largeness of view he could not escape a sense of chagrin. She had led him on to make a fool of himself. Apart from the question of her chicanery, which he shrewdly saw went no deeper than sheer folly, it was going to be very hard to forgive her. His personal dignity was shattered. True, there was nothing, absolutely nothing in the whole affair with which he need reproach himself, but for many a long year the little world in which he moved would tell the story against him.
No, he couldn’t help feeling angry. Yet, as he looked at this little fool, as he looked into those gray eyes now filmed with tears that from the first had appealed to him so oddly, he clearly perceived that she was not the culprit-in-chief. There was sterner stuff, a force far more potent behind it all. The real Lady Elfreda, whoever she was, whoever she might be, was the prime mover in what had happened. At her door must be laid the guilt of this mad escapade. Common justice required that on her shoulders the whip must fall.
Still this absurd, this charmingly pretty Miss Cass ought not to be let off lightly. But the story she told revealed the naked truth. And somehow the naked truth, unflattering as it was to her and to himself, brought no dishonor. She had been incredibly weak, she had been morbidly vain, for out of the depths she had confessed that the Saturday Sentinel said she had “insight” and therefore she had been tempted to seize the providential chance of becoming a Miss Cholmondeley or a Mrs. Humphry Ward; therefore, in the circumstances of the case, it was impossible for a man cursed with a sense of humor to lay a heavy hand upon her. She didn’t deserve to be let off lightly, yet he didn’t feel inclined even now to hurt her very much.
One question there was, however, that he was impelled to put to her. And on the answer to it a great deal must depend. Why had she not told him sooner? Why had she encouraged him to make such a fool of himself? He felt obliged to ask this. And, towering over her, an avenging figure, he asked it sternly.
“Don’t you see what a hole you’ve landed me in?” he said. “Don’t you think you might have had the decency to stop me a bit sooner?”