“You don’t mean to say you’ve found it, Kate,” cried her lord.
Sure enough, Mrs. Minever had. It seemed that the precious ring had merely been mislaid. She was willing to take the whole of the blame upon herself, although it should really belong to a stupid and forgetful servant.
“Well, I call that the limit!”
Mr. Minever was not alone in so regarding the incident. A deep growl of humorous disgust slowly permeated the room. “There now, didn’t I say that man from Scotland Yard was a perfect fool!”
A shout of laughter greeted the indignant words of Lord Duckingfield. It was freely owned that the worthy Midlander had said so from the first. He had stood alone in his defense of the little governess. His sportsmanship had been admired, if skeptics deplored his gullibility. And now at this dramatic moment, like the big-hearted man he was, he contrived to underscore this admirable quality. For as the hostess and Lord Carabbas led the way to the dinner table, he moved across to Girlie, bowed to her and offered his arm.
It was a very hilarious meal. Everybody realized that they were on their honor “to play up,” There could be no middle course. In the eyes of the fastidious these people might be vulgar, they might be second-rate, yet they were fully entitled to plume themselves on their sportsmanship.
Certainly an excellent dinner blended with their high spirits enabled them to carry the thing off brilliantly. Even Lord Carabbas, feeling his reputation as a sportsman to be at stake, made quite a brave showing. He still cherished homicidal feelings towards his youngest daughter, but the character of the food, the quality of the wine, the chaff and the gayety helped him to keep them well in hand. It was a dickens of a business, but he must “stick it” to the bitter end.
By one of those odd strokes of fortune which seem so inconsequent and yet obey the laws of reason, Miss Cass suddenly became the heroine of the hour. Everybody seemed thankful that an undeserved stigma had been removed; besides, the only means of punishing the culprit-in-chief was to canonize the understudy. The patrician impudence of Lady Elfreda could not be forgiven. It went so deep that it could only be wiped out with blood. Meanwhile, it had to be suffered and this was best achieved by absolving Miss Cass and even making much of her.
Perhaps for that reason General Norris, an undoubted figure of romance, was not acclaimed as the hero. The proud position was reserved for Sir Toby Philpot or with more accuracy it might be said that Sir Toby reserved it for himself. The little baronet had all the airs of a Congreve or a Sheridan with a dash of Molière thrown in. Superior people who had said “The Lady of Laxton” was far-fetched or impossible had been refuted wonderfully by what had occurred. The series of situations he had devised for his masterpiece had been outdone by these amazing events.
What a consolation it is that no matter what absurdities imagination may bring forth, Real Life never has any difficulty in going one better!