In desperation, therefore, she had hit on the expedient, a poor and vain one, no doubt, of taking him to see those humble people whom she called father and mother. In the course of her twenty odd years up and down the world she had had intimations from various side winds and divers little birds that she was an adopted child. Her real parentage and the circumstances of her birth were an impenetrable mystery and must always be so, no doubt, but her feeling for the Kellys was one of true affection and perfect loyalty. Not by word or deed had she hinted at the possession of knowledge which had come to her from other sources.
In the circumstances of the case she now allowed herself to imagine that a visit to her home people in their native habit as they dwelt might help to cure Jack of his infatuation. An insight into things and men told her that Beaconsfield Villas must be whole worlds away from any sphere in which he had moved hitherto. Nor would he be likely to suspect, as she was shrewdly aware, that a creature so sophisticated as herself had risen from such humble beginnings. She had a ferocious pride of her own, but it was not of the kind that meanly denies its origin.
“Father,” was her gay greeting to the astonished and still coatless Joe, “I’ve brought somebody to see you.”
Jack, wearing a dustcoat and other appurtenances of the chauffeur’s craft, had followed upon the heels of Princess Bedalia into the front parlor of Number Five. In response to the young man’s bow, Kelly offered a rather dubious hand. As became a symbol of law and order and a member of the straitest sect of the Pharisees, he didn’t feel inclined to encourage Mary in gallivanting up and down the land. Nor did he feel inclined to give countenance to any promiscuous young man she might bring to the house.
“Mr. Dinneford—my father, Police-Sergeant Kelly.” It was a delightfully formal introduction, but rather wickedly contrived.
Jack was so taken aback that he felt as if a feather might have downed him. But even to the lynx eyes of Mary, which were covertly upon him, not a trace of his feelings was visible. He merely bowed a second time, perhaps a little more gravely than the first.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Sergeant Kelly, in a voice which showed pretty clearly that he was overstating the truth.
Mary could not repress the rogue’s laugh that sprang to her lips.
“Where’s my old mumsie?” she gayly demanded, partly in the hope of concealing her wicked merriment.
“Upstairs with your Aunty Harriet.”