CHAPTER XVII
In Which I, as Well as Mr. Solomon Cripps, Am Surprised
“And to think,” cried Hephzy, for at least the fifth time since I told her, “that those Crippses are her people, the cousins she lived with after her pa's death! No wonder she was surprised when I told her how you and I went to Leatherhead and looked at their 'Ash Dump'—'Ash Chump,' I mean. And we came just as near hirin' it, too; we would have hired it if she hadn't put her foot down and said she wouldn't go there. A good many queer things have happened on this pilgrimage of ours, Hosy, but I do believe our goin' straight to those Crippses, of all the folks in England, is about the strangest. Seems as if we was sent there with a purpose, don't it?”
“It is a strange coincidence,” I admitted.
“It's more'n that. And her goin' back to them is queerer still. She hates 'em, I know she does. She as much as said so, not mention' their names, of course. Why did she do it?”
I knew why she had done it, or I believed I did.
“She did it to please you and me, Hephzy,” I said. “And to get rid of us. She said she would do anything to please us, and she knew I did not want her to remain here in Paris. I told her I should stay here as long as she did, or at least as long as she sang at—at the place where she was singing. And she asked if, provided she gave up singing there, you and I would go back to England—or America?”
“Yes, I know; you told me that, Hosy. But you said you didn't promise to do it.”
“I didn't promise anything. I couldn't promise not to follow her. I didn't believe I could keep the promise. But I sha'n't follow her, Hephzy. I shall not go to Leatherhead.”