"I once met a little girl named Elf. It was ten years ago, on a March evening, in a West End square. There had been a carriage accident. A pair of horses were frightened by a terrific thunderstorm. The girl was accompanied by a somewhat selfish gentleman. He jumped out and left her to her own devices; indeed, slammed the door in her face. A ragged boy——"
"A boy with newspapers—a boy who spoke quite nicely—saved her by running into the road. The carriage overturned in front of Lord Vanstone's house. I was the girl!"
Both ladies were amazed at the expression on Philip's face. He betrayed such eagerness, such intense longing, such keen anxiety to establish her identity with the child who figured in an accident of no very remarkable nature, that they could not help being vastly surprised.
Their astonishment was not lessened when Philip exclaimed:
"And I was the boy!"
"But I said 'a boy with newspapers.'"
"Yes, a very urchin, a waif of the streets."
"My uncle struck you."
"And you defended me, saved me from being locked up, in fact."
"Oh, this is too marvelous. Mother, you must remember——"