“Win, he’s not a chauffeur! He’s Lord Wilfrid Kelmscourt; he’s in love with our little mother! He saw her advertisement and took the place to be near her—says he thought the romance would strike her! She’d forbidden him to see her in England, you know. But he happened to be over here, and he saw her advertisement and applied. He’s disguised a little; has a beard! Mother knew him almost at once. Did you ever in all your life hear anything like it? Please take him up to your room to get ready for breakfast.”
“Say, Mary, you’re not nutty for keeps, are you? It’s only temporary, isn’t it? And did they say it was safe for you to be at large? They often attack their best friends, you know, suddenly! Keep off, Mary, and explain what has done this?” Win sat down on the reception chair, back of the door, and held out his hands, palms outermost, fending off Mary.
“Oh, Win, dear, don’t fool now!” cried Mary, laughing, but ready to cry. “He’s in there alone. Do look after him and be polite! He’s a guest now, and he’s to be sent right away, so do be polite while he lasts! I have told you; that’s the truth, just as I said it. Please hurry in, Win; you’ll sort it out when you get there. He’s Lord Wilfrid Kelmscourt; don’t forget the name.” Mary pulled Win to his feet by his coat lapels and pushed him toward the room she had just left. Win arose with a groan and suffered himself to be propelled to his amazing duty.
“Well, my gracious, as they say in Barrie’s stories: ‘It cows a’! It certainly cows a’!’ Though I never knew what that barnyard Scotticism meant, nor do I know what has befallen our family, through this chauffeur who isn’t one! He must be pretty long-sighted, since they had to forbid him in England from seeing Lynette over here! I hope to goodness you’ll get all right again, poor Molly!” When Win had disappeared through the doorway, shaking his head forebodingly for Mary’s benefit, Mary fled to find Anne and Jane and Florimel to warn them what they had to expect from him who had been the chauffeur, and that he was to breakfast with them.
Jane and Florimel, Anne, too, in her way, instantly caught fire from Mary’s stirring tidings.
“It’s a novel, a play going on right here in this house!” cried Florimel, her eyes snapping. “What a lark! As long as she doesn’t want him, isn’t it great?”
“She probably will want him,” said Jane. “It is like a novel, and in novels they always relent at the end. We’ll lose her! Lady Kelmscourt she’ll be! We’ll be presented at court by her. ‘Lady Kelmscourt wore violet and point lace; Miss Garden wore Alice blue’—that wouldn’t do, not if the dresses were together! White! ‘Miss Jane Garden wore canary yellow; Miss Florimel Garden wore rose pink. The young ladies’ court trains were——’”
“Jane, for pity’s sake!” protested Mary, covering her ears.
“Miss Devon had plenty of admirers before she married and came here; lords, aplenty!” Anne said proudly. But she looked troubled. “It’s not the same now. She was a slip of a girl then, hardly older than Jane, and it was all a play to her; didn’t interest her greatly. But now—if she’s forbidden this Lord Kelmscourt to follow her, and he’s come in spite of it, mark my words you may lose your lovely girl-mother, and I my sweet lady again!”
“Anne, don’t croak!” Mary remonstrated. “We’ve got to be polite to him at breakfast, and we can’t be if we think he’s going to steal our little toy-mother! I’m sure he won’t; she meant just what she said.”