3. A spy of some sort, pursued by secret agents.
4. Violet Dewing, an actress.
5. The most interesting and the loveliest and most charming girl in the world."
I checked off one, two, and three as doubtful if not incredible; four seemed possible, and five was wholly incontrovertible. But the first three certainly required much illumination, and the fourth I was helpless to reconcile with any of the others but the last. I reviewed Searles's enthusiastic description of the young woman who had inspired him to write "Lady Larkspur," and could only excuse my stupidity in not fitting it to Alice the first time I saw her on the ground that Barton was the last place in the world I should have looked for her. And then, with all his exuberance, Searles hadn't done her justice!
The following day nothing of importance happened, though Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth again spent the morning in the woodland, presumably studying Searles's play. My thoughts galloped through my head in a definite formula: "If she is not my aunt—" "If she is an impostor—" "If she is a spy playing a deep game in the seclusion of Barton—" "If she is the actress Searles is seeking—" At any rate, I would respect her wish to play the game through; the dangers of carrying the story-book idea to one of half a dozen possible conclusions were not inconsiderable, but I was resolved that she should finish the tale in her own fashion.
On my way to luncheon I passed Dutch pushing a wheelbarrow containing a huge hamper.
"It's vittles for the prisoner, sir," he remarked. "He's some feeder, that guy, and I guess the sooner we shake 'im th' better. He kicks on th' wine, sir. Says it's questionable vintage. When he gets tired readin' he pokes his head through the window and kids th' boys. He says he's goin' to remember th' place and come back when he's old. A charmin' retreat fer supernumerary superannuates, he calls it. Them's his woids. I'm gittin' sort o' nervous havin' 'im round. Zimmerman—he's the clothes-presser—tried to talk Goiman to 'im this mornin' an' th' guy pretended like his feelin's wuz hoit, an' he never knowed th' Hun's language, he says. An' Elsie says she's prepared to swear he talked Goiman easy enough to her."
"We'll consider his case later, Dutch. The matter is delicate, most delicate."
If I had expected Searles and his play to be introduced into the table-talk, I was doomed to disappointment. A dozen times I smothered an impulse to tell Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth I had watched them in the woodland and of Searles's long search for the ideal of his "Lady Larkspur," but I was afraid to risk their displeasure. They enjoyed walking in the wood, they said, and when I charged them with selfishness in not taking me along, Alice immediately suggested a tramp later in the afternoon.
"I'll send you away after luncheon—I have loads of letters to write, but by four o'clock I'll be keen for the woods again."