"Now, I'm told," said Otis, "that this fine Captain Brooke is buildin' himself a house, and that Miss Lutwyche is his—architect." He gave a little chuckle, "Excuse me: I really got to laff," he drawled humorously. "The idea of him an' his architect is a bit too thick—eh?"
"Miss Lutwyche is duly qualified," began the vicar, in his stateliest manner.
"Do I doubt it? No, sir! But I hear she has been stayin' down in the shires with him pretty near all summer, gettin' this house ready while her lover's in Russia. Now, I couldn't help just wonderin'—we really couldn't help it, Arnie and me—whether young Burmester knows that Brooke's her old lover."
"Why, do you think she knows?" cried Theo excitedly.
Otis bent on her the sliest, most waggish look, and slowly closed one eye.
"Dear young ladies, you live in Arcadia," he said. "You remind me of three hedge-roses; an' you're doubtless as simple as you're sweet. But your cousin, Miss Lutwyche, she wasn't born yesterday, you know. She knows a thing or two, you may take my word for that."
The vicar was silent, struggling with mortification. That day he had broken through his lifelong rule to do nothing hurriedly. He had gone straight from hearing Otis's revelations to be first with Lady Burmester. He felt sure that what was said must ultimately come to her ears. He thought his duty was plain.
But if he had only waited! If he had only gone to Millie, armed with this fact! If he could have charged her with knowing who Bert was, and concealing her knowledge, how differently things might have gone!
He looked at his wife, who seemed to be still blushing. She rose from table.
"As you say, Mr. Otis," said she, with archness which was unutterably comic upon her middle-aged, substantial personality, "my dear girls are very unsophisticated. They have been carefully brought up, as English girls usually are. I will leave you to discuss this serious matter with Mr. Cooper, and take them away. Come, my darlings."