“Once, long ago,” said Gwendolyn, in a maze of astonishment.
“I want to tell you a secret—if you won’t ask me a single question in return,” went on the girl, filled with her own affairs. “Although not to San Miniato, I am really going to be married. I’ve left my heart, my real heart, at home, with the best fellow in the world. When I got to Gibraltar I kept a promise I’d made to him, and cabled out that he might come to us in September. By the time we get to Paris he’ll be there, and then, Gwenny, then—oh! You’ll be a jolly, easy-going chaperon, and I the happiest girl in the world. Now I’m off to take Mimms for a perfectly horrid little walk, to see Thorwaldsen’s Lion. If I ever get home to blessed East Ephesus I’ll walk out by myself after dark, see if I don’t.”
Gwendolyn’s face, when she was left alone with these surprising revelations, was very pale. After deliberation she took out a cable code Mr. Mordaunt had sent her for exigencies, and patched together words conveying the following message:
“Fear daughter’s intention to marry. Had better come at once. Meet us Paris. Will watch faithfully till then.”
They had found refuge from observation in a quiet and cozy little hotel just out of the Champs Élysées. For some days following their arrival in Paris Cecily had been under a spell of gentleness. She did not again allude to her hopes and prospects, and Gwendolyn, trusting the matter had blown by, said nothing, but never left her side. Cecily did not know that her father was expected. It had been agreed between Mordaunt and his daughter’s chaperon to give his visit the air of a happy afterthought.
When the day came that should bring relief to the citadel, Gwendolyn breathed a long sigh. Soon after their early breakfast, Cecily asked for the company of Mimms to make some purchases at the Bon Marché. She had equipped herself so charmingly, her face and person breathed such radiancy of good health and happiness, that Gwendolyn could not resist giving the child a parting squeeze and kiss.
“I shall wait for you to go in to the second breakfast, dear,” she said, affectionately.
“Ah, Gwen, how I love you!” cried the girl with a sudden burst. “Never be angry with me; I was not brought up like other girls.”
She was gone. The little open cab containing her and the grim Miss Mimms rattled down the stony street to the Elysian Fields. Gwendolyn sighed.