“Mr Maplestone, I have been here four days; it seems to me inadvisable to stay any longer. To-morrow morning I propose to receive a telegram summoning me home. I should be obliged if you could make it convenient to be out after eleven o’clock. It would make it easier for me to get away.”
There was consternation in his glance; more than consternation—dismay.
“Go! Why on earth should you go? Is it the office! Do they want you back at the office? Let me write. Surely if I write and say—”
“As a matter of fact there is no office. It’s a mistake. I—I am not what I seem!” cried Juliet, with a touch of melodrama, born of desperation. Not another moment could she stand the deception; not another moment could she masquerade under another woman’s name. “I am not an inquiry agent. Never was. Never will be. It was just—just—”
“Sit down. Sit down. Take your own time. Tell me all about it.” Antony pushed a deep-cushioned chair towards her, seated himself near at hand, leaned forward, gazing into her eyes. There was no consternation on his face this time; no dismay; nothing but happiest relief. “If you only knew how thankful I am! I hated the thought of such work for you. Now—tell me!”
And Juliet told him. Told him how, among a party of friends, she had avowed her yearning for adventure, and had been bidden to hold fast to the thought, and await an opportunity. All things, she was told, come in good time to those who wait. And she had waited; through long, monotonous, uneventful months she had waited, and waited in vain. And then, suddenly, a chance, an opening—a possibility which must be taken, or left, while a moment ticked away its course! She told of the dead girl whose place she had taken, honestly determining to do her best, and allow no one to suffer through the exchange.
“If it had been work of which I was incapable I should have left at once. You believe it, don’t you? You do believe it?”
Antony seemed to ignore the question as beneath his notice. Something infinitely more important was occupying his mind.
“Then, what is your real name?”
“Juliet! All that I have told you of my people is true. Everything is true, but the name and the work. Perhaps, in time to come, you might explain to your uncle that Clare Lawson was just a professional name which I adopted when I tried to take up work. It is quite usual. Many women do it.”