“Philippa,” she exclaimed, as soon as they were safely shut in for the night, “I have found out ever so much more about my charming Mr Gresham. His home is in Nethershire—a place called Merle-in-the-Wold—isn’t that a fascinating name? I am sure I have heard of it before. Didn’t you speak of it, by-the-by? I said to him I was sure I had heard it mentioned quite lately, as such a lovely part of the country.”
“Oh, Evelyn,” said Philippa, aghast, “do be careful. Yes, no doubt I spoke of it. I passed that way on my return from Dorriford. But what might not come of it, if you had mentioned me in connection with it?” “Nothing,” says Evelyn, sensibly enough. “He knows my sister was at Dorriford, there is no secret about that, and he probably knows that you would pass Merle-in-the-Wold on your way to Marlby. You are getting morbid and stupid, Phil, about being found out. And no one heard what we were talking about, except—oh, Mr Gresham has all but asked us to pay him a visit, I, of course, as your chaperon, though he would have a married sister and her husband there, too. Phil,” clasping her hands, “we must go. It would be too lovely—we two together.”
“And what about a maid?” said Philippa, grimly.
“Oh, I don’t exactly know; I must plan something when we go home. I am sure I could think of some arrangement if I had a little time. I almost think I will send away the under-nurse—she is a stupid little thing, and though her wages are small, Dorcas says her appetite is enormous. I could get a nice young maid, who would not object to help a little with the children, for a few pounds a year more. I am sure Duke would not mind, and very likely her eating less would make up the difference. You see, I shall have to be planning all about a house in a very few months now, Phil. And if the old people here really take us up, Duke will be so delighted that he will agree to anything.”
She was chattering on, when a word in her former speech recurred to Philippa.
“Wait a moment, Evey,” she said. “You did not finish what you were saying before. You said no one heard what you and Mr Gresham were talking about, ‘except?’ Except whom—one of the Headforts?”
“No—what does it matter? I was only going to say except that stupid Michael Gresham—he was staring at a book, as far as I remember. I don’t suppose he did hear what we were saying. And, do listen, Phil—don’t you see, as I was saying, once Duke has the position—almost, one may say, the recognised position of heir, there will be things that we must do, out of respect for the family even, like my having a—”
But the latter part of Evelyn’s speech had conveyed little meaning to her sister’s brain, so startled was she by the careless announcement that if any one had overheard what Evelyn and Mr Gresham had been talking about, it had been his cousin.
Had he done so, or had he not? Who could say? And what possibility was there of discovering the facts of the case?
Philippa trembled as she realised the consequences of Michael Gresham’s having taken in the whole bearings of her sister’s chatter. No special power of discernment would be required, nothing but the simplest, most everyday faculty on his part of putting two and two together, to satisfy him as to the identity of Mrs Marmaduke Headfort’s sister and the girl he had travelled with. And her trepidation was by no means selfish; she forgot about the disagreeables which would certainly ensue to herself if the strange little plot were to be disclosed, in realising the injurious effect it would certainly have upon Evelyn and her belongings.