“When he entreated me,” went on Lady Garlingham, “begged me even with tears to be his ambassadress to Leila, I grieve to say that for the first time in his life I failed to rise to the occasion of his need. I said: ‘I shall do nothing of the kind. Get out of the muddle as you can—I wash my hands of it.’ And he thought me very hard and very unfeeling, I know; but even when the bouleversement was managed for the third time, I could not bring myself to regard the position from my usually philosophical point of view. It was too cruel. The retransfer of the engagement-ring, for instance——”
“Ah, true,” I murmured, “and the presents!”
“Too painful!” sighed Lady Garlingham. “It was ultimately arranged by Gar’s buying a new ring, and Sheila’s dropping the old one into the almsbag at St. Baverstock’s. Poor girl! I will say her demeanor in the trying circumstances was admirable.”
“As for the other?” I hinted.
“Leila is not a refined type of girl,” said Lady Garlingham decidedly. “Her whole expression was that of a Bank Holiday tripper young person who has just dismounted from one of those giddy-go-rounds. Boat-swings might impart the dazed look. The mother seemed harassed. As for Gar——”
I guessed what was coming, but I would not have missed hearing Lady Garlingham tell it for worlds.
“There came a day—a dreadful, dreadful day,” she said, with pale lips, “when Gar told me that his life was ruined unless he changed back! We had a dreadful scene, and for the first time in my life I had hysterics. Then the unhappy boy tore from the house—ventre à terre—leaving me a perfect wreck, held up by my maid Pinner—you know Pinner?”
I nodded speechlessly.
“My wretched boy tore from the house, jumped into his ‘Gohard,’ which was standing at the door—hurtled to Chesterfield Crescent—told the painful truth——”
“Swopped dolls yet once again, and came back with the rag-baby,” I gasped.