“I did!—good God, yes! That’s where the resemblance lies.”
“Who were you speaking of?”
“Blanche Cannon. Before you were born she was my wife.”
“But she is my mother. Then am I——?”
Eliphalet had taken her hands and was looking at her with wide-opened eyes.
“How I wish you were!” he said. “But you came after, my dear.”
“Then,” said Mornice very positively but very tenderly, “whether I am, or whether I’m not, whether you like it or whether you don’t, I’m going to be your daughter—See!” And she kissed him as a daughter should.
At the theatre a week later the Lady of the Lorgnettes addressed She of the Neuralgia.
“My dear,” she said. “Have you heard the news? That Mr. Cardomay has taken that Miss Something-or-other June to live with him. Really, it is extraordinary what these stage people will do.”
And She of the Neuralgia was constrained to take two aspirins in rapid succession to recover from the tidings, while the Lady of the Lorgnettes turned aside to congratulate that Mr. Cardomay on his speedy recovery.