“Going out!” repeated Miss Mewlstone, helplessly. “My dear, I never go out after luncheon, as Magdalene knows.”
“But you are going out with me,” replied Phillis, promptly. “Dear Miss Mewlstone, I know I am perplexing and worrying you; but what can I do? Think over what I have just said,—about—about that improbable story, as you called it; and then, you will not be so dreadfully startled. You must come with me now to Mrs. Williams’s cottage: I want you to see her lodger.” 255
“Her lodger!” Miss Mewlstone was fully roused now; and, indeed, Phillis’s pale face and suppressed eager tones were not without their due effect. Had the girl taken leave of her senses? Why, the ladies at the White House led the lives of recluses. Why should she be asked to call upon any stranger, but especially a gentleman,—Mrs. Williams’s lodger? “My dear,” she faltered, “you are very strange this afternoon.—Magdalene and I seldom call on any one, and certainly not on gentlemen.”
“You must come with me,” replied Phillis, half crying with excitement. She found her task so difficult. Miss Mewlstone was as yielding as a feather bed in appearance, and yet it was impossible to move her. “He calls himself Mr. Dancy; but now he says that is not all his name: let me whisper it in your ear, if it will not startle you too much. Think of Mrs. Cheyne, and try and command yourself. Mrs. Williams’s lodger says that he is Herbert Cheyne,—poor Mrs. Cheyne’s husband!”
XXXV.
“BARBY, DON’T YOU RECOLLECT ME?”
“I do not believe it!—stuff and nonsense! You are crazy, child, to come to me with this trumped-up story! The man is an impostor. I will have the police to him. For heaven’s sake don’t let Magdalene hear this nonsense!”
Phillis recoiled a few steps, speechless with amazement. Miss Mewlstone’s face was crimson; her small eyes were sparkling with angry excitement: all her softness and gentle inanity had vanished.