Philippa

by Mrs. Molesworth

that girl does not always assume the position ofMrs Marmaduke Headfort's sister. She has been recognised as figuringin a very different capacity.' `What?' said I. `Mother, orgrandmother, perhaps?' `It is no laughing matter,' Mrs Worthingreplied; and to give her her due she was serious enough. She had beenvery anxious about it, for Aline's sake, as it appeared that the childhad taken a tremendous fancy to--to Miss Raynsworth. And then she wenton to say that her maid--a treasure, of course, who had been with hertwenty years, and all that sort of thing--had seen and known that samegirl as a servant. Where and when she did not say, and I would not ask,but she vouched for it. I laughed at it as an absurd piece of nonsense,and I am glad to believe that I quite took her in. She does not thinkshe made any impression upon me. I made some upon her. I asked her onthe face of it how such a thing was possible. She had seen theLermonts--Miss Lermont above all, who is far from a silly woman--makingmuch of their guest. I did _not_ say, `You have only to look at thegirl to see how thorough-bred she is.' I thought it wiser not. I_inferred_, politely, of course, my surprise at a woman like MrsWorthing condescending to listen to servants' gossip. On the whole, sofar as _she_ is concerned, I am by no means dissatisfied with mydiplomacy."

  "And what _are_ you dissatisfied about then?" inquired Michael, drily.

  Mr Gresham got up and walked towards the window, where he stood for amoment or two staring out in silence. Then, without facing his cousin,he began again.

  "I scarcely like to tell you; you will be down upon me for giving amoment's thought to it, but half confidences are no good." And he wenton to relate the curious and annoying episode which had occurred at thepicnic, an episode which he confessed had been emphasised to him byPhilippa's extreme reluctance to having any notice taken of thelady's-maid's impertinence. "So you see," he added, in conclusion, "Icould not help putting two and two together, when Mrs Worthing made herextraordinary statement to me, otherwise I should probably have sent itquite out of my mind, as utterly absurd and contemptible nonsense, or,possibly as one of those extraordinary cases of personal resemblancewhich one does come across or hear of now and then."

  "And why not explain it in that way still?"

  "I don't know," said Mr Gresham, slowly; "I really cannot say. Therewas something indefinite, unsatisfactory, in her manner."

  "It is surely natural enough that a girl of any refinement would detestto be mixed up in a scene with Mrs Worthing's maid, or Mrs Anybody'smaid," said Michael, hotly. "A low-minded, suspicious servant! Ofcourse, Miss Raynsworth treated the thing as beneath contempt. Andafter all," he went on, cooling down again, "what _can_ you be afraidof? What do you suppose it _can_ be but some mistake? The girl is_not_ a servant. Would a whole family, including the Lermonts, combineto pass her off as a lady if she were not one? It is inconceivable.Besides, Mrs Marmaduke Headfort spoke of her sister Philippa to youoften at Wyverston. I remember hearing her say how unlike they were."

  "Yes," Mr Gresham agreed. "I know she did, and I had seen her myself--you forget--the same girl that I met at Cannes--I had seen her atDorriford."

  "Then what in heaven's name are you worrying about?" exclaimed Michael."You blow hot and cold with one breath."

  "I have no doubt that it is all right, practically," said his cousin."She must be herself. What I dread is the possibility of some wildpractical joke--acting a part for a wager," and here he shuddered. "Canyou imagine anything more detestable for me? The sort of thing I couldnot stand coming up in the future about _my wife_. It would beinsufferable."

  "Then why risk it? Why take any steps towards making her your wife?"said Michael. His tone was peculiar.

  Bernard Gresham's face fell.

  "You really think there is risk of something of the kind? you seriouslyadvise me to give it up?" he said. "I had hoped you might suggestsomething, that possibly you might have found out what it has all arisenfrom, and set my mind at rest."

  Michael shook his head and laughed, somewhat grimly. "Not if I knowit," he said. "I would do a great deal to oblige you, but not actdetective, thank you, my good fellow. Do I advise you to give it up?Well, yes, if," and here his voice softened and deepened till its toneswere very grave and yet almost tender too, "if you cannot entirely andabsolutely trust a woman to be incapable of any really unladylike orunfeminine action, or course of action--well, yes, without such trust Ishould strongly advise you, for her sake, even more than your own, togive up all idea of making her your wife."

  Mr Gresham's face had brightened at first; as Michael came to aconclusion it fell again.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed, "the way you speak seems to describe her. She givesone just that feeling. You might have seen her--"

  "I have heard of her," said his cousin, laconically.

  "And yet," the other went on, scarcely noticing the interpolation, "yet,I am _not_ satisfied, and that's the truth of it. You don't think Icould ask her about it--straight out, you know--do you, Mike?"

  "Premising, of course, as the excuse for your im--for your interest inthe matter, that if she explain things to your satisfaction, you havealmost made up your mind to propose to her? Well, what do you thinkyourself? How does it strike you?"

  "Don't be so confoundedly sarcastic," said Mr Gresham, in a tone ofreproachful irritation. "I have come to you for advice; I have told youthe whole thing as I would do to no one else, and--you might see I amvery much upset. I suppose you cannot understand--a cold-bloodedmisogynist like you."

  "Come now, you needn't call me ugly names," said Michael, whose spiritsseemed to rise as Bernard's went down. "I suppose we look at thingsquite differently. I don't think I _do_ understand your excessiveuneasiness and perplexity."

  "Put yourself in my place," said Bernard, eagerly, "if you--" Hehesitated.

  "Go on; if I cared for any one as you do for _her_," said Michael,"would I feel as you do? No, I would not. That's just it. It is notin me to `care' in that sort of way, without giving complete trust."

  "You don't know anything about it," grumbled his cousin. "You mean,then, that you think I should--"

  "I don't mean anything. You are you, and I am I. I am afraid I cannotadvise you."

  Bernard got up slowly.

  "Thank you for listening to me, all the same, old fellow," he said, ashe held out his hand. "You'll come down to Merle at Easter for a day ortwo as usual? I shall count upon you."

  "Well, yes. I daresay I shall, thank you."

  They shook hands. Michael opened the door, followed his guest a fewsteps down the staircase, and stood looking after him till the hall doorshut again. Then he returned to his sitting-room, and there came thesound of the hansom driving away.

  "I wonder how it will end," he said to himself, and for a few moments hestood there with a curious dreamy expression, very unusual to him.Suddenly he started. The dachshund, divining something out of thecommon, had crept up to him silently, and was licking his hand.

  "All right, Solomon," said Michael, "all right. Many thanks forreminding me that I'm wasting time. That would never do."

  He sat down at the table, resolutely drawing his books and paperstowards him, and set to work to get as much done in the evening as thelong interruption had made possible.

  "Easter," he said to himself, when at last he stopped working andproceeded to "tidy up," as the children say, methodically and carefully,all the notes, plans, and books with which the table was spread."Easter is very late this year--as late as it can be. By that time,nearly a month hence, surely Bernard will have made up his mind, as hecalls it." A gesture of something almost like disgust escaped him."Has he got any mind, I sometimes wonder! What can _she_ find toattract or interest her in him, except of course his good looks?"

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  Easter was so late that year, and the spring came on so rapidly, that itwas quite confusing and unsettling to one's ideas.

  "Good-Friday on a positively summer day would be too much for my brainto
take in," said Evelyn Headfort.

  "Yes," her sister agreed. "But _Easter_ and sunshine are notincongruous. Let us hope we shall not have winter back again; there isstill a week to Easter Day, you know, Evey."

  "I don't think it is likely to get cold again now; there are no weatherprophecies of the kind," said Mrs Headfort. "Still it is well to makehay while the sun shines. I _think_ we shall be pretty straight by theend of next week. I mean to say, the rough of the