The Tale of a Great Surprise.
by M.H. Justice.
Originally published in The Novel Magazine (C. Arthur Pearson, Ltd.) vol.2 #10 (Jan 1906).
The romance of an adventurous trip across the Atlantic.
Just as one of the great transatlantic steamers was about to put out from her wharf in Liverpool (in fact the crew were already hauling in the gangway), there was a shout, and, struggling from among the mass of people who had assembled to see the liner sail appeared a young woman and an elderly man, both of whom, judging from their frantic gesticulations, evidently had designs on the parting ship also.
"Stop!" cried the girl shrilly. "Stop! Let me get on!"
Her eyes were blazing, and even in her intense excitement one could see that she was beautiful. Her hat had tumbled forward, and a portion of her rich brown hair, minus hair-pins, had jostled down over her shoulders. Still calling excitedly, for it seemed that there was no intention of throwing out the gangway again, the girl had now reached the very edge of the wharf and measured the distance between herself and the ship with a calculating eye. One hand she kept waving continuously, in the other she carried a bird-cage.
"Throw out the gangway or I shall jump," she shouted to one of the officers who had now appeared on deck. A dozen hands were extended to detain, but by this time her exhausted companion had recovered his breath.
"Kindly throw out the gangway," he called. "I am Sir Matthew Gallway. It is important my niece sails on this steamer."
The name was enough. At a command there was a movement among the crew, and presently the girl boarded the ship. The name of Sir Matthew Gallway was at that time well known in all England. The fine old fighter had just finished a term of long service in India, returning with great honour only the week before. Now, as he stood excitedly in their midst, his country men recognised him from recent photographs, and a rousing shout went up as the gangway was thrown out. But half-way up it seemed as if the girl had forgotten some thing, for she turned and ran down again, when, throwing an arm round the old gentleman's neck, she planted a kiss firmly on his cheek. The other hand still held on to the bird-cage.
At this little family drama another good natured shout went up, while the crowd pressed forward to shake the old soldier's hand. In a second more the ship's deep, sonorous whistle had blown, and she began to move. The girl leant over the railing waving good-bye.
"Good Heavens! a bird-cage in all that crowd!"
The speaker was a young man who also was leaning complacently over the railing, and with his companion had been taking in the little scene with no small amount of interest. The gangway had already been cast out twice before to accommodate a few breathless laggards who appeared at the last moment, and there was some speculation in the minds of both men as to whether it would go out the third time.
"I wonder she ever got through. Yet I believe a woman could do calisthenics with a band-box in one hand and a bird-cage in the other, and never upset either."
"She doesn't look the sort to carry bird-cages," said the first speaker, eyeing the pretty new-comer critically. "By Jove! Look, she's straightened her hair and hat. She's a beauty!"
The man was young, and from his appearance well-born, the latter being indicated by his bright, handsome face, aristocratic features, and altogether high-bred, self-satisfied air. Thirty might have been his age.
The other was more mature—a handsome man of about forty-evidently a student of the world and human nature.
"Oh, I don't think the bird-cage is any criterion to the girl's character as you put it. There may be a thousand reasons why she has brought it along. Perhaps she is to be away a long time and fears to leave it behind. Another thing, perhaps she loves the bird. I don't know why, but I always had a tender spot for a woman carrying a bird-cage."
"Certainly, if she is pretty. She's even more than that. She's got tone and snap and vim in her. I believe she would have jumped if they hadn't thrown out the gangway, and bless me, had she tumbled in, if I wouldn't have gone over the railing after her. A man will wet his clothes any day for a brave girl, even if he can't swim. Put that in your pipe, friend Dickie."
"Humph!" said Dickie, who was the younger of the two. "I see your tender spot is very near the surface to-day. It takes more than a shrieking canary to touch mine, or the sight of his little wire house thrown in. You can have the cage and contents, Mortimer. I'm going in for the girl!"
"And so that was old Sir Matthew?" said Tom Mortimer, apparently not hearing the younger man's closing remarks. "Quite an old warrior, isn't he? We even hear of him over in the States."
"Yes, and the beauty of it is my father knows him well, and that's why I'm planning to make the acquaintance of his niece. I can't imagine who she can be, however, for I've never heard father mention any women of the family. She's decidedly pretty, though. And this very little episode will make her immensely popular going over. Wonder what she can be doing in America? By Jove, Morty! I'm going to begin showing my colours right away. Look! There's the paper off the birdcage scurrying all over the deck. I'm going after it!"
Good as his word, the Honourable Richard FitzHugh made a leap forward and hurried after the escaping paper. It looked for a moment as if the thing were going overboard, for the wind was high and playful, and several times, just as Dickie was about to lay a detaining hand on it, the paper whisked aside, only to rise tantalisingly in the air, and scud off in another direction. After eluding the sprawling young Englishman three or four times, it eventually circumscribed a graceful course to one side of the deck and became entangled round Tom Mortimer's feet. Stooping leisurely, he picked it up and walked towards the girl.
What must have been in the mind of the Honourable Richard at that moment, Tom Mortimer did not stop to conjecture. Nor did he even look round. Taking the whole as a good joke, he concluded to make the presentation of the birdcage covering himself. He knew that Dickie was too well-bred to rush in.
With a smile and a dignified bow, Mortimer held out the paper to the girl. She was down on the deck, striving with all that feminine gentleness to quiet the fluttering inmates of the cage. She took the paper quickly and pressed it over the top. "Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed gratefully. "The poor little things are nearly scared to death. They have never been away from home before. You see I keep them covered to shut out strange sights. If you will kindly hold down the top I can tie the string round again."
Mortimer of course was delighted, and needed no second invitation. "No wonder it became unfastened," he said. "I saw you trying to get through that crowd. Let me tie that for you. I know a strong knot that will also pull out quickly."
Nevertheless he fumbled a long time with the string; but whether to torment Dickie, or to prolong the delightful service for him self, it matters not. It was not often he had things so to himself. The girl was still on her knees beside him, her warm breath fanning his cheek. All at once she looked up.
"You will thank your friend for me," she said. "He is looking this way. He tried awfully hard, and did look really funny sprawling over the deck. But please don't tell him that," she laughed.
Mortimer glanced over his shoulder. He could not help smiling when he caught Dickie's eye, for in it was an expression anything but kindly. There was something inscrutable about the young man's whole facial make-up, a sort of good-natured vengeance beaming there which only waited the opportunity to give itself into words. To put it tersely, he was considerably upset and amazed, too, at the audacity of Mortimer in taking all the honours himself, without even throwing him one patronising glance.
"Yes, he did look funny," assented Mortimer at last, slipping the knot. "But may I ask why you have brought so many birds with you?" He had noticed several in the cage.
"They are all of one family," she replied sweetly, "and, you know, when a mother goes away for a long time, she takes all her children. My birds are the sweetest little things one could imagine. Perhaps some day, when we find it quiet in the saloon, I may show you some of their tricks. I taught them myself."
"Indeed!" beamed Mortimer, "I should be delighted. You may not believe it, but I used to have a canary myself. Yet he was such a little glutton that he died."
"Really?" she smiled. "Perhaps you fed him too much."
"On the contrary, he couldn't get too much. For a time, he lost his appetite and moped wofully. Very solicitous, I bought a concoction called a "bird appetite powder,' and this finished him. He ate everything he could see. When there was no food, he ate the gilt off his cage. Truly I believe the splinters pulled from his perches killed him."
She laughed heartily. "But did you stop giving him the appetite powder?"
Mortimer looked bored. "Good gracious, now I think of it, I don't believe I did. It's so long ago, but I do believe I filled him up with the stuff the very day he died. Poor little fellow, he died happy, nevertheless, for he died full."
"Oh, cruel man!" she exclaimed, "To think of trusting a man with a bird, anyway. Why, they must be cared for as regularly as babies."
They both laughed.
"But, by the way," he reminded, "my friend, FitzHugh—the chap who went after the paper—tells me his father knows your uncle, Sir Matthew. We heard the old gentleman give his name when the gangway went out. FitzHugh is going to America to pay me a visit—he is really an awfully nice fellow—the son of the old Earl of Brandymore, you know."
She raised her brows. "Yes, I have heard of the more notable English families," she said. "But I have spent most of my life in India. England is almost a strange land to me. I expect to spend three months in America."
Wonderful plans—visions of all kinds of delightful things—shot involuntarily through Mortimer's head. He wondered if it were possible to continue the acquaintance which had begun with such want of conventionality. So she would be in America for three months. What part? New York, he hoped. He did not ask her then, not wishing to appear inquisitive, and seeing that she was again at ease, he felt it only proper to retire gracefully. Furthermore, FitzHugh must be aching for news, and it was unkind to keep him in suspense.
Smiling in exceedingly good humour, he reached his friend.
"Well, I say, Mortimer, of all—"
"Never mind, Dickie, it's all right. She's really a very charming young lady."
"Indeed?"
"If I see it is not presuming, I shall introduce you later in the day. Her name is Miss Winwood, I've discovered."
FitzHugh was sarcastic, but he did not remonstrate. True, it had spoilt the romantic meeting he had originally intended, and he had stood by only to see his friend win the laurels. Only wait; the opportunity would yet present itself. The girl was an Englishwoman, and he felt he had a better right to her than Mortimer, despite the fact that he had already made himself agreeable to the girl. Mentally, Dickie formulated plans how he would lay siege to the fair lady, and if it were at all possible Mortimer was to be excluded entirely from the campaign.
While Mortimer was not a woman-hater by any means, he seemed never to entertain more than a passing interest in the sex, and while FitzHugh knew him to be an admirer of beauty, he never heard him enthuse as men usually do. Accordingly, the past demonstration in the way of so putting himself out to please this particular young lady, almost took Dickie off his feet. He afterwards credited it to Mortimer's good breeding, and felt he meant only to be polite and accommodating at a trying moment. And so comforting himself, Dickie awaited his opportunity. It soon came.
As luck would have it, they all had seats at the captain's table. By exchanging chairs with one passenger, Mortimer and FitzHugh were able to sit side by side, while the girl, looking more radiant than ever in a pale blue dinner-gown, sat opposite. She herself could not have wished for a better chance to display her beauty, for, flanked on either side by portly, middle-aged women, she certainly had surroundings which relieved her youthfulness in the strongest degree. Both Mortimer and Dickie remarked it, and for a few moments could only sit and gaze in admiration.
Before long, however, Dickie was fairly plunging in a spirited conversation with Miss Winwood. They had much in common to talk about; countrymen, native tastes and dislikes, and both expressed lively anticipation over their visit to the States. Leisurely and good-naturedly Mortimer put in a word once in a while, then posed as a good listener. The girl was most charming.
Very soon all three were promenading on deck. The sea, meanwhile, had grown a trifle rough, and to steady themselves they were compelled to stroll arm in arm. Strangely, it is only an ocean voyage which seems to inspire and permit of these instant friendships, but very soon the three were chatting and laughing as if old school mates.
Gwendolen Winwood was as piquant in conversation as either man could wish. Her wit was predominant in almost everything she said, a quality which soon makes a girl popular aboard ship. Nor was it entirely lacking either in Mortimer or FitzHugh. The voyage certainly promised interesting things.
Suddenly, and without warning, the ship gave a bound, which almost threw the three from their feet. In the moonlight, too, FitzHugh saw a strange expression come over Mortimer's face, and his own heart bounded exultantly.
"I say, Morty, you always get jolly sea-sick, don't you?" He hoped that such an attack might temporarily shelve his friend.
"Oh, do you, Mr. Mortimer?" inquired Miss Winwood. "If you do, I have a splendid remedy. It simply cannot fail. I am a capital sailor, but on my trip from India we had terrible seas. I certainly should have succumbed if a nice old lady had not taken pity on me. She gave me a taste out of a magic bottle, and I afterwards secured the recipe. I have some now."
"That is more then delightful," said Mortimer, with a twinkle in his eye. "I may need it."
Dickie groaned inwardly, and looked at the sea.
"And you, Mr. FitzHugh?"
"Never guilty," said he with determination.
"That is splendid," she exclaimed. "In that case we shall all have a lovely time the whole way over."
Of this ocean voyage, as of many others, much the same might be said. There was the same daily routine—the promenading, the deck-sports, the subscription concert, not to mention noticeable flirtations, one or two of which actually neared an engagement.
A couple of days out, Miss Winwood became the life and spirit of everything. Nothing was proposed but she had a singular aptitude for fitting it in at exactly the right place. She sang and played divinely, told the merriest of little after-dinner stories to the amusement and approval of all her listeners, headed the entertainment lists, and made herself generally indispensable, but in everything she was distinctly feminine. She impressed everyone as dainty and altogether irresistible. She was in demand both by the women and the men, but thanks to the little cage-covering episode, Tom Mortimer and the Honourable Dickie had the exquisite privilege of being her closest followers.
The voyage was rough, but owing to the old lady's sea-remedy, or perhaps it may have been the exhilaration inspired by a pair of sparkling eyes, Tom Mortimer was not compelled to spend an hour in his berth. Moreover, something impelled him not to let Dickie have too great a scope, and Dickie was making the most of every opportunity. If the girl noticed any of Mortimer's skilful manœuvring in this direction she, at least, gave no evidence of it.
Rather, it appeared as if she tried to be impartial to each, and entered only into the part of jolly companionship. Try as he might, Dickie could not allure her out of speaking distance of Mortimer. There were glorious moonlight nights, but from her demeanour it appeared that Miss Winwood enjoyed them more when all three were together.
After awhile matters grew decidedly interesting for the passengers aboard. It looked as if there might be an engagement resulting—for the girl, at least. Mothers, looking on, fairly marvelled at her opportunity. She certainly knew that the Honourable Richard FitzHugh, though not his father's heir, occupied an exalted social position in England, while Tom Mortimer, a confirmed bachelor of years' standing, owned a delightful old house in historic Washington Square, New York, and, besides, possessed a sufficiently enormous income to meet every obstacle in life's journey.
Nothing will inspire one man to propose so quickly as the knowledge that another man possesses the same feeling. But when the two men were sworn friends, as in this instance—what then?
The onlookers wondered just where the fraternal bond would break—where each would go in for himself, regardless of friendly honour. The passengers smiled contemplatively.
"It can't happen," remarked one, shaking his head. "Neither man will give the other a chance to show himself."
They were still two days from land.
"Or don't you think the girl is too ingenious to allow the bond to break here?" asked another.
"Yes, perhaps here," replied another gentleman, looking up from a yellow-backed novel, "but there's heaps of room on land."
For some unknown reason, Mortimer disappeared after luncheon and absented himself for quite a time. In the meanwhile, Miss Winwood and Dickie had gone out on deck. Someone had gone away and left two chairs in close proximity, and so invitingly placed that both dropped into them, where they chatted for half-an-hour.
Impressed with the propitiousness of the time and place, poor Dickie's very emotions stuck in his breast—he could give them no outlet. He wanted to tell Miss Winwood that he was willing to walk round the world for her, but it was awfully hard to do so with the sun beaming down in the faces of both. Moonlight and a deep shadow are peculiarly fitted for such avowals.
He laid his hand on the back of hers.
"Such a pretty hand," he said boyishly.
"Oh, do you think so?"
"Awfully. May I kiss it?"
Miss Winwood blushed furiously.
"May you?" she laughed. "Certainly not."
"Why not?" persisted Dickie.
"Because people are looking. Really—don't!"
"But I don't care for the people," choked Dickie, swallowing hard. "I care only for you! I am going to kiss it!"
And he did.
At that moment a cough met their ears. Glancing aft, they saw a solitary figure standing at the railing, his back towards them. Presently he turned round, walked over, and stood before them. As he stood there, he smiled warmly, and seemed to be extracting something from his great-coat pocket. Having done so, he held whatever it was behind him.
"Which hand do you choose, Miss Winwood?" he asked.
She had not ceased blushing, yet. "Really," she laughed, "I'm sure I don't know. What is it?"
"Choose."
"The right, then."
Mortimer smiled and nodded. "You are lucky," he said, and bringing his hand to view, they could see something fresh and green reposing in the palm.
"Why, what is it?" she exclaimed, leaning over, and even Dickie opened his eyes a trifle.
"A head of lettuce."
"Lettuce: What for?"
"Can't you guess? The birds."
The girl's whole face softened with a flush. "Why, of course! What a dear! Where on earth did you get it? And who would be so considerate but you, Mr. Mortimer? Truly, I am quite overcome."
And so was Dickie. He could have hurled the bunch of lettuce and Mortimer overboard.
"I have been following the chef about for the last half hour—the refrigerator is quite a wonderful place," said Mortimer, "and after awhile, thinking of the birds, I bribed him. They eat it, don't they? Mine did."
"Of course they do—ravenously. Why, it's just sweet of you, Mr. Mortimer, to think of them. I feel guilty. The birds have been neglected." She held out her hands for it, and afterwards wrapped the lettuce in her handkerchief. "Which reminds me," she continued, "I promised to have them do their tricks, didn't I?"
"I think I recall such a promise," smiled Mortimer.
They descended to the saloon. Presently, after a few minutes, Miss Winwood returned, carrying a small gilt cage. In it were four canaries. "They are not all here," she said. "The others are easily frightened, and I keep them covered in strange places. I left them shut up in my stateroom."
It was a novel performance for both Mortimer and Dickie, not that it was very wonderful on the part of the birds, but because the girl was pictured in a new rôle.
The little songsters were very tame, and performed such tricks as jumping on Miss Winwood's shoulder, climbing stairs on her fingers as she spread them out, flying through a little embroidery hoop, swinging head downwards from their perches, and chirping and singing to order. It must have taken time to train them, but both men saw it was a labour of love. The whole was a pretty picture, too.
"Extraordinary!" exclaimed Mortimer enthusiastically. "I never dreamt birds could do so much."
"Oh, yes," said she, permitting them to hop back into the cage. "I shall teach them still more. These were given me by an Indian fakir, a funny, brown old man who looked like a bird himself."
After that it seemed that the hours sped only too quickly.
The steamer had now reached Sandy Hook, and was making for quarantine. There was a buzz of excitement aboard, as is usual, for it is always good to see land, whether foreign or native. Miss Winwood and her two companions had been up for hours, and were leaning over the rail, each filled with new emotions as the ship steamed majestically up the bay. The beautiful harbour sights were new to the girl and FitzHugh, but Mortimer explained every point of interest the strangers happened to inquire about.
"I hope our declaration papers are all right," said the girl at length. "But isn't it a nuisance to have to declare every little gift I have brought for my relatives?"
"Yes, I am sorry to say," replied Mortimer; "but it is our custom over here."
At last they were docking—a period of time in which patience has reached the limit. For the last half hour Miss Winwood and the two men had stood near the gangway, eager to land first. All were loaded with rugs and hand luggage. This time Dickie insisted on carrying the bird-cage. The cage itself was again tied up firmly with wrapping paper, and though he could not see the little inmates, Dickie could hear them chirping and hopping about inside. Several times the girl glanced towards the cage apprehensively, as if she feared for their safety.
"Now, don't you worry about them, Miss Winwood. They can't get hurt, for I'll hold them above the heads of the people. You follow along with Mortimer." After that came the tedious delay in waiting for the revenue officers. Apart from the arrivals, the usual throng of friends and relatives was penned off by ropes, and towards this struggling mass Miss Winwood glanced several times.
"Wouldn't it be terrible if my friends have failed to get here in time?" she exclaimed. "One does feel so queer in a strange land."
Hope again stirred Dickie's heart. "We will see that you arrive safely, Miss Winwood. Now, really please don't worry in the least."
"Thank Heaven," interrupted Mortimer, "it's our turn now. Here come the officers."
They went to Miss Winwood's luggage first. Three trunks were in sight. She looked over them hastily.
"Are there not four? I had another."
"It's probably here somewhere, Miss," said the inspector, lifting out the trays and turning out the contents at the ends.
"My steamer trunk is missing—why," she took a few steps forward, "there it is—that little trunk on the other pile of luggage," pointing to a consignment a few feet away. "Mr. Mortimer, will you—"
"Allow me," said FitzHugh, darting forward, "I think I know your trunk, Miss Winwood."
Hardly had he taken three steps, however, when his feet became hopelessly entangled in some straps of the opened luggage, and before the spectators could catch their breath, the young man was sent sprawling full length on the wharf, the bird-cage flying from his hand, and turning several somersaults in its hasty flight over the boards.
The cage crashed against a pile of luggage, the contact being so great that the bottom flew off, liberating one or two of the birds in the open air. Mortified beyond words, Dickie had gained his feet in a moment, and catching the cage, tried to hold the top down so that he could keep the rest prisoners. But his heart smote him, for he saw two frightened little birds incircling a space above his head, and, glancing to the ground, observed one yellow songster lying mute at his feet.
"Good Heavens! I've killed it," exclaimed he, very red in the face. He caught it up in the palm of his hand. The bird was dead, or appeared to be so, and his heart sank as he thought of Miss Winwood. In an instant almost she was beside him.
"Oh, what are you doing?" she cried, with wide, frightened eyes.
"I'm afraid it's already done," said Dickie sheepishly. "Believe me, Miss Winwood, I wouldn't have made such a mess for the world. Two are loose up there, flying round, and look at this"—he held out his hand—"he is dead—or, perhaps, he's only fainted."
Instantly she clapped her hand over the stricken bird. "Let me take it," she said breathlessly. "Poor little thing! It is dead. But the others—oh, straighten the cage, and cover it up, quick! Quick! Mr. Mortimer!" Mortimer had joined them.
"Beg pardon, miss," said a voice behind them, "but I guess another has been killed, too. I see him lying here beneath the cracks of these trunks."
Looking behind, they saw one of the inspectors down on his knees, trying to fish out something with his long pencil.
"Oh, where?" cried Miss Winwood. "Just wait a moment. I will get it."
"Never mind. I've got him now," returned the inspector, after several attempts with the pencil. "Here he is—dead, I guess."
He took the bird, an ordinary canary, in his hand, and was about to hand it to Miss Winwood when something attracted his attention. Looking at it again, he squeezed it a trifle, then held it closer to his eyes. He glanced towards the cage, then looked at the three people. Again he squeezed the bird.
"Oh!" It was a smothered cry from Miss Winwood.
"Seems to me this bird has been dead a long while," he said at length, significantly, and peering closer. "Ahem! Any more of them dead?" he inquired, reaching out for the cage.
"Rather a fat bird, too," hummed the inspector. The next moment he had run a thumb-nail up the bird's yellow breast, then pressed it open before the eyes of the small crowd which had congregated. Out rolled something glistening like jewels, red, green, and white—they were jewels, indeed; rarest of rubies, diamonds and emeralds, and they now lay a glittering mass in the officer's hand. "A right fat bird," he hummed on. "How many more dead ones have you?" he said, taking the cage from FitzHugh, who relinquished it as limply as a rag, and stood staring open-eyed and open-mouthed. Miss Winwood looked stoically at the floor. Mortimer was speechless with astonishment.
As the officer lifted the paper, they saw inside, sitting primly on the perches, four more little birds—all songless, all very fat. Around these were flying two live canaries, considerably thinner and very much frightened.
It was only the motionless ones the inspector reached after. Tearing one from the perch where its tiny feet had been fastened on by a delicate wire, he also laid open its little yellow breast. Out from this fell the biggest diamond Mortimer and FitzHugh had ever seen in private hands.
"We've been looking for this diamond for six weeks," said the inspector drily, "and if you will be so kind, you will please step this way with me."
Save for a livid spot on either cheek, Miss Winwood was deathly white. She looked helplessly at her two companions.
"Never mind," whispered Mortimer, suddenly coming to his senses, for the girl looked so pitifully terrified. "The best way is to go with him. We'll help you all we can."
The inspector smiled. "The woman is a smuggler," he said. "This sort of thing has been going on for two years; I think we will unearth the whole crowd of you, now. The gentleman who had the birdcage will please walk in front of me."
At this Miss Winwood stepped forward. "These gentlemen have nothing to do with this," she said firmly. "I trust you will not detain them here."
"I shall have to make inquiries," said the officer.
"What the young lady says is true," said Mortimer, "but we will gladly remain until she can satisfactorily explain matters."
"I am afraid the lady cannot explain. She has been wanted for some time. She is now under arrest. You, also, if found implicated."
"He is not," exclaimed the girl hysterically. "Perhaps I can explain, too, when the time comes."
"I hope so, indeed," said the officer.
There were numberless details gone through in the custom office—details which showed Mortimer and FitzHugh that this girl, although charming, beautiful, and to all appearances a lady by birth, was no other than one of the clever smugglers who had lately been causing the Government untold annoyance. That she was a tool there was no doubt, but, notwithstanding, she was detained as a guest of the authorities. Mortimer and FitzHugh were permitted to depart. When the two men went away, each gave her his hand, and neither in his heart could quite condemn her. A smuggler! This beautiful creature a smuggler!
Depressed and disheartened by the blow, the men drove to their hotel in a closed carriage. For a while there was silence, when suddenly FitzHugh pulled down the blind with a jerk. "I feel too mean to look at anything," he said, "after leaving her in such a place."
"She certainly was a charming young person," said Mortimer.
"That's just it," groaned FitzHugh, "so charming that one can't forget. My heart seems sinking in a hole."
"It will wear off—it will wear off with you," said Mortimer. "There are deeper holes than you dream of, Dickie."
"But it's a blow—an awful blow."
Mortimer said nothing.
They never saw Miss Winwood again. Much to their gratification, however, some time later they read that the girl had been allowed to go. The Government had confiscated the jewels. Months passed and neither Mortimer nor FitzHugh spoke of the affair. In the heart of each remained a tender spot for the girl whose whereabouts they did not even know. But one night as the two men sat over dinner Mortimer put down his glass suddenly and remarked:
"I say, Dickie, I wonder who on earth old Sir Matthew Gallway's double was?"