Part 22 (1/2)

Elsie drew away a little.

”You tell her, please, auntie, I couldn't,” she faltered. She clasped her hands tightly. Her face was whiter than before.

”Miss Pritchard, if you will have patience and bear with me for a little, I hope I can make things plain, though I can't make them right,” said Mrs. Moss rather appealingly. ”I have just come from Enderby, Ma.s.sachusetts, where Elsie's uncle and guardian lives. I got worried and went there to see about Elsie. I came all the way from California.”

Miss Pritchard stared at her in amazement.

”Oh, auntie!” cried Elsie in distress. Then she went to Miss Pritchard.

”Kiss me just once, Cousin Julia, kiss me hard,” she entreated. And Miss Pritchard clasped her to her heart.

The girl resumed her place on the sofa and sat motionless, her eyes upon her clasped hands. Mrs. Moss endeavored to get the main fact out.

”I found there instead of this Elsie, instead of Mr. Middleton's own niece, a strange girl who has lived there since last June as Elsie Moss. Her first name happened to be Elsie, too, but her last name is Pritchard--Marley, I should say.”

”Oh, Mrs. Moss, I must be stupid, but I cannot understand what you mean!” cried Miss Pritchard. And Elsie choked.

”I'll begin again,” said Mrs. Moss with mournful patience. ”A year ago this Elsie, _my_ Elsie, Elsie Moss, started East to live with her uncle, John Middleton, in Enderby, Ma.s.sachusetts. On the train she fell in with this Marley girl who was coming on to New York to live with her cousin, Miss Pritchard. Elsie was badly stage-struck and wild over New York, and the other girl didn't mind a quiet country town, and they calmly changed places--and names. Elsie Moss came to you--with no claim in the world upon your hospitality; and your relative, Elsie Marley, imposed upon the Middletons in the same fas.h.i.+on. And they have gone on with the imposture for practically a year.”

As she continued, one detail after another fitted into the framework she made, and Miss Pritchard grasped the situation fully. Stunned and wholly at a loss, she glanced at Elsie. The girl sat like a statue, white with downcast eyes. Miss Pritchard went to the window and stood gazing out for some moments.

When she returned to her place, her expression was composed, but her face looked suddenly strangely worn and older. She looked into Mrs.

Moss's eyes as who should say ”How could she!” But she spoke to the girl.

”Well, Elsie?” she asked quietly.

”That was why I hedged about going to Enderby,” said Elsie incoherently, ”I didn't dare let Uncle John see my dimples. They would give me away, you see, Cousin Julia.”

Then she suddenly bethought herself.

”Oh, but you're not my Cousin Julia any more!” she cried, and burst into a tumult of weeping.

Her stepmother gathered the girl to her, and Elsie sobbed wildly on her breast. Mrs. Moss, who had been more severe with Elsie Marley at Enderby than she had ever been with any one before, was now disposed to be very gentle--perhaps over-lenient--with the real culprit.

”Yes, Elsie, I am your Cousin Julia--to the end of things,” Miss Pritchard a.s.sured her. And she spoke almost solemnly. ”But tell me, dear--you didn't know what you were doing? Oh, Elsie, you didn't realize that it wasn't--that it was--wrong?”

”Not at first--not when I did it,” sobbed Elsie. Then she uncovered her face. ”But I knew afterward. It came to me then, and I knew it was the sort of wrong you think worst of all. And so do I, honestly, Cousin Julia.”

Again Miss Pritchard walked to the window. Elsie's eyes followed her in agonized appeal.

”Cousin Julia!” she cried desperately. And Miss Pritchard was at her side in a moment. But though her face was all tenderness and sympathy, the pain that shone through it would have been severe retribution even had Elsie been altogether impenitent.

”Oh, Cousin Julia, I was sorry!” the girl cried, ”I was terribly sorry.

But it only came on me when everything was--sort of--_fixed_, you know.

I couldn't bear to break up Elsie Marley's happiness at Enderby, and--I couldn't bear to have it--hurt you--though I know this is a lot worse.

So I was going to disappear. I had my mind all made up. I was going to leave a letter so that you wouldn't feel troubled. And I thought that would sort of make up for everything, because I never would have been happy again. And then--oh, Cousin Julia, then came that chance that I knew led straight to the stage, and I lost my head. I chose to be wicked, and I suppose I lost my soul as well as my head, only--there's something that hurts as if I still had one.”

Again the girl wept wildly. But now Miss Pritchard's arm was enfolding her.

”No, precious child, you haven't lost it. And if you were sorry--but we won't talk more about it now. I'll hold that in my heart as comfort until to-morrow and then we'll see what we can do to straighten it all out. At this moment we must consider that there's the evening performance to go through, and being the last, it will be very taxing.

Somehow, we'll make things right, among us all. You go to your room now and lie down. If you think of this, only say to yourself that it's over, and be thankful for that. And we two women who love you so that we're all but jealous of one another already will plan the next--or rather, the first move. Come, child.”