Part 20 (1/2)
”Where?”
”Think!”
A sudden light broke over him.
”You were the little girl who came with old Lady Anne Hamilton to the Court. It is nine years ago. I never knew your name. Lady Anne died one Long Vacation when I was abroad. I did not hear of it for a long time afterwards. I asked my mother once if she knew what had become of you, but she did not. Why, to be sure, you are that little girl.”
”Lady Anne was very good to me. She gave me an education. Only for her the thing I am would not be possible. And I mean to be more than that.
Do you know that I am writing a book?”
”A novel? Poems?”
”That is what my father's daughter ought to be doing. No--it is a book on the Economic Conditions of Women's Work.”
”It is sure to be good, _citoyenne_.”
”I am a revolutionary,” she said seriously. ”I have learnt so much since I have been at this work. I have things to tell. Oh, you will see.”
”I remember Lady Anne as the staunchest of Conservatives.”
”Yes, yet she was tolerant of other opinions in her friends. She was very good to me, dear old Lady Anne.”
”To think I should not have remembered!”
”I knew you all the time. To be sure, there was your name. I don't think you ever knew my name. You called me Mary all the afternoon. Do you remember the puppy you sent me--the Clumber spaniel? He died in distemper. He had a happy little life. I wept bitter tears over him.”
”Why didn't you tell me before?”
”I thought I'd leave you to find out.”
”I am a stupid fellow.” He leant towards her, and inhaled the scent of her violets.
”I don't think I should have guessed it now,” he said, ”only for the spring. To think you are Mary!” He lingered over the name.
”I am sorry about the Clumber. You shall have another when you ask for it.”
It was a long drive westward. They got down at Kensington Church, and went up the hill. Close by the Carmelites they turned into a little alley. The lit doorway of a high building of flats faced them.
”Now, you must come no farther,” she said, turning to him and holding out her hand.
”Let me see you to your door,” he pleaded.
”If you will, but it is a climb for nothing.”
”What a barrack you live in!” he said, as they went up the stone steps.
”It was built for working men originally, but perhaps there is none hereabouts. It is now chiefly occupied by working women. They are extremely pleasant and friendly. To be sure, they are West-End working women. Now, Sir Robin, I must bid you good-bye.”