Mr. Flanders, looking a trifle dazed and bewildered, contrived3 to hide his emotions in a most commendable4 manner. A keener observer than Diggs, however, would have detected a strange pallor in the young woman's smooth cheek and an ominous5 shadow between her finely pencilled brows. Even Diggs might have observed these symptoms but for the fact that she kept her face rigidly6 averted7. Mr. Flanders, from his position near the door—he seemed to have taken root there—was favoured with no more than a glimpse of the tip of a small ear and the faintest suggestion of a cheek's outline. His own face, entirely8 visible to Diggs, was scarlet—quite frankly9 so.
Four nurses appeared, carrying infants. Miss Fairweather assisted in the task of placing the sleepy-heads in their high-chairs and in the subsequent occupation of entertaining them by means of sundry10 grimaces11 and motions, keeping them awake—and quiet—against the arrival of Mr. Bingle, who, it appears, had gone to his room to substitute a pair of far from fashionable carpet slippers12 for the smart pumps he had been wearing. There was a great deal of excitement attending the placing of the children, but it passed unnoticed by Mr. Flanders. He was staring hungrily, pleadingly at the unfriendly back of the new governess.
Once she gave him a swift, perhaps unintentional look. It was too brief to be described as significant, but it served to revive his interest in the proceedings13. He sprang forward and offered his aid to the nurses. If he was clumsy in his attempt to jiggle a chair into position, an explanation may be instantly provided. Miss Fairweather, after a brief stare of indecision, favoured him with an almost imperceptible smile. He happened to be in the act of pushing a high-chair under the wriggling14 person of Imogene. That smile caused the momentary15 paralysis16 of his whole being, with the result that the nurse came near to depositing Imogene on the floor. Every one—except Imogene—squealed. Mr. Flanders was reminded of his own existence. The arrested chair shot into position and Imogene came down rather soundly on the seat of it, and then every one giggled—except Imogene.
"Amy!" he whispered, as she turned away from the little group. He was at her side in an instant. She faced him, and there was no trace of the departed smile in her eyes.
"How dare you speak to me?" she said in low, intense tones. Her eyes were cold, unfriendly.
"I've been searching for you—" he began, eagerly, but her disdainful laugh cut him short.
"Go away, please. I don't want to see you. There is nothing more to be said between us. It's all over, Dick. Don't speak to me again. I—I don't want the Bingles to know that I—"
"I must see you, Amy," he persisted. "It isn't all over. Now that I've found you, I'll see that I don't lose track of you again. We can't talk here. Where can I see you alone—"
"Sh!" she cautioned, and he respected the appeal in her dark, distressed19 eyes. Mr. Bingle had entered the room, and was greeted by a shout of delight from the children. The governess moved swiftly away from the young man's side, mingling20 with the nurses by the fireplace.
Mr. Bingle, hurrying toward the semi-circle of youngsters was surprised by a genial21 slap on the back from the visibly excited Flanders.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed the young man, his face radiant. "Wonderful!"
"Aren't they?" cried Mr. Bingle, pleased.
"I don't mean the—Ahem! They certainly are, Mr. Bingle. I expect this to be the most beautiful Christmas Eve in all my life, sir. I shall never be able to thank you for—"
"Tush, tush! Now come along. I want to introduce you to the young ladies and gentlemen. Imogene, my dear, this is Mr. Flanders. Kathleen, shake hands with—oh, I beg pardon, I ought to have presented you to the Fairy Princess. Miss Fairweather, just a moment, please. I want you to meet my friend, Mr. Flanders, of the Banner. Well, well, are we all here? Let me see: one, two, three—no, hold up your hands as I call the roll. Strict attention, Mr. Flanders, and you'll know which is which—I say, Flanders, would you mind looking this way, please? Children first, on an occasion like this, sir. Grown-ups don't count. How is your headache, Miss Fairweather? Now, speak up, children. Answer to your names—and how to Mr. Flanders, while you're about it."
Planting himself in front of the row of eager children, grasping Flanders's arm with one hand, and employing the other in a sort of counting-off process, he called the roll.
Kathleen, exquisitely22 dressed and radiant with joy, a dainty miss who looked to be fourteen but was said to be twelve, curtsied to Flanders, who bowed low, his roving eye unwilling23 to relax its interest in the flushed face of the governess. Then came Frederick, a sturdy youngster; Marie Louise, a solemn-eyed ten-year-old; Wilberforce, Reginald, Henrietta, Guinevere, Harold, Rosemary, Rutherford, and last of all Imogene, who whimpered.
"There!" said Mr. Bingle proudly. "They did it very nicely, didn't they, nurse?" He addressed the four nurses, who beamed as one. "Diggs, you may summon the servants. I hear Mrs. Bingle and our guests in the hall—or is it the—er—ahem!"
"The servants 'ave congregated24 in the 'all, sir. It is them that is whispering," said Diggs, who had been scowling25 in the direction of the door. "I shall speak to them, sir. They should be made to understand—"
"Don't lecture them to-night, Diggs," broke in Mr. Bingle hastily. "Not on Christmas Eve. Let 'em whisper. Tell 'em to come right in. You see, Mr. Flanders, we have the servants in to hear the Christmas Carol. It's my rule. They enjoy it. They—Ah, my dear! Here we are! This is Mr. Flanders, Mary—my wife, sir. Come right in, Mrs. Forced. Permit me to introduce my old friend Flanders of the Banner. Mr. Force, shake hands with Mr. Flanders. Now—er—ahem! All right, Diggs—call 'em in."
The servants—a horde26 of them—stalked into the room, each one being formally, but perfunctorily announced by the butler, and each one flushing painfully in return for the attention. There was Delia, the cook, and Christine, her assistant; Swanson, the furnace man; Lockhart, the chauffeur28, and Boyles, the washer; Cora, the laundress; Georgia, the scullery-maid; Edgecomb, the gardener, and his four helpers; Beulah and Emma, the upstairs-maids; Bliss29, the lodge-keeper, and Jane, his daughter; Frank, the pony-cart driver, and Joe, the coachman; Matson, the stable-boy; Fannie, the seamstress; Rudolph, the carpenter; Miss McLeish, the stenographer30 and telephone operator; Throckinorton, the dairy-man; Scott, the stockman; John Butts31, the handy-man; Melissa, Watson and Hughes. The four nurses escaped official announcement because they had been clever enough to anticipate the formality.
Awkward, ill-at-ease in Sunday garments, and almost sullen32 in their efforts to appear impressed, they formed an amazing group as they clumsily ranged themselves in a compact fringe outside the more favoured guests of the evening, who occupied what may be described as the "orchestra." They remained standing33.
"Ever see the play called 'The Admirable Crichton'?" whispered Mr.
Bingle to Flanders while the servants were crowding into their places.
"Yes," said Flanders. "I recognise the setting, but I miss the grown-up daughters. Diggs is shorn of his opportunities, sir."
"That play gave me an idea. It was written by a fellow named Barrie. He also wrote 'Peter Pan.' That is the greatest play ever written."
"If one believes in fairies, Mr. Bingle."
"Well, I do," said Mr. Bingle.
"So do I," said Flanders, his gaze wandering. Miss Fairweather was caught in the act of staring at him. She lowered her eyes.
Mr. Force arbitrarily had settled into the chair next to little Kathleen. His hard, impassive face wore a softer expression than was usually to be observed there, and his voice, ordinarily brusque and domineering, became ludicrously soft and wheedling34.
"Come here, Kathleen. Sit on my knee. I've—I've got something pretty for you."
Kathleen instantly lost her joyous35, happy expression. Her eyes fell and her manner betrayed unmistakable aversion to the august petitioner36.
"Thank you, Mr. Force," she muttered, and was guiltily conscious of impoliteness. Frederick snickered. "I—I don't want to," she went on, spurred to defiance37 by her brother's action.
"Why not?" demanded Mr. Force coaxingly38.
"Oh—because," said Kathleen, almost surlily.
"Don't you like me, Kathleen?"
"Yes, sir," said she, but without enthusiasm.
"Would you like to see what I've got for you? All for yourself alone, you know."
Kathleen couldn't resist. She betrayed the greediness that overcomes all feminine antipathy39. "What is it?" she asked guardedly.
"Sit on my knee and I'll put it around your neck," said he, fumbling40 in his waistcoat pocket.
The child flushed painfully and her eyes fell again. "I don't want to," she repeated.
Force got up from his chair, muttered something under his breath, and moved away. He almost collided with Bingle.
"What's the matter with these kids of yours, Bingle?" he began irascibly. "Why don't you bring them up properly? Teach 'em politeness. Teach them how to behave toward—"
"My dear Force, has—has Kathleen been rude?" said Mr. Bingle in distress18.
"You are not to reprimand her," said Force hastily. "I wouldn't have you do that for the world. She'd always have it in for me if she knew that I—but, what nonsense I'm talking. They are little ingrates anyhow—all of them. Good Lord, Bingle, I can't understand what you see in the brats41."
"I know you can't," said Mr. Bingle mildly. "That's just the difference between us."
"There's only one in the whole lot that I'd have as a gift," said Force, with a sidelong glance at Kathleen, who was joyous once more. "That girl has got some class to her. Why is it, Bingle, that she dislikes me? All the rest of 'em are friendly enough—too friendly, if anything—but she won't even look at me."
"That's the woman of it," said Mr. Bingle.
"What's the woman of it?" demanded Force gruffly. "What do you mean by 'woman of it'? Don't be silly, Bingle. She's a mere child."
"She'll come around all right," said Mr. Bingle gaily42. "Give her time, old fellow, give her time."
"Good heavens, what a racket they're making," growled43 Force. "Have you no control over them, Bingle? I'd send the whole lot of them to bed, hang me if I wouldn't."
"On Christmas Eve? Oh, no, you wouldn't, old—Where are you going?"
"I'm going into the library to smoke," said Force. "I can't stand the row."
"Now, don't do that," pleaded Mr. Bingle, grasping his arm. "Wait a minute. I'll speak to Kathie. She—"
"Do nothing of the sort," snapped Force. "She doesn't like me, and that's all there is to it. I've taken a fancy to the child, Bingle—I never liked a kid before in all my life. I've got a little present for her, but—oh, well, never mind. I'll put it in her stocking, if you'll tell me which is hers. But I say, why doesn't she like me, Bingle?" He was staring at the back of Kathleen's brown, curly head, and his eyes were filled with perplexity.
"Bashful—just bashful," explained Mr. Bingle.
"Do you really think so?" demanded the other eagerly.
"Sure," said Mr. Bingle, delighted. "All girls go through that stage of development. I don't mind saying to you, Force, she's my favourite. It's a dreadful thing to say, but I'd rather lose any one of them—or all of them—than to lose Kathie. I love her with all my heart."
Flanders was shaking hands with the small boys, Mrs. Bingle looking on with placid44 approval.
"What's your name, my little man?"
"Abraham."
"Ahem!" coughed Mrs. Bingle, with a violent start.
"Reginald, sir," gasped45 he whose memory was still faithful when under the pressure of excitement.
"I see," said Flanders, smiling down into Mrs. Bingle's embarrassed eyes. "Lapsus linguae, Mrs. Bingle."
"My French is very—" began Mrs. Bingle plaintively46.
"Do you like Santa Claus, Reginald?" interrupted Flanders.
"I like him better'n I do Dickens," confessed Reginald with considerable positiveness. "Say, what's your name?"
"My name is Dick."
"Gee47! Deadwood Dick, the road-agent? The feller Melissa is always telling us about? Hey, kids, here's—"
"Sh!" hissed48 Flanders, clapping his hand over Master Reginald's mouth.
"Never mind that!"
"Did I understand Mr. Bingle to say, Mr. Flinders, that you report for the Banner?" It was Mrs. Force who spoke49. She was inspecting the young man through a bejewelled lorgnette, held at an angle which was meant to establish beyond dispute the fact that she was looking down upon him from a superior height. She was a tall woman and she had been married to Mr. Force for twelve long years. Looking down on him had become such a habit that it was quite impossible for her to look up to any one of his sex.
"Yes, Mrs. Force, the Banner."
"Can you tell me who put that disgusting item in the paper about my little gathering50 last week?" She regarded him with severity.
"Gathering? Oh, I daresay it was one of the hospital reporters, Mrs. Force," said Flanders suavely51. She spent the rest of the evening in cogitation52.
Three words describe Mrs. Force. She detested53 children.
Joe, the coachman, and Watson were waiting for an opportunity to speak to Mr. Bingle. They appeared to be crowding each other.
"I beg pardon, Mr. Bingle," began Joe, hurriedly, as the master turned in response to Watson's cough.
"What is it, Joseph?"
Watson succeeded in speaking first. "If you please, sir, my grandmother is dying in the city. I've just been sent for, sir. I think it is possible for me to catch the eight-forty—"
"I beg pardon, sir," broke in Joe. "I've just heard that my sister is expecting a baby to-night, and I thought I'd speak to you about getting off—"
"Just a moment," said Mr. Bingle, blinking rapidly. "Wasn't your grandmother dying last Christmas Eve, Watson?"
"No, sir. It was Hughes's grandmother."
"Did she die?"
"She did, sir," said Watson, with a pleased smile. "Hughes can attend to my—"
"And your sister, Joe: didn't you get off last month for three days to attend her wedding? Your only sister, I think you said."
"Yes, sir. Poor girl," said the coachman, without shame or conscience.
Mr. Bingle looked hard at the two men. They coloured. "Very well. You may go, both of you, but don't let it happen again. I am sorry that you will not be here to receive your Christmas presents. I shall distribute the envelopes to-night. By the way, the grandmother season ends about the middle of October, Watson. Good night, and—a Merry Christmas to both of you."
"Beg pardon, sir," stammered54 Watson, sheepishly. "I'm ashamed of myself, sir. It shan't 'appen again, not so long as I'm in your service." The coachman shuffled55 his left foot uneasily and appeared to find something of great interest in the rug on which he was standing. At any rate, he scrutinised it very intently. Mr. Bingle smiled as he turned away.
Miss Fairweather suddenly leaned over and whispered into the ear of young Wilberforce. He paid no attention to her, so she shook him gently by the arm. A moment later, obeying an unspoken command, he sheepishly removed two large wads of cotton from his ears.
"Don't you want to hear about Old Scrooge and Tiny Tim?" she whispered.
"I wish I'd thought of doing that," lamented56 Mr. Force audibly. He had witnessed the little incident.
"I'd sooner hear about Melissa's pirates and sea-cooks," whispered
Wilberforce shrilly57.
"Order, please!" commanded Mr. Bingle, taking his place at the reading-table. "Please be seated, Mr. Force. Hi! Look out! Not on top of Rosemary."
"Good heavens! I might have squashed her—or him. What are you? A boy or a girl?"
"I'm a woming," piped up Rosemary from the depths of the biggest chair in the room.
Mr. Bingle cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. Then he benignly59 surveyed the audience. The row of servants bobbed their heads and shifted from one foot to the other.
"Friends all," began the master, "I give you greeting. On this glad evening no line is drawn60 between master and man, no—What is it, Delia?"
The cook had stepped forward. "Excuse me for interruptin', sor, but for sivin years I've stud through the Christmas Carol, from ind to ind, and I'm sivin years older than whin I began. I'm no longer young and hearty61. I'm—"
"Well, why do you hesitate? Go on. Do you mean to say you don't want to hear it again?"
"God knows, sor, I'm willing to give up wan17 evenin' to society. We all are, for that matter. But it takes an hour an' a half to read the blissed story. If we could only sit down during the recital62, sor, it—it wouldn't be so bad. But as it is, sor, we have to stand and only our legs and feet can go to sleep. If—"
"I see!" cried Mr. Bingle. "You put me to shame, Delia. I never thought of it in that light. You must have chairs. We will delay the reading while you go to the dining-room and—"
"It's all right, sor. We've got the dining-room chairs in the hall. It was me as thought of thim, sor. Go wan wid yez now, lads, and rush thim in."
Mrs. Bingle took advantage of this unusual delay—or respite—and explained to Mrs. Force that she would never go back to Madame Marie for another gown. All one had to do was to look at the dress she was wearing to-night for the first time. "It has just come and it cost—well, you know what a gown like that would cost at Marie's! And just look at it!" Mrs. Force did look at it—commiseratingly—and said she would be pleased to take Mrs. Bingle in to see her dressmaker, and so on and so forth63. Mrs. Bingle expressed some doubt as to any modiste's ability to make her look like Mrs. Force and Mrs. Force pooh-poohed graciously.
Mr. Force bit off the end of a cigar and glumly64 watched the revivified servants arranging the chairs. Occasionally he sent a puzzled glance at little Kathleen.
Mr. Bingle rubbed his spectacles, while Mr. Flanders confined his attention solely65 to the slim, graceful66 head and neck of the new governess. He wore the look of one who has much to do to contain himself in patience. As for Miss Fairweather, a warm glow had settled upon her fair cheek and her eyes were bright.
"I always cry when any one reads aloud about Tiny Tim," she said to Mr. Force, who, for obvious reasons, failed to hear her above the chattering67 of the children. But Flanders heard.
"Tiny Tim always makes me cry too," he said, very distinctly. He was rewarded by a slightly increased colour in the young lady's cheek.
"I cry my eyes out over Tiny Tim," Miss Quinlan was saying to Miss
Stokes, and at the same instant Miss Brown was telling Miss Wright that
Tiny Tim was always good for a bucketful, so far as she was concerned.
Imogene was sound asleep, and there were faint sobs68 in her breathing.
"Before we begin, Swanson," said Mr. Bingle, addressing the furnace-man, "you might put a couple of fresh Yule logs on the fire. Pick out good, big ones while you're about it."
"Will dose har fance-post do, Mast' Bingle?" whispered Swanson hoarsely69, as he held up a chunk71 of firewood for approval.
The fire was crackling merrily by the time the servants were seated and Diggs had turned out the ceiling and wall lights from the switch, leaving the big room in semi-darkness. The blazing logs sent a bright, nickering glow into the faces of Mr. Bingle's auditors72. He bowed gravely and took up the cherished well-worn book.
"My dear friends, we have once more reached a milestone73 in the march of
Christendom. As you know, children, it comes but once a year, like New
Year's and Fourth of July."
"Hear! Hear!" volunteered three or four of the men-servants diffidently.
"We are all servants of the Lord whose anniversary we celebrate. We gather here about a warm fireside, with the historic yule log blazing—er—figuratively speaking, of course. These logs, naturally, are not historic. They—er—ahem! Ahem!" He floundered. "Still, we gather about them, just the same, warm and snug74 and full of good cheer. Outside, the night is cold and blustery. The wind howls around the—"
The door-bell jangled in the distance. Mr. Bingle hesitated for an instant and then went on:
"Howls around the corners with the fury of the wintry—ahem!—blast. And it snows. 'It snows, cries the schoolboy!' You remember the verses, children. You—See who's there, Diggs. Perhaps it is some neighbour come to wish us—and, Diggs, no matter who it is, ask him—or them—to come right in here. I'll—I'll wait a few minutes. Hurry along, please." Resuming his address he beamed upon the row of wriggling children. "We have before us eleven little ladies and gentlemen, all eager for the Christmas dawn. See the stockings? To-morrow morning you will find that Santy has filled them to the top. Next year Santy will come provided with gifts for twelve, an even dozen. How many are eleven and one, Reginald? Speak up. Eleven and one. Good! That's right, my lad. The year after he will bring gifts for fourteen. We shall avoid the unlucky number thirteen. Remember, children, that next Christmas you are to have a little brother. You—"
"I want a sister," shouted Wilberforce.
"Sh!" said four nurses at once.
"As for you, my faithful servitors, it will not be necessary for you to hang up your little stockings. Santy will find a way to—What is it, Diggs?"
"If you please, sir, may I speak with you for a moment?" said Diggs mysteriously, from the doorway75. He appeared to be under the strain of a not inconsiderable excitement.
Mr. Bingle hesitated. "If it's your grandmother who is ill, Diggs, I'm afraid—"
"It's a man, sir, who says he must see you at once," said Diggs, lowering his voice and sending a cautious glance over his shoulder.
"If he is seeking food or shelter, do not turn him away. Give freely from my purse and larder76. It is Christmas Eve. We—"
"I'll step out and see him, Bingle," volunteered Mr. Force, with some alacrity77. "Go ahead with the reading."
"He says he must see you, Mr. Bingle," said Diggs. "He isn't after halms, sir."
"Ask him to come in and hear the story. I've no doubt he would be benefitted—"
"Go and see what he wants, Thomas," said Mrs. Bingle. "It may be important. I am sure Mr. and Mrs. Force will not mind the delay. Will you?"
"Not at all," said Mrs. Force resignedly.
"I shan't mind, if the rest don't," added Mr. Force, turning an ironic78 eye upon the row of servants.
"Well, I'll just step out and see what it's all about," said Mr. Bingle reluctantly.
"Better see that the chap isn't a bomb-thrower, come to demand money of you, Bingle," said Force. Mr. Bingle waved his hand airily as he threaded his way among the chairs. "Does he look like a black-hander, Diggs?"
"No, sir," replied Diggs. Then he let the truth slip out. "He says he is from a detective agency, but I couldn't catch the name of it."
Mr. Bingle halted. "Detective agency, Diggs?"
"So he said, sir."
Flanders arose. "Perhaps you'd like to have me go with you, Mr. Bingle.
I know most of these fellows. If I can be of any assistance—"
"Thank you, no," said Mr. Bingle nervously79. "I—I think I'd better see him alone. Now, Mary, don't look frightened. I haven't the remotest idea what he wants, but as I haven't been up to anything—ahem! Keep your seat, Frederick!"
"I want to see a detective," pleaded Frederick. "Is he disguised,
Diggs? Has he got on false whiskers? Please, daddy—"
"Maybe it's old Santy," cried Wilberforce in a voice that thrilled.
Mr. Bingle left a pleasant atmosphere of excitement behind him when he disappeared between the portieres. At once the company broke into eager, speculative80 whispers that soon grew to a perfect storm of shrill58 inquiry81. Every one was guessing, and every one was guessing as loudly as possible in order to be heard above the clamour. It might have been observed that at least three or four of the servants shot furtive82 glances in the direction of the hall, and appeared to be anxious and uncomfortable.
While the excitement was at its height, Flanders deliberately83 planted himself at Miss Fairweather's elbow. She looked up into his face. Every vestige84 of colour had left her own. Her eyes were wide with alarm.
"Come with me, Amy," he said in a low tone. "I must have a word with you. Make believe that you are showing me the—the pictures. We can talk safely in that corner over there."
She arose without a word and followed him to a far corner of the room, where they would be quite free from interruption.
"Oh, Dick!" she murmured, in great distress.
"Do you know anything? Who is this detective? Has he come to—"
"Sh! Why, you're actually shivering! Here, sit down in the window seat—behind the curtain, dearest. What have you to be afraid of? You've done no wrong."
She sank down on the window seat. The thick lace curtain shielded her agitated85 face from the view of all inquiring eyes save those of the tall, eager young man who sat down beside her.
"They don't know that I was on the stage, Dick. They wouldn't have me here if they knew that I've been an actress. I—Oh, I hope—"
"Brace86 up, darling! This detective isn't interested in you. What motive87 could he have in looking you up? Bingle is in the dark, so it's evident he hasn't hired any one to investigate your past. Forget it! That isn't what I want to talk to you about. I've been half-crazy, dear, for the past eight months. Why did you run away without giving me a chance to square myself after that miserable88 night? Don't get up! I've found you and I'm determined89 to have it out with you, Amy. You've just got to hear what I have to say." His hand was upon her arm, a firm restraining grasp that checked her attempt to escape. Undismayed by the look of scorn that leaped into her eyes, he leaned closer and spoke in quick agitated whispers.
Fully27 half an hour elapsed before Mr. Bingle returned to the room. His face was noticeably grey and pinched, and all of the ebullience90 of spirit had disappeared. His wife eyed him anxiously, apprehensively91. Slowly, almost with an effort, he made his way to the reading-table, purposely avoiding the gaze of the inquiring assemblage. His hand shook perceptibly as he took up the book and cleared his throat—this time feebly and without the usual authority, it might have been observed.
"Anything wrong, Bingle?" inquired Force, regarding him curiously92.
"Nothing, nothing at all," said Mr. Bingle, vainly affecting a smile that was meant to put every one at ease. "No crime has been committed, so don't be nervous, any of you. Just a little private matter of—of"—
His gaze went swiftly to the eager, uplifted face of little Kathleen, and he never completed the sentence. As he turned his face away, ostensibly to find his place in the book, his lower lip trembled, and a mist came over his eyes.
The dramatic enthusiasm with which he was wont93 to read the Dickens story was sadly lacking. He read lifelessly, uncertainly, and at times almost inaudibly. There was a queer huskiness in his voice that made it necessary for him to clear his throat frequently.
[Illustration with caption94: Amy Fairweather and Flanders]
Under ordinary conditions, he would have observed the singular aloofness95 of Miss Fairweather and the reporter who was there by virtue96 of an assignment. They retained their somewhat sequestered97 position in the window seat, effectually screened by the curtains, and whispered softly to each other, utterly98 oblivious99 to the monotonous100 drone of the reader, quite in a little world of their own.
Flanders was pleading earnestly with the rigid-faced girl. Her cautious, infrequent responses were not of an encouraging nature, that was plain to be seen, but he too was obdurate101. He held one of her slim hands in a grip that could not be broken, as she had discovered to her dismay. Mr. Bingle read on, ignorant of the little drama that went on under his very nose, so to speak, and those of his auditors who were not nodding their heads in frank drowsiness102, were so completely wrapped up in extraneous103 thoughts concerning the visit of the detective that they had eyes for no one except the person who could explain the mystery.
Mr. Bingle's voice began to quaver much earlier in the story than usual. He was always moved to tears, but as a rule he was able to suppress them until along toward the end of the story. But now he was in distress from the beginning. He choked up completely, in a most uncalled-for manner and at singularly unexpected places. He managed to struggle through the first twenty or thirty pages, and then, seeing for himself that he was nearing the first of the weepy places and realising that he was sure to burst into tears if he continued, he deliberately closed the book, keeping his forefinger104 between the leaves, and announced in a strained voice that he would skip over to the final chapter if the audience did not object. He gave no excuse. It is doubtful, however, if he was gratified by the profound sigh of relief that went up from the group of listeners.
At last, he came to the end of the story. He had no voice at all for the concluding paragraphs: a hoarse70, grotesque105 whisper, that was all. When the servants had departed and the children were scampering106 off to bed, thrilled by promises of the morrow, Mr. Single's arm stole about his wife's shoulders and she was drawn suddenly, even violently close to his side. He avoided her puzzled, worried gaze and resolutely107 addressed himself to Mr. and Mrs. Force and Mr. Flanders. Miss Fairweather had disappeared.
"That man was a detective," said he, without preamble108. "His agency was employed nearly a year ago to discover the whereabouts of a certain child, whose father, repenting109 a wrong perpetrated years ago, desires to do the right thing by his luckless offspring. After all these months, this detective has located the little girl. She is in this house. She is my favourite—and yours, Mary, God help us."
"Kathleen?" whispered Mrs. Bingle dully.
"Kathleen?" repeated Sydney Force, staring blankly at the little man.
"Yes," said Mr. Bingle, and sat down suddenly in a big arm chair, burying his face in his hands.
No one spoke for many minutes. Flanders had the grace to turn away from the group. He was an unusual type of newspaper reporter. Here was something that would make a splendid "story," and yet he was fine enough to turn his back upon the opportunity that lay open to him.
Mr. Force's hands were gripping the back of a chair so rigidly that the knuckles110 were white and gleaming.
"For a year, did you say, Bingle?" he questioned, steadying his voice with an effort.
"Almost a year," gulped111 the little man, looking up through streaming eyes. "Her mother died when Kathie was about a year old. The father never saw his child. He had deceived the woman. He cast her off and—married another, I take it, although I am a bit hazy112. I was so upset that I—I scarcely remember what the man said. Now the—the father wants to find his child. He—he wants to give her a home—Oh, Lordy, Lordy! I can't bear the thought of it. Sh! Don't cry, Mary. Maybe he'll let us keep her. He is married. Perhaps he can't afford to acknowledge her as his child under the circumstances. I—I put it up to the detective. He actually grinned in my face and said he was quite positive his client would be as sensible as most men have to be in similar straits."
"Are you sure that Kathleen is the one he is looking for, Mr. Bingle?" inquired Mrs. Force. "They sometimes follow false clues, or something of the sort. I once heard of a detective who—"
"No such luck," groaned113 Mr. Bingle. "He has Kathie's history from the day she was born. There—there isn't any chance for a mistake. She is the one. Our eldest114, our loveliest—Oh, Mary!"
Force shot an unmistakable look of alarm at the newspaper man who stood in the doorway, staring out into the hall.
"Do you know the mother's name, Bingle?" he inquired. His voice sounded so strange and unnatural115 that his wife glanced at him sharply.
"Yes. I know her real name. On the records at the hospital she was known as Mrs. Hinman. But, you see, she wasn't married. Her name was Glenn."
Sydney Force's face was bloodless.
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1
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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commendable
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| adj.值得称赞的 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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7
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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10
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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11
grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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12
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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13
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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14
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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15
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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17
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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18
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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19
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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20
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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21
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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22
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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23
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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24
congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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28
chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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29
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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30
stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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31
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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32
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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33
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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34
wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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35
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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36
petitioner
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| n.请愿人 | |
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37
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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38
coaxingly
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| adv. 以巧言诱哄，以甘言哄骗 | |
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39
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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40
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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41
brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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42
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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43
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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44
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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45
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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46
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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47
gee
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| n.马；int.向右！前进！，惊讶时所发声音；v.向右转 | |
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48
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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49
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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50
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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51
suavely
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52
cogitation
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| n.仔细思考，计划，设计 | |
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53
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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56
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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58
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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59
benignly
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| adv.仁慈地，亲切地 | |
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60
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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61
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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62
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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63
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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64
glumly
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| adv.忧郁地，闷闷不乐地；阴郁地 | |
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65
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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66
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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67
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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68
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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69
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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70
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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71
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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72
auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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73
milestone
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| n.里程碑；划时代的事件 | |
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74
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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75
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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76
larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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77
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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78
ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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79
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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80
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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81
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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82
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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83
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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84
vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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85
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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86
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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87
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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88
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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89
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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90
ebullience
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| n.沸腾，热情，热情洋溢 | |
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91
apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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92
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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93
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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94
caption
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| n.说明，字幕，标题；v.加上标题，加上说明 | |
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95
aloofness
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| 超然态度 | |
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96
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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97
sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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98
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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99
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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100
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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101
obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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102
drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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103
extraneous
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| adj.体外的；外来的；外部的 | |
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104
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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105
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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106
scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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107
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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108
preamble
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| n.前言；序文 | |
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109
repenting
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的现在分词 ) | |
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110
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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111
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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112
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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113
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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114
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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115
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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