A Butterfly on the Wheel. Thorne Guy

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      "What a barn of a place this is!" she said. "I hate those green curtains. They're so horribly conscious of the colour scheme. And then the topaz-shaded lights over the lamps—it's all so dreadfully wearing. And in my room, too, Pauline, it's simply horrid. It reminds me of a sarcophagus, or a mausoleum, or some appalling place like that. And the bed is too low! I don't think much of this room, but after all it's nicer in here."

      She sank down with a sigh into an arm-chair.

      "Yes," she said once more, "it really is much nicer in here. Make me cosy, Pauline, and do my hair."

      She had brought two ivory brushes into the room, and placed them on the table. Now she pointed to them with a little hand as sweetly, faintly pink as the inside of a sea-shell. The light caught the broad wedding ring of dull gold as she did so.

      Pauline took up the brushes and went up to her mistress. "I thought you wouldn't like the bed," she said, with the brusque familiarity of an old servant and friend. "In fact, I knew you wouldn't like it directly we arrived. You always wanted to sleep up in the air."

      "Tiens, Pauline! I don't want to sleep anywhere to-night. Soothe me, make me comfortable. Be a good Pauline!"

      The elder woman took up the brushes and stroked the shining hair with tender, loving hand. "It's been an upsetting day," she said.

      Mrs. Admaston gave a sigh of relief as the kind hands busied themselves about her hair.

      "Upsetting!" she cried; "that's it—just the word. I am upset. Everything has been upset. Lord Ellerdine will be fearfully upset. Oh, Pauline, just fancy our getting into the wrong train!"

      The maid did not answer anything, but went on with her work.

      "It was all owing to that fool of a Customs officer," the girl continued in a less strained voice. "And turning my things upside down! The way he upset my clothes was perfectly disgraceful. And before Mr. Collingwood, too! And all for half a dozen boxes of cigarettes! Keeping us there, paying their beastly tariff, until the last moment!"

      Pauline put the brushes down upon the table and came round to the front of the chair. She looked critically at her mistress's hair. "Yes," she said; "but, after all, it was very lucky the porters put the boxes in the Paris train."

      "Wasn't it?"

      "Yes, madame."

      "What a bit of luck!"

      Pauline left her mistress for a moment and went into the bedroom. She returned with a bottle of eau-de-cologne and a handkerchief. Sprinkling some of the spirit upon it, she held it to Mrs. Admaston's forehead.

      "There!" she said. "You seem tired, my dear; that will do you good. It was very clever of Mr. Collingwood not to have your boxes registered at Charing Cross."

      For a moment or two Peggy Admaston leant back in the arm-chair with closed eyes. "Yes, wasn't it?" she said drowsily. There was a pause for a moment or two, and then suddenly the girl twisted round in her chair, caught hold of the elder woman's arm and looked at her searchingly.

      "Pauline! what did you mean then?" she said.

      "What did I mean, madame?" Pauline asked.

      Peggy nodded. "Do you think—well, I suppose he forgot?"

      Pauline raised her eyebrows. "Eh, bien," she said, "they do not as a rule let you forget to register at Charing Cross."

      Peggy rose from the chair and began to walk up and down the sitting-room. Her little bronze bedroom slippers peeped in and out from her trailing draperies of topaz-coloured silk. One slender wrist was clasped by an old Moorish bracelet of dull silver, the intricate filigree work studded here and there with Balas rubies. With her long hair coiled loosely in a shining coronet upon her head, her whole expression—an atmosphere she exhaled—of sprightly innocence, she seemed indeed a fragile little butterfly. Something of the sort crossed the mind of the faithful Breton woman. She sighed, and unperceived her hand went up to her bodice, where she wore a little silver cross.

      Suddenly Peggy stopped and turned towards the maid.

      "Pauline," she said, "you naughty old thing! I do believe you suspect something."

      "No, madame," Pauline answered quickly, and there was something almost sulky in her tone.

      Peggy went up to her and put her bare white arm upon her shoulder, leaning upon her caressingly.

      "You do," she said. "Oh, but I know you do! When you say 'No, madame,' like that, I always know that there's something wrong."

      "I only think of you, chèrie," Pauline said, holding the little hand, which was like a thing of carved ivory.

      Peggy gave a half-sigh and once more began to walk up and down the room.

      "You old silly, I know well that you only think of me," she said; "but tell me, what is it?"

      "What is what?"

      Peggy smiled mischievously. "There again!" she said. "That's just the way you do when you want me to coax you. Pauline, be nice to me! Now, what is it? Tell me what you suspect. What about the boxes?"

      "Well, I do not like Lady Attwill," Pauline replied slowly.

      "Oh, but Pauline!" she said.

      "It is no use, madame; I cannot be two-faced with you. I am not able to conceal anything. I must speak straight out. I never could hide anything from you, and now it is no use trying. I really can't do it."

      Her voice had risen towards that high and almost whining note of excitement and protest which is so peculiarly characteristic of the Bretons.

      "Good gracious! what an outburst for you! What has Lady Attwill done? What on earth has she to do with the boxes?"

      Pauline made a gesture with her hands. "But what an innocent!" she said, in half-humorous despair. "You never see things. You are just as confiding—I mean ignorant of people—as you were when you were twelve years old. Madame, Lady Attwill is no friend of yours."

      "But that is absurd, Pauline," Peggy answered. "Lady Attwill is devoted to me. I am certain of it."

      The maid wrinkled up her face, pushed out her lips, and nodded her head to emphasise her words. "Indeed! indeed, madame! Well, tell me this. Would she have kept dodging Lord Ellerdine out of the way at Charing Cross and afterwards at Boulogne if she was your friend?"

      Peggy pouted. "I suppose she wanted to be alone with Lord Ellerdine," she said.

      "Jamais! she can be alone with him at her flat—she need not wait to be alone with him at a public railway station."

      Peggy laughed mischievously. "I suppose, Pauline, you think that's one to you," she said.

      "Tais-toi!" said the old woman, both voice and manner growing more serious every moment.

      "Well, go on," Peggy replied petulantly.

      Pauline's voice became as impressive СКАЧАТЬ