In Her Own Right Part 44

"Bully!" exclaimed Macloud. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never mentioned her before."

"True!" he laughed. "This is fortunate, very fortunate! Will you ask her down?"

"She will think it a trifle peculiar."

"On the contrary, she'll think it more than kind--a positive favor. You see, she knows I'm with Croyden, but she doesn't know where; so she wrote to me at my Club and they forwarded it. Croyden left Northumberland without a word--and no one is aware of his residence but me. She asks that I tell her where _I_ am. Then she intends to come down and give Croyden a last chance. I want to help her--and your invitation will be right to the point--she'll jump at it."

"You're a good friend!" she reflected.

"Will you do it?" he asked.

She thought a moment before she answered.

"I'll do it!" she said at length. "Come, we'll work out the letter together."

"Would I not be permitted to kiss you as Miss Cavendish's deputy?" he exclaimed.

"Miss Cavendish can be her own deputy," she answered.--"Moreover, it would be premature."

The second morning after, when Elaine Cavendish's maid brought her breakfast, Miss Carrington's letter was on the tray among tradesmen's circulars, invitations, and friendly correspondence.

She did not recognize the handwriting, and the postmark was unfamiliar, wherefore, coupled with the fact that it was addressed in a particularly stylish hand, she opened it first. It was very brief, very succinct, very informing, and very satisfactory.

"Ashburton,

"Hampton, Md.

"My dear Elaine:--

"Mr. Macloud tells me you are contemplating coming down to the Eastern Sh.o.r.e to look for a country-place. Let me advise Hampton--there are some delightful old residences in this vicinity which positively are crying for a purchaser. Geoffrey Croyden, whom you know, I believe, is resident here, and is thinking of making it his home permanently. If you can be persuaded to come, you are to stay with me--the hotels are simply impossible, and I shall be more than delighted to have you. We can talk over old times at Dobbs, and have a nice little visit together. Don't trouble to write--just wire the time of your arrival--and come before the good weather departs. Don't disappoint me.

"With lots of love,

"Davila Carrington."

Elaine Cavendish read the letter slowly--and smiled.

"Clever! very clever!" she mused. "Colin is rather a diplomat--he managed it with exceeding adroitness--and the letter is admirably worded. It tells me everything I wanted to know. I'd forgotten about Davila Carrington, and I reckon she had forgotten me, till he somehow found it out and jogged her memory. Surely! I shall accept."

To-morrow would be Thursday. She went to her desk and wrote this wire, in answer:

"Miss Davila Carrington,

"Hampton, Md.

"I shall be with you Friday, on morning train. You're very, very kind.

"Elaine Cavendish."

Miss Carrington showed the wire to Macloud.

"Now, I've done all that I can; the rest is in your hands," she said.

"I'll cooperate, but you are the general."

"Until Elaine comes--she will manage it then," Macloud answered.

And on Friday morning, a little before noon, Miss Cavendish arrived.

Miss Carrington, alone, met her at the station.

"You're just the same Davila I'd forgotten for years," said she, laughingly, as they walked across the platform to the waiting carriage.

"And you're the same I had forgotten," Davila replied.

"But it's delightful to be remembered!" said Elaine, meaningly.

"And it's just as delightful to be able to remember," was the reply.

Just after they left the business section, on the drive out, Miss Carrington saw Croyden and Macloud coming down the street. Evidently Macloud had not been able to detain him at home until she got her charge safely into Ashburton. She glanced at Miss Cavendish--she had seen them, also, and, settling back into the corner of the phaeton, she hid her face with her Marabou m.u.f.f.

"Don't stop!" she said.

Miss Carrington smiled her understanding.

"I won't!" she answered. "Good morning!" as both men raised their hats--and drove straight on.

"Who was the girl with Miss Carrington?" Croyden asked. "I didn't see her face."

"I couldn't see it!" said Macloud. "I noticed a bag in the trap, however, so I reckon she's a guest."

"Unfortunate for you!" Croyden sympathized. "Your opportunity, for the solitariness of two, will be limited."

"I'll look to you for help!" Macloud answered.

"Humph! You may look in vain. It depends on what she is--I'm not sacrificing myself on the altar of general unattractiveness." Then he laughed. "Rest easy, I'll fuss her to the limit. You shan't have her to plead for an excuse."

"An excuse for what?"

"For not winning the Symphony in Blue."

"You're overly solicitous. I'm not worried about the guest," Macloud remarked.

"There was a certain style about as much of her as I could see which promised very well," Croyden remarked. "I think this would be a good day to drop in for tea."

"And if you find her something over sixty, you'll gallantly shove her off on me, and preempt Miss Carrington. Oh! you're very kind."

"She's not over sixty--and you know it. You're by no means as blind as you would have me believe. In fact, now that I think of it, there was something about her that seems familiar."