Milly and I, thanks to our early Bartram hours, were first down
next morning; and so soon as Cousin Monica appeared we attacked
her.
'So Lady Mary is the fiancée of Mr. Carysbroke,' said I, very
cleverly; 'and I think it was very wicked of you to try and involve
me in a flirtation with him yesterday.'
'And who told you that, pray?' asked Lady Knollys, with a
pleasant little laugh.
'Milly and I discovered it, simple as we stand here,' I
answered.
'But you did not flirt with Mr. Carysbroke, Maud, did you?'
she asked.
'No, certainly not; but that was not your doing, wicked
woman, but my discretion. And now that we know your secret, you must tell us all about her, and all about him; and in the first place, what is her name—Lady Mary what?' I demanded.
'Who would have thought you so cunning? Two country
misses—two little nuns from the cloisters of Bartram! Well, I
suppose I must answer. It is vain trying to hide anything from
you; but how on earth did you find it out?'
'We'll tell you that presently, but you shall first tell us who
she is,' I persisted.
'Well, that I will, of course, without compulsion. She is Lady
Mary Carysbroke,' said Lady Knollys.
'A relation of Mr. Carysbroke's,' I asserted.
'Yes, a relation; but who told you he was Mr. Carysbroke?'
asked Cousin Monica.
'Milly told me, when we saw him in the Windmill Wood.'
'And who told you, Milly?'
'It was L'Amour,' answered Milly, with her blue eyes very
wide open.
'What does the child mean? L'Amour! You don't mean
love?' exclaimed Lady Knollys, puzzled in her turn.
'I mean old Wyat; she told me and the Governor.'
'You're not to say that,' I interposed.
'You mean your father?' suggested Lady Knollys.
'Well, yes; father told her, and so I knew him.'
'What could he mean?' exclaimed Lady Knollys, laughing, as
it were, in soliloquy; 'and I did not mention his name, I recollect
now. He recognised you, and you him, when you came into
the room yesterday; and now you must tell me how you discovered
that he and Lady Mary were to be married.'
So Milly restated her evidence, and Lady Knollys laughed
unaccountably heartily; and she said—
'They will be so confounded! but they deserve it; and, remember, I did not say so.'
'Oh! we acquit you.'
'All I say is, such a deceitful, dangerous pair of girls—all
things considered—I never heard of before,' exclaimed Lady
Knollys. 'There's no such thing as conspiring in your presence.'
'Good morning. I hope you slept well.' She was addressing
the lady and gentleman who were just entering the room from
the conservatory. 'You'll hardly sleep so well to-night, when you
have learned what eyes are upon you. Here are two very pretty
detectives who have found out your secret, and entirely by your
imprudence and their own cleverness have discovered that you
are a pair of betrothed lovers, about to ratify your vows at the
hymeneal altar. I assure you I did not tell of you; you betrayed
yourselves. If you will talk in that confidential way on sofas, and call one another stealthily by your Christian names, and actually kiss at the foot of the stairs, while a clever detective is scaling them, apparently with her back toward you, you must only take the consequences, and be known prematurely as the hero and heroine of the forthcoming paragraph in the "Morning Post."'
Milly and I were horribly confounded, but Cousin Monica was
resolved to place us all upon the least formal terms possible, and
I believe she had set about it in the right way.
'And now, girls, I am going to make a counter-discovery, which, I fear, a little conflicts with yours. This Mr. Carysbroke is Lord Ilbury, brother of this Lady Mary; and it is all my fault for not having done my honours better; but you see what clever match-making little creatures they are.'
'You can't think how flattered I am at being made the subject
of a theory, even a mistaken one, by Miss Ruthyn.'
And so, after our modest fit was over, Milly and I were very
merry, like the rest, and we all grew a great deal more intimate
that morning.