The Grey Wig: Stories and Novelettes

first supper.'

XX.

Eileen slept little. The dramatic possibilities of the interview with Colonel Doherty were too agitating and too numerous. This time the marionette-play needed writing. Who should receive him when he called? Eileen O'Keeffe or Nelly O'Neill?

Either possibility offered exquisite comedy.

Eileen-as plain as possible-with a high, black dress, drooped lids, stiffly brushed hair, even eyeglasses perhaps, with a deportment redolent of bread-and-butter and five-finger exercises, could perhaps disenchant him sufficiently to make him moderate his matrimonial ardour, even to hurry off apologetically to his serio-comic Circe round the corner. What a triumph of acting if she could drive him to her rival! Then as he went through the door-to loosen her hair, throw off her glasses and whistle him back to Nelly O'Neill!

The part was tempting; it bristled with opportunities. But it was also too trying. He might begin by taking lover's liberties, and the strain of repulsing him would be too great. Besides, she wasn't clear how to play the opening of the scene. But then there was another star part open to her.

Nelly O'Neill's role was much easier: it played itself. She had only to go on with the episode. And the way the episode went on would also serve to determine finally her attitude when the moment came to throw off the mask and turn to governess. The only difficult moment would be the first-to obfuscate him immediately with the notion that he had mixed up the two addresses. Even if she failed and he realised his ghastlier blunder, it would only precipitate the dramatic duel which she must face sooner or later. All these high-strung possibilities deadened the horrible pain she knew her soul held for her, as soldiers carry wounds to be felt when the charge is over. She fell asleep near morning, her battle planned, and slept late, a sleep full of strange dreams, in one of which her drunken father counted her, and couldn't decide how many she was. 'It's two I am, father asthore, only two, Eileen and Nelly,' she kept crying. But he counted on.

Towards four in the afternoon she posted herself at the window. It was absolutely necessary to the comedy that she should open the door to him herself. At last a cab containing him halted at the door. She flew down, just supplanting the butler.

'How good of you, Colonel!' she cried. 'But where is the Major?'

It was exquisitely calculated. She had pulled the string and the marionette moved with precision. A daze, a flash, a stammer-all the embarrassment of a man who believes that in a day-dream he has given a second address first.

'Miss-Miss O'Neill,' he stuttered, mechanically removing his hat.

'Nelly to my friends,' she smiled fascinatingly. 'Come in!' Christopher Sly was not more bewildered when he opened his eyes on the glories of his Court.

'What-what is this address?' he blurted, as she prisoned him by closing the door.

'Why?... Oh, I know. Ha! ha! ha! You've come to the Crescent instead of the Terrace.'

'That confounded cabman! I'm sure I told him the Terrace.'

'Don't swear. He's more accustomed to the Crescent. So many pros coming home late, and all that!'

He hesitated at the foot of the stairs. 'I really think I ought to call there first....'

Now all the coquette in Nelly O'Neill rose to detain him, subtly tangled with the actress. She pouted adorably. 'Oh, now you're here, can't you put her second for once?'

'I didn't say it was a her.'

'A she,' corrected the governess, instinctively. Nelly hastened to add, 'No man leaves a woman for a man.'

'This is such an old appointment,' he pleaded in distress.

'I see. You want to be off with the old love before you are on with the new.'

'Nothing of the kind, I assure you.'

'What! Not even the new?'

'Oh, that part!' He smiled and followed her up. 'You won't mind my going soon?'

'The sooner the better if you talk like that!' She threw open the door of her little sitting-room. How well the Show was going!

'A soda and whisky, Colonel? I suppose that's your idea of tea.' She had the scene ready. She had got it all up like a little play, writing down the articles on a sheet of paper headed 'Property List': 'Cigars, cigarettes, syphons, spirits, sporting-papers,' all borrowed from Master Harold Lee Carter to entertain a visitor.

But at the height of the play's prosperity, while the Colonel clinked tumblers with Nelly, came a contretemps, and all the farce darkened swiftly to drama as the gay landscape is overgloomed by a thundercloud.

It all came from Mrs. Lee Carter's benevolent fussiness, her interest in the man who had come to marry her governess. A servant knocked at the door, stuck her head in, and said, 'Mrs. Lee Carter's compliments, and would you like some tea?'

'No, thank you,' said Eileen, hurriedly.

But as the door closed, the Colonel's glass fell to the ground, and he rose to his feet. His bronzed face was working wildly.

'Mrs. Lee Carter!' he gasped. 'You-you are Eileen!'

'Here's a mess,' she said coolly, stooping to wipe up the carpet.

'Eileen! Explain!' he said piteously.

'It's you that ought to be explaining. I've all I can do to pick up the nasty little bits of glass.'

'My brain reels. Who are you? What are you? For God's sake.'

'Hush! Who are you? What are you?'

'I know what I was-your lover.'

'Whose? Mine or Nelly's?'

'Good God, Eileen! You saw how anxious I was to get to you. That I was subtly drawn to Nelly is only a proof of how you were in my blood. But you're not really Nelly O'Neill. This is some stupid practical joke. Don't torture me longer.'

'It tortures you that I should be Nelly O' Neill!' All the confessed sweetness of her position came up into clear consciousness: the lights, the laughter, the very smell of the smoke endeared by a thousand triumphs. How dared he speak of Nelly O'Neill as though she couldn't be touched with a pitchfork! Yes, and Bob Maper, too-her anger ricocheted to him-with his priggish notions of saving her from black bogs! And who was it that now stood over her like a fuddled accusing angel? She pulled out his letter and read viciously:-

''A night of memories and of sighs

I consecrate to thee.''

'I was dying to rush to you-you wouldn't see me. And the Major dragged me-'

'Through all that mud? All those Indian escapades?'

He groaned, 'And you listened-!'

'Am I not your mother-confessor?'

He seized her by the wrists. 'Don't madden me! You're not really on the Halls? You are living here as governess. It is some prank, some masquerade! Say it is!' He shook her. She tried to wrest her hands away.

'Not till you tell me the truth! You haven't been lying to me all these months?'

A sudden remembrance came to give her strength and scorn. 'I have told you the truth, only my letter crossed you on the ocean. When it returns to England, you will see.'

His grip relaxed, he staggered back. 'Come,' she said, pursuing her unforeseen advantage. 'We will talk this thing over quietly. I always said you were in love with a shadow. But I find it was I who imagined a Bayard.'

'And what have I done and said worse than other men?' Again Master Harold Lee Carter's complacent sentiment came to her. Men were all alike, only their women folk didn't know.

'Worse than other men!' She laughed bitterly. 'I wanted you better-all the seven heavens better-saint as well as hero, with no thought but for me, and no one before me or after me. Oh, yes, it sounds a large order, but that's