“Drunk I undoubtedly am,” said Sir Richard, “but some remnants of sanity still remain with me. You cannot, my good child, wander about the streets of London at this hour of night, and dressed in those clothes. I believe I ought to ring that bell, and hand you over to your—aunt, did you say?”
Two agitated hands clasped his arm. “Oh,
“Well, what am I to do with you?” asked Sir Richard.
“Nothing. Only tell me the way to Holborn!”
“Why Holborn?”
“I have to go to the White Horse Inn, to catch the stagecoach for Bristol.”
“That settles it,” said Sir Richard. “I will not set you a foot on your way until I have the whole story from you. It’s my belief you are a dangerous criminal.”
“I am not!” said the fugitive indignantly. “Anyone with the veriest speck of sensibility would feel for my plight! I am escaping from the most odious persecution.”
“Fortunate child!” said Sir Richard, taking her bundle from her. “I wish I might do the same. Let us remove from this neighbourhood. I have seldom seen a street that depressed me more. I can’t think how I came here. Do you feel that our agreeable encounter would be improved by an exchange of names, or are you travelling incognita?”
“Yes, I shall have to make up a name for myself. I hadn’t thought of that. My real name is Penelope Creed. Who are you?”
“I,” said Sir Richard, “am Richard Wyndham, wholly at your service.”
“Beau Wyndham?” asked Miss Creed knowledgeably.
“Beau Wyndham,” bowed Sir Richard. “Is it possible that we can have met before?”
“Oh no, but of course I have heard of you. My cousin tries to tie his cravat in a Wyndham Fall. At least, that is what he says it is, but it looks like a muddle to me.”
“Then it is
“No, that’s what I thought. My cousin tries to be a dandy, but he has a face like a fish. They want me to marry him.”
“What a horrible thought!” said Sir Richard, shuddering.
“I told you you would feel for my plight!” said Miss Creed. “So would you now set me on my way to Holborn?”
“No,” replied Sir Richard.
“But you must!” declared Miss Creed, on a note of panic. “Where are we going?”
“I cannot walk about the streets all night. We had better repair to my house to discuss this matter.”
“No!” said Miss Creed, standing stock-still in the middle of the pavement.
Sir Richard sighed. “Rid yourself of the notion that I cherish any villainous designs upon your person,” he said. “I imagine I might well be your father. How old are you?”
“I am turned seventeen.”
“Well, I am nearly thirty,” said Sir Richard.
Miss Creed worked this out. “You couldn’t possibly be my father!”
“I am far too drunk to solve arithmetical problems. Let it suffice that I have not the slightest intention of making love to you.”
“Well, then, I don’t mind accompanying you” said Miss Creed handsomely. “Are you really drunk?”
“Vilely,” said Sir Richard.
“No one would credit it, I assure you. You carry your wine very well.”
“You speak as one with experience in these matters,” said Sir Richard.
“My father was used to say that it was most important to see how a man behaved when in his cups. My cousin becomes excessively silly.”
“You know,” said Sir Richard, knitting his brows, “the more I hear of this cousin of yours the more I feel you should not be allowed to marry him. Where are we now?”
“Piccadilly, I think,” replied Miss Creed.
“Good! I live in St James’s Square. Why do they want you to marry your cousin?”
“Because,” said Miss Creed mournfully, “I am cursed with a large fortune!”
Sir Richard halted in the middle of the road. “Cursed with a large fortune?” he repeated.
“Yes, indeed. You see, my father had no other children, and I believe I am most fabulously wealthy, besides having a house in Somerset, which they won’t let me live in. When he died I had to live with Aunt Almeria. I was only twelve years old, you see. And now she is persecuting me to marry my cousin Frederick. So I ran away.”
“The man with a face like a fish?”
“Yes.”
“You did quite right,” said Sir Richard.
“Well, I think I did.”
“Not a doubt of it. Why Holborn?”
“I told you,” replied Miss Creed patiently. “I am going to get on the Bristol coach.”
“Oh! Why Bristol?”
“Well, I’m not going to Bristol precisely, but my house is in Somerset, and I have a very great friend there. I haven’t seen him for nearly five years, but we used to play together, and we pricked our fingers—mixing the blood, you know—and we made a vow to marry one another when we were grown-up.”
This is all very romantic,” commented Sir Richard.
“Yes, isn’t it?” said Miss Creed enthusiastically. “You are not married, are you?”
“No. Oh, my God!”
“Why, what is the matter?”
“I’ve just remembered that I am going to be.”
“Don’t you want to be?”
“No.”
“But no one could force
“My good girl, you do not know my relatives,” said Sir Richard bitterly.
“Did they talk to you, and talk to you, and
“Something of the sort,” admitted Sir Richard. “Is that what your relatives did to you?”
“Yes. So I stole Geoffrey’s second-best suit, and climbed out of the window.”
“Who is Geoffrey?”
“Oh, he is my other cousin! He is at Harrow, and his clothes fit me perfectly. Is this your house?”
“This is my house.”
“But wait!” said Miss Creed. “Will not the porter be sitting up to open the door to you?”
“I don’t encourage people to sit up for me,” said Sir Richard, producing from his pocket a key, and fitting it into the lock.
“But I expect you have a valet,” suggested Miss Creed, hanging back. “He will be waiting to help you to bed.”
“True,” said Sir Richard. “But he will not come to my room until I ring the bell. You need have no fear.”
“Oh, in that case—!” said Miss Creed, relieved, and followed him blithely into the house.
A lamp was burning in the hall, and a candle was placed on a marble-topped table, in readiness for Sir Richard. He kindled it by thrusting it into the lamp, and led his guest into the library. Here there were more candles, in chandeliers fixed to the wall. Sir Richard lit as many of these as seemed good to him, and turned to inspect Miss Creed.
She had taken off her hat, and was standing in the middle of the room, looking interestedly about her. Her hair, which clustered in feathery curls on the top of her head, and was somewhat raggedly cut at the back, was guinea-gold; her eyes were a deep blue, very large and trustful, and apt at any moment to twinkle with merriment. She had a short little nose, slightly freckled, a most decided chin, and a pair of dimples.
Sir Richard, critically observing her, was unimpressed by these charms. He said: “You look the most complete urchin indeed!”
