The Chauffeur and the Chaperon | Page 2

a
bottleful for a kind of libation, because I could afford to be extravagant),
and planning what a delightful future we would have.
"I should love to chop up Phil's type-writer and burn the remains," I

said to myself; "but she's much more likely to put it away in lavender,
or give it to the next-door-girl with the snub nose. Anyhow, I shall
never have to write another serial story for Queen-Woman, or The
Fireside Lamp, or any of the other horrors. Oh the joy of not being
forced to create villains, only to crush them in the end! No more secret
doors and coiners' dens, and unnaturally beautiful dressmakers'
assistants for me! Instead of doing typing at ninepence a thousand
words Phil can embroider things for curates, and instead of peopling
the world with prigs and puppets at a guinea a thou', I can--oh, I can do
anything. I don't know what I shall want to do most, and that's the best
of it--just to know I can do it. We'll have a beautiful house in a nice
part of town, a cottage by the river, and, best of all, we can
travel--travel--travel."
Then I began to furnish the cottage and the house, and was putting up a
purple curtain in a white marble bath-room with steps down to the bath,
when a knock came at the door.
I knew it was Phil, for it could be nobody else; but it was as unlike Phil
as possible--as unlike her as a mountain is unlike itself when it is
having an eruption.
"Nell," she called outside the door. "Nell, darling! Are you ready?"
"Only just begun," I answered. "I shall be--oh, minutes and minutes yet.
Why?"
"I don't want to worry you," replied Phil's creamy voice, with just a
little of the cream skimmed off; "but--do make haste."
"Have you been cooking something nice for breakfast?" (Our usual
meal is Quaker oats, with milk; and tea, of course; Phil would think it
sacrilegious to begin the day on any other drink.)
"Yes, I have. And it's wasted."
"Have you spilt--or burnt it?"

"No; but there's nothing to rejoice over or celebrate, after all; at least,
comparatively nothing."
"Good gracious! What do you mean?" I shrieked, with my card-house
beginning to collapse, while the Eau de Cologne lost its savor in my
nostrils. "Has a codicil been found to Captain Noble's will, as in the last
number of my serial for----"
"No; but the post's come, with a letter from his solicitor. Oh, how
stupid we were to believe what Mrs. Keithley wrote--just silly gossip.
We ought to have remembered that she couldn't know; and she never
got a story straight, anyway. Do hurry and come out."
"I've lost the soap now. Everything invariably goes wrong at once. I
can't get hold of it. I shall probably be in this bath all the rest of my life.
For goodness' sake, what does the lawyer man say?"
"I can't stand here yelling such things at the top of my lungs."
Then I knew how dreadfully poor Phil was really upset, for her lovely
voice was quite snappy; and I've always thought she would not snap on
the rack or in boiling oil. As for me, my bath began to feel like
that--boiling oil, I mean; and I splashed about anyhow, not caring
whether I got my hair wet or not. Because, if we had to go on being
poor after our great expectations, nothing could possibly matter, not
even looking like a drowned rat.
I hadn't the spirit to coax Phyllis, but I might have known she wouldn't
go away, really. When I didn't answer except by splashes which might
have been sobs, she went on, her mouth apparently at the crack of the
door----
"I suppose we ought to be thankful for such mercies as have been
granted; but after what we'd been led to expect----"
"What mercies, as a matter of fact, remain to us?" I asked, trying to
restore depressed spirits as well as circulation with a towel as harsh as
fate.

"Two hundred pounds and a motor-boat."
"A motor-boat? For goodness' sake!"
"Yes. The pounds are for me, the boat for you. It seems you once
unfortunately wrote a postcard, and told poor dear Captain Noble you
envied him having it. It's said to be as good as new; so there's one
comfort, you can sell it second-hand, and perhaps get as much money
as he has left me."
I came very near falling down again in the bath with an awful splash,
beneath the crushing weight of disappointment, and the soap slipping
under my foot.
"Two hundred pounds and a motor-boat--instead of all those
thousands!" I groaned--not very loudly; but Phil heard me through the
door.
"Never mind, dearest," she