A Knight on Wheels Part 12

Apparently not, for straightway the solemn-faced little boy before her flushed scarlet.

"I--I'm afraid you have been making a mistake," began Philip desperately. "I'm not Tommy Smith at all."

Lady Broadhurst looked puzzled.

"Not Tommy Smith? But you wrote me that letter, surely?"

"Yes, I wrote it," admitted Philip in a low voice.

"Then where is the mistake? You are not the baby, are you?"

"No, I'm not the baby either," said Philip miserably.

"But your father--"

"I haven't got any father--or mother, I'm afraid," said Philip, feeling more guilty than ever.

The lady paused, and contemplated him with quickened interest.

"You poor little lad!" she said, very softly.

"But whose house is this?"

"My uncle's."

Lady Broadhurst's face cleared.

"I see," she said. "You have no parents of your own, but live with your uncle and aunt. Naturally you would regard them as your father and mother, and speak of them as such. I understand now. But that shall make no difference. In fact I like the scrupulous way you tell me everything.

If your uncle is ill--"

"He isn't ill," said Philip regretfully.

"Then he is better?" said Lady Broadhurst with a cheerful smile. "In that case he will be able to travel at once."

Philip gripped the arm of his chair. The bad time had come.

"My uncle isn't a--" he began.

He was going to say "curate," but at that moment, to his profound surprise and unspeakable relief, there fell upon his ears the music of a latchkey in a lock, followed by the banging of the front door. Uncle Joseph had returned, an hour and a half before his time.

Well, whatever happened now, the responsibility had slipped from Philip's shoulders. And in the midst of all the present turmoil of his senses one emotion overtopped all the others--a feeling of intense curiosity to behold the arch-expert in misogyny handling the situation.

It would be a sensational scene, Philip thought. And he was not disappointed.

"Hallo, there, Philip!" Uncle Joseph's voice rang out from the hall.

"Are you in?" The library door stood ajar, and his words could be heard distinctly.

"Yes, Uncle Joseph!" called Philip.

"That is my uncle," he explained, turning politely to the Beautiful Lady. "He--"

But the words died on his lips. Lady Broadhurst was on her feet, deadly white, and shaking. One hand was at her heart, the other fumbled at the mantelpiece for support.

Uncle Joseph's voice rang out again, this time from the neighbourhood of the hatstand.

"I'm back sooner than I expected. Skip about and get me some tea, you young beggar!"

The Beautiful Lady's white lips parted, and she uttered a faint cry. But she did not move.

Philip went out into the hall. His uncle was hanging up his greatcoat.

"Well, young man?" he observed cheerfully.

"There is some one wanting to see you in the library, Uncle Joseph,"

said Philip falteringly.

"Oh! Who?"

"A--a lady."

Uncle Joseph's brow darkened instantly.

"_A lady?_" he said icily. "Who let her in?"

"I did. At least, she came in."

"Well, we can appraise responsibility later. Meanwhile--"

Uncle Joseph, very stiff and erect, strode across the hall and into the library.

There was a moment of dead silence, and then a great cry; then a rush of feet; then silence again--silence that could be felt.

What had happened? Philip wondered.

Then, at last, came voices.

"Vivien! Vivien! Vivien! My little Vivien, after all these years! Thank G.o.d for his infinite goodness and mercy! My Vivien! My little girl!"

"Joe! Joe! Dear, dear Joe! At last, at last! Hold me closer, dear! I can't believe it yet! I'm frightened--hold me closer! Oh, my dear, my dear!"

Then the voices blended into an indeterminate, cooing, soothing murmur.

Philip looked into the library.

Upon the hearthrug, with his back to the door, stood Uncle Joseph, misogynist. In his arms he held the Beautiful Lady, and he was pa.s.sionately kissing her eyes, her hair, her lips.