“Sibyl has had bad fall from pony. Case hopeless. Come home at once.”
“So Sibyl, whoever Sibyl may be, is at the bottom of Ogilvie’s fall,” thought Rycroft. “Poor chap! he has got a fearful shock. Best make all safe. I must see things through.”
Without an instant’s hesitation Rycroft took the already signed document, thrust it into an envelope, directed it in full and stamped it. Then he went to the telegraph messenger who was still waiting outside.
“No answer to the cable, but take this at once to the post-office and register it,” he said; “here is money – you can keep the change.”
The man departed on his errand, carrying the signed document.
Rycroft now bent over Ogilvie. There was a slightly blue tinge round his lips, but the rest of his face was white and drawn.
“Looks like death,” muttered Rycroft. He unfastened Ogilvie’s collar and thrust his hand beneath his shirt. He felt the faint, very faint beat of the heart.
“Still living,” he murmured, with a sigh of relief. He applied the usual restoratives. In a few moments Ogilvie opened his eyes.
“What has happened?” he said, looking round him in a dazed way. “Oh, I remember, I had a message from London.”
“Yes, old fellow, don’t speak for a moment.”
“I must get back at once; the child – ”
“All right, you shall go in the Sahara to-morrow.”
“But the document,” said Ogilvie, “it – isn’t needed; I want it back.”
“Don’t trouble about it now.”
Ogilvie staggered to his feet.
“You don’t understand. I did it because – because of one who will not need it. I want it back.”
“Too late,” said Rycroft, then. “That document is already in the post. Come, you must pull yourself together for the sake of Sibyl, whoever she is.”
CHAPTER XVI
There was a pretty white room at Silverbel in which lay a patient child. She lay flat on her back just as she had lain ever since the accident. Her bed was moved into the wide bay window, and from there she could look out at the lovely garden and at the shining Thames just beyond. From where she lay she could also see the pleasure boats and the steamers crowded with people as they went up and down the busy river, and it seemed to her that her thoughts followed those boats which went toward the sea. It seemed to her further that her spirit entered one of the great ships at the mouth of the Thames and crossed in it the boundless deep, and found a lonely man at the other side of the world into whose heart she crept.
“I am quite cosy there,” she said to herself, “for father’s perfect heart is big enough to hold me, however much I suffer, and however sad I am.”
Not that Sibyl was sad, nor did she suffer. After the first shock she had no pain of any sort, and there never was a more tranquil little face than hers as it lay on its daintily frilled pillow and looked out at the shining river.
There was no part of the beautiful house half so beautiful as the room given up to her use. It might well and aptly be called the Chamber of Peace. Indeed, Miss Winstead, who was given to sentimentalities and had a poetic turn of mind, had called Sibyl’s chamber by this title.
From the very first the child never murmured. She who had been so active, like a butterfly in her dancing motion, in her ceaseless grace, lay on her couch uncomplaining. And as to pain, she had scarcely any, and what little she had grew less day by day. The great specialist from London said that this was the worst symptom of the case, and established the fact beyond doubt that the spine was fatally injured. It was a question of time. How long a time no one could quite tell, but the great doctors shook their heads over the child, and an urgent cablegram was sent to Ogilvie to hurry home without a moment’s delay.
But, though all her friends knew it, no one told Sibyl herself that she might never walk again nor dance over the smoothly kept lawns, nor mount the nameless pony, nor carry apples to Dan Scott. In her presence people thought it their duty to be cheerful, and she was always cheerful herself. After the first week or so, during which she was more or less stunned and her head felt strangely heavy, she liked to talk and laugh and ask questions. As far as her active little brain went there was but little difference in her, except that now her voice was low, and sometimes it was difficult to follow the rapid, eager words. But the child’s eyes were quite as clear and beautiful as ever, and more than ever now there visited them that strange, far-away look and that quick, comprehending gaze.
“I want nothing on earth but father, the touch of father’s hand and the look in his face,” she said several times; and then invariably her own eyes would follow the steamers and the boats as they went down the river toward the sea, and she would smile as the remembrance of the big ships came to her.
“Miss Winstead,” she said on one of these occasions, “I go in my own special big ship every night across the sea to father. I sleep in father’s heart every night, that’s why I don’t disturb you, and why the hours seem so short.”
Miss Winstead had long ceased to scold Sibyl, and nurse was now never cross to the little girl, and Mrs. Ogilvie was to all appearance the most tender, devoted mother on earth. When the child had been brought back after her accident Mrs. Ogilvie had not yet returned from town. She had meant to spend the night at the house in Belgrave Square. An urgent message, however, summoned her, and she arrived at Silverbel about midnight. She lost all self-control when she saw the beautiful unconscious child, and went into such violent hysterics that the doctors had to take her from the room.
But this state of grief passed, and she was able, as she said to herself, to crush her mother’s heart in her breast and superintend everything for Sibyl’s comfort. It was Mrs. Ogilvie herself who, by the doctor’s orders, sent off the cablegram which her husband received at the very moment of his fall from the paths of honor. It was she who worded it, and she thought of nothing at that moment but the child who was dying in the beautiful house. For the time she quite forgot her dreams of wealth and of greatness and of worldly pleasure. Nay, more, she felt just then that she could give up everything if only Sibyl might be saved. Mrs. Ogilvie also blamed herself very bitterly for forgetting her promise to the child. She was indeed quite inconsolable for several days, and at last had a nervous attack and was obliged to retire to her bed.
There came an answering cable from Ogilvie to say that he was starting on board the Sahara, and would be in England as quickly as the great liner could bring him across the ocean. But by the doctor’s orders the news that her father was coming back to her was not told to Sibyl.
“Something may detain him; at any rate the suspense will be bad for her,” the doctors said, and as she did not fret, and seemed quite contented with the strange fancy that she crossed the sea at night to lie in his arms, there was no need to give her any anxiety with regard to the matter.
But as the days went on Mrs. Ogilvie’s feelings, gradually but surely, underwent a sort of revulsion. For the first week she was frantic, ill, nervous, full of intense self-reproach. But during the second week, when Sibyl’s state of health assumed a new phase, when she ceased to moan in her sleep, and to look troubled, and only lay very still and white, Mrs. Ogilvie took it into her head that after all the doctors had exaggerated the symptoms. The child was by no means so ill as they said. She went round to her different friends and aired these views. When they came to see her she aired them still further.
“Doctors are so often mistaken,” she said, “I don’t believe for a single instant that the dear little thing will not be quite as well as ever in a short time. I should not be the least surprised if she were able to walk by the time Philip comes back. I do sincerely hope such will be the case, for Philip makes such a ridiculous fuss about her, and will go through all the apprehension and misery which nearly wrecked my mother’s heart. He will believe everything those doctors have said of the child.”
The neighbors, glad to see Mrs. Ogilvie cheerful once more, rather agreed with her in these views, that is, all who did not go to see Sibyl. But those who went into her white room and looked at the sweet patient’s face shook their heads when they came out again. It was those neighbors who had not seen the child who quoted instances of doctors who were mistaken in their diagnoses, and Mrs. Ogilvie derived great pleasure and hope from their conversation.
Gradually, but surely, the household settled down into its new life. The Chamber of Peace in the midst of the house diffused a peaceful atmosphere everywhere else. Sibyl’s weak little laugh was a sound to treasure up and remember, and her words were still full of fun, and her eyes often brimmed over with laughter. No one ever denied her anything now. She could see whoever she fancied, even to old Scott, who hobbled upstairs in his stockings, and came on tiptoe into the room, and stood silently at the foot of the white bed.
“I won’t have the curse of the poor, I did my best,” said Sibyl, looking full at the old man.
“Yes, you did your best, dearie,” he replied. His voice was husky, and he turned his head aside and looked out of the window and coughed in a discreet manner. He was shocked at the change in the radiant little face, but he would not allow his emotion to get the better of him.
“The blessing of the poor rests on you, dear little Miss,” he said then, “the blessing of the poor and the fatherless. It was a fatherless lad you tried to comfort. God bless you for ever and ever.”
Sibyl smiled when he said this, and then she gazed full at him in that solemn comprehending way which often characterized her. When he went out of the room she lay silent for a time; then she turned to nurse and said with emphasis:
“I like old Scott, he’s a very religious man.”
“That he is, darling,” replied nurse.
“Seems to me I’m getting religious too,” continued Sibyl. “It’s ’cos of Lord Jesus, I ’spect. He is kind to me, is Lord Jesus. He takes me to father every night.”
The days went by, and Mrs. Ogilvie, who was recovering her normal spirits hour by hour, now made up her mind that Sibyl’s recovery was merely a question of time, that she would soon be as well as ever, and as this was the case, surely it seemed a sad pity that the bazaar, which had been postponed, should not take place.
“The bazaar will amuse the child, besides doing a great deal of good to others,” thought Mrs. Ogilvie.
No sooner had this idea come to her, than she found her engagement-book, and looked up several items. The bazaar had of course been postponed from the original date, but it would be easy to have it on the 24th of September. The 24th was in all respects a suitable date, and those people who had not gone abroad or to Scotland would be glad to spend a week in the beautiful country house. It was such a sad pity, thought Mrs. Ogilvie, not to use the new furniture to the best advantage, not to sleep in the new beds, not to make use of all the accessories which had cost so much money, or rather which had cost so many debts, for not a scrap of the furniture was paid for, and the house itself was only held on sufferance.
“It will be doing such a good work,” said Mrs. Ogilvie to herself. “I shall be not only entertaining my friends and amusing dear little Sibyl, but I shall be collecting money for an excellent charity.”
In the highest spirits she ran upstairs and burst into her little daughter’s room.
“Oh, Mummy,” said Sibyl. She smiled and said faintly, “Come and kiss me, Mummy.”
Mrs. Ogilvie was all in white and looked very young and girlish and pretty. She tripped up to the child, bent over her and kissed her.
“My little white rose,” she said, “you must get some color back into your cheeks.”
“Oh, color don’t matter,” replied Sibyl. “I’m just as happy without it.”
“But you are quite out of pain, my little darling?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“And you like lying here in your pretty window?”
“Yes, mother darling.”
“You are not weary of lying so still?”
Sibyl laughed.
“It is funny,” she said, “I never thought I could lie so very still. I used to get a fidgety sort of pain all down me if I stayed still more than a minute at a time, but now I don’t want to walk. My legs are too heavy. I feel heavy all down my legs and up to the middle of my back, but that is all. See, Mummy, how nicely I can move my hands. Nursie is going to give me some dolls to dress.”
“What a splendid idea, Sib!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “you shall dress some dolls for mother’s bazaar.”
“Are you going to have it after all?” cried Sibyl, her eyes brightening. “Are the big-wigs coming?”
“Yes, pet, and you shall help me. You shall dress pretty little dolls which the big-wigs shall buy – Lord Grayleigh and the rest.”
“I like Lord Grayleigh,” replied Sibyl. “I am glad you are going to have the bazaar, Mummy.”
Mrs. Ogilvie laughed with glee. She seated herself in a comfortable rocking chair near the window and chatted volubly. Sibyl was really a wonderfully intelligent child. It was delightful to talk to her. There was no narrowness about Sibyl. She had quite a breadth of view and of comprehension for her tender years.
“My dear little girl,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “I am so glad you like the idea. Perhaps by the day of the bazaar you will be well enough to come downstairs and even to walk a little.”
Sibyl made no answer to this. After a moment’s pause she said:
“Do have the bazaar and let all the big-wigs come. I can watch them from my bed. I can look out of the window and see everything – it will be fun.”
Soon afterward Mrs. Ogilvie left the room. She met Miss Winstead on the stairs.
“Miss Winstead,” she said, “I have just been sitting with the child. She seems much better.”
“Do you think so?” replied Miss Winstead shortly.
“I do. Why do you stare at me in that disapproving manner? You really are all most unnatural. Who should know of the health of her child if her own mother does not? The little darling is recovering fast – I have just been having a most interesting talk with her. She would like me to have the bazaar.”
“The bazaar!” echoed Miss Winstead. “Surely you don’t mean to have it here?”
“Yes, here. The child is greatly interested. She would like me to have it, and I am going to send out invitations at once. It will be held on the 24th and 25th of the month.”
“I would not, if I were you,” said Miss Winstead slowly. “You know what the doctors have said.”
Mrs. Ogilvie first turned white, and then her face grew red and angry.
“I don’t believe a single word of what they say,” she retorted with some passion. “The child looks better every day. What the dear little thing wants is rousing. The bazaar will do her no end of good. Mark my words, Miss Winstead, we shall have Sibyl on her feet again by the 24th.”
“You forget,” said Miss Winstead slowly, “the Sahara is due in England about that date. Mr. Ogilvie will be back. He will not be prepared for – for what he has to see.”
“I know quite well that my husband will return about then, but I don’t understand what you mean by saying that he will not be prepared. There will be nothing but joyful tidings to give him. The child nearly herself and the bazaar at its height. Delightful! Now pray, my good creature, don’t croak any more; I must rush up to town this afternoon – there is a great deal to see about.”
CHAPTER XVII
Lord Grayleigh was so anxious about the Syndicate that he would not go to Scotland for the shooting as usual. Later on he would attend to his pleasures, but not now. Later on when Ogilvie had returned, and the company was finally floated, and the shares taken up, he would relax his efforts, but just at present he was engaged over the biggest thing of his life. He was cheerful, however, and full of hope. He even thanked Providence for having aided all his exertions. So blinded was he by the glare of avarice and the desire for adding wealth to wealth that Ogilvie’s cablegram set every anxiety at rest. He even believed that the mine was as full of gold as the cablegram seemed to indicate. Yes, everything was going well. The Lombard Deeps Company would be floated in a short time, the Board of Directors was complete.
Ogilvie’s cablegram was shown to a few of the longest-headed men in the financial world, and his report was anxiously looked for. Rumors carefully worded got by degrees into the public press, the ominous whispers were absolutely silenced: all, in short, was ripe for action. Nothing definite, however, could be done until the full report of the mine arrived.
Lord Grayleigh was fond of saying to himself: “From the tone of Ogilvie’s cablegram the mine must be all that we desire, the ore rich, the veins good, the extent of the wealth unlimited. It will be nice,” Lord Grayleigh reflected, “to be rich and also honest at the same time.” He was a man with many kindly impulses, but he had never been much troubled by the voice of conscience. So he went backward and forward to his lovely home in the country, and played with his children, and enjoyed life generally.
On a certain day in the first week of September he received a letter from Mrs. Ogilvie; it ran as follows: —
“My Dear Lord Grayleigh,
“You have not, I hope, forgotten your promise to be, as Sibyl said, one of the big-wigs at my bazaar.”
“But I had forgotten it,” muttered Grayleigh to himself. “That woman is, in my opinion, a poor, vain, frivolous creature. Why did she hamper Ogilvie with that place in his absence? Now, forsooth, she must play at charity. When that sort of woman does that sort of thing she is contemptible.”
He lowered his eyes again, and went on reading the letter.
“I was obliged to postpone the original date,” continued his correspondent, “but I have quite fixed now that the bazaar shall be held at our new lovely place on the 24th. You, I know, will not disappoint me. You will be sure to be present. I hope to clear a large sum for the Home for Incurables at Watleigh. Have you heard how badly that poor dear charity needs funds just now? If you hesitate for a moment to come and help, just cast a thought on the poor sufferers there, the children, who will never know the blessing of strength again. Think what it is to lighten the burden of their last days, and do not hesitate to lend your hand to so worthy a work. I have advertised you in the papers as our principal supporter and patron, and the sooner we see you at Silverbel the better.
“With kind regards, I remain,“Yours sincerely,“Mildred Ogilvie.
“P.S. – By the way, have you heard that our dear little Sibyl has met with rather a nasty accident? She fell off that pony you gave her. I must be frank, Lord Grayleigh, and say that I never did approve of the child’s riding, particularly in her father’s absence. She had a very bad tumble, and hurt her back, and has since been confined to her couch. I have had the best advice, and the doctors have been very silly and gloomy in their reports. Now, for my part, I have not the slightest faith in doctors, they are just as often proved wrong as right. The child is getting much better, but she is still, of course, confined to her bed. She would send you her love if she knew I was writing.”
Lord Grayleigh let this letter drop on to the table beside him. He sat quite still for a moment, then he lit a cigarette and began to pace the room. After a pause he took up Mrs. Ogilvie’s letter and re-read the postscript.
After having read it a second time he rang his bell sharply. A servant appeared.
“I am going to town by the next train; have the trap round,” was Grayleigh’s direction.
He did go to town by the next train, his children seeing him off.
“Where are you going, father?” called out Freda. “You promised you would take us for a long, long drive this afternoon. Oh, this is disappointing. Are you coming back at all to-night?”
“I don’t think so, Freda. By the way, have you heard that your little friend Sibyl has met with an accident?”
“Has she?” replied Freda. “I am very sorry. I like Sibyl very much.”
“So do I!” said Gus, coming up, “she’s the best sort of girl I ever came across, not like an ordinary girl – quite plucky, you know. What sort of accident did she have, father?”
“I don’t know; I am going to see. I am afraid it has something to do with the pony I gave her. Well, good-by, youngsters; if I don’t return by the last train to-night, I’ll be back early to-morrow, and we can have our drive then.”
Lord Grayleigh drove at once to Victoria Station, and took the next train to Richmond. It was a two-mile drive from there to Silverbel. He arrived at Silverbel between five and six in the afternoon. Mrs. Ogilvie was pacing about her garden, talking to two ladies who had come to call on her. When she saw Lord Grayleigh driving up the avenue, she uttered a cry of delight, apologized to her friends, and ran to meet him – both her hands extended.
“How good of you, how more than good of you,” she said. “This is just what I might have expected from you, Lord Grayleigh. You received my letter and you have come to answer it in person.”
“I have come, as you say, to answer it in person. How is Sibyl?”
“Oh, better. I mean she is about the same, but she really is going on very nicely. She does not suffer the slightest pain, and – ”
“Can I see her?”
“Of course you can. I will take you to her. Dear little thing, she will be quite delighted, you are a prime favorite of hers. But first, what about the bazaar? Ah, naughty man! you need not think you are going to get out of it, for you are, as Sibyl says, one of the big-wigs. We cannot do without big-wigs at our bazaar.”
“Well, Mrs. Ogilvie, I will come if I can. I cannot distinctly promise at the present moment, for I may possibly have to go to Scotland; but the chances are that I shall be at Grayleigh Manor, and if so I can come.”
Mrs. Ogilvie was walking with Lord Grayleigh down one of the corridors which led to the Chamber of Peace while this conversation was going on. As he uttered the last words she flung open the door.
“One of the big-wigs, Sibyl, come to see you,” she said, in a playful voice.
Lord Grayleigh saw a white little face with very blue eyes turned eagerly in his direction. He did not know why, but as he looked at the child something clutched at his heart with a strange fear. He turned to Mrs. Ogilvie and said,
“Rest assured that I will come.” He then went over, bent toward Sibyl and took her little white hand.
“I am sorry to see you like this,” he said. “What has happened to you, my little girl?”
“Oh, nothing much,” answered Sibyl, “I just had a fall, but I am quite all right now and I am awfully happy. Did you really come to see me? It is good of you. May I talk to Lord Grayleigh all by myself, mother darling?”
“Certainly, dear. Lord Grayleigh, you cannot imagine how we spoil this little woman now that she is lying on her back. I suppose it is because she is so good and patient. She never murmurs, and she enjoys herself vastly. Is not this a pretty room?”
“Beautiful,” replied Lord Grayleigh, in an abstracted tone. He sank into a chair near the window, and glanced out at the smoothly kept lawn, at the flower-beds with their gay colors, and at the silver Thames flowing rapidly by. Then he looked again at the child. The child’s grave eyes were fixed on his face; there was a faint smile round the lips but the eyes were very solemn.
“I will come back again, presently,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “By the way, Sib darling, Lord Grayleigh is coming to our bazaar, the bazaar for which you are dressing dolls.”
“Nursie is dressing them,” replied Sibyl in a weak voice – the mother did not notice how weak it was, but Lord Grayleigh did. “It somehow tires me to work. I ’spect I’m not very strong, but I’ll be better perhaps to-morrow. Nursie is dressing them, and they are quite beautiful.”
“Well, I’ll come back soon; you mustn’t tire her, Lord Grayleigh, and you and I have a great deal to talk over when you do come downstairs.”
“I must return to town by the next train,” said Lord Grayleigh; but Mrs. Ogilvie did not hear him. She went quickly away to join the friends who were waiting for her in the sunny garden.
“Lord Grayleigh has come,” she said. “He is quite devoted to Sibyl; he is sitting with her for a few minutes; the child worships him. Afterward he and I must have a rather business-like conversation.”
“Then we will go, dear Mrs. Ogilvie,” said both ladies.
“Thank you, dear friends; I hope you don’t think I am sending you away, but it is always my custom to speak plainly. Lord Grayleigh will be our principal patron at the bazaar, and naturally I have much to consult him about. I will drive over to-morrow to see you, Mrs. Le Strange, and we can discuss still further the sort of stall you will have.”
The ladies took their leave, and Mrs. Ogilvie paced up and down in front of the house. She was restless, and presently a slight sense of disappointment stole over her, for Lord Grayleigh was staying an unconscionably long time in Sibyl’s room.
Sibyl and he were having what he said afterward was quite a straight talk.
“I am so glad you have come,” said the little girl; “there are some things you can tell me that no one else can. Have you heard from father lately?”
“I had a cablegram from him not long ago.”
“What’s that?”
“The same as a telegram; a cablegram is a message that comes across the sea.”
“I understand,” said Sibyl. She thought of her pretty fancy of the phantom ships that took her night after night to the breast of her father.
“What are you thinking about?” said Lord Grayleigh.
“Oh, about father, of course. When he sent you that message did he tell you there was much gold in the mine?”
“My dear child,” said Lord Grayleigh, “what do you know about it?”
“I know all about it,” answered Sybil. “I am deeply interested, deeply.”
“Well, my dear little girl, to judge from your father’s message, the mine is full of gold, quite full.”
“Up to the tip top?”
“Yes, you can express it in that way if you like, up to the tip top and down, nobody knows how deep, full of beautiful yellow gold, but don’t let us talk of these things any more. Tell me how you really fell, and what that naughty pony did to you.”
“You must not scold my darling nameless pony, it was not his fault a bit,” said Sibyl. She turned first red and then whiter than usual.
“Do you greatly mind if I don’t talk about it?” she asked in a voice of sweet apology. “It makes me feel – ”
“How, dear?”
“I don’t know, only I get the up and down and round and round feel. It was the feel I had when pony sprang; he seemed to spring into the air, and I fell and fell and fell. I don’t like to get the feel back, it is so very round and round, you know.”
“We won’t talk of it,” said Lord Grayleigh; “what shall I do to amuse you?”
“Tell me more about father and the mine full of gold.”
“I have only just had the one cablegram, Sib, in which he merely stated that the news with regard to the mine was good.”
“I am delighted,” said Sibyl. “It’s awfully good of Lord Jesus. Do you know that I have been asking Lord Jesus to pile up the gold in the mine. He can do anything, you know, and He has done it, you see. Isn’t it sweet and dear of Him? Oh, you don’t know all He has done for me! Don’t you love Him very much indeed, Lord Grayleigh?”
“Who, Sibyl?”
“My Lord Jesus Christ, my beautiful Lord Jesus Christ.”
Lord Grayleigh bent and picked up a book which had fallen on the carpet. He turned the conversation. The child’s eyes, very grave and very blue, watched him. She did not say anything further, but she seemed to read the thought he wished to hide. He stood up, then he sat down again. Sibyl had that innate tact which is born in some natures, and always knew where to pause in her probings and questionings.
“Now,” she continued, after a pause, “dear Mr. and Mrs. Holman will be rich.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Holman,” said Lord Grayleigh; “who are they?”
“They are my very own most special friends. They keep a toy-shop in Greek Street, a back street near our house. Mrs. Holman is going to buy a lot of gold out of the mine. I’ll send her a letter to tell her that she can buy it quick. You’ll be sure to keep some of the gold for Mrs. Holman, she is a dear old woman. You’ll be quite sure to remember her?”
“Quite sure, Sibyl.”
“Hadn’t you better make a note of it? Father always makes notes when he wants to remember things. Have you got a note-book?”
“In my pocket.”
“Please take it out and put down about Mrs. Holman and the gold out of the mine.”
Lord Grayleigh produced a small note-book.
“What do you wish me to say?” he inquired.
“Put it this way,” said Sibyl eagerly, “then you won’t forget. Some of the gold in the – ”
“Lombard Deeps Mine,” supplied Lord Grayleigh.
“Some of the gold in the Lombard Deeps Mine,” repeated Sibyl, “to be kept special for dear Mr. and Mrs. Holman. Did you put that? Did you put dear Mr. and Mrs. Holman?”
“Just exactly as you have worded it, Sibyl.”
“Her address is number ten, Greek Street, Pimlico.”
The address being further added, Sibyl gave a sigh of satisfaction.
“That is nice,” she said, “that will make them happy. Mrs. Holman has cried so often because of the dusty toys, and ’cos the children won’t come to her shop to buy. Some children are very mean; I don’t like some children a bit.”
“I am glad you’re pleased about the Holmans, little woman.”
“Of course I am, and aren’t you. Don’t you like to make people happy?”
Again Lord Grayleigh moved restlessly.
“Have you any other notes for this book?” he said.
“Of course I have. There’s the one who wants to marry the other one. I’m under a vow not to mention names, but they want to marry so badly, and they will in double quick time if there’s gold in the mine. Will you put in your note-book ‘Gold to be kept for the one who wants to marry the other,’ will you, Lord Grayleigh?”
“I have entered it,” said Lord Grayleigh, suppressing a smile.
“And mother, of course,” continued Sibyl, “wants lots of money, and there’s my nurse, her eyes are failing, she would like enough gold to keep her from mending stockings or doing any more fine darning, and I’d like Watson to have some. Do you know, Lord Grayleigh, that Watson is engaged to be married? He is really, truly.”