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Pinky's name is James, but Jill and I always called him Pinky because we couldn't bear him. He took to calling at Owlwood and one evening he took Aunt Tommy out driving. Then Jill came to me. "Something has got to be done," she said resolutely. "I am not going to have Pinky Carewe for an Uncle Tommy and that is all there is about it.
Maurice stared at the figure of the girl until it vanished behind a clump of rose bushes. "Well, Monsieur Carewe!" said the Lieutenant, a broad smile under his mustache. "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant. May I ask you who she is?" "What! You do not know?" Maurice suddenly saw light. "Her Royal Highness?" blankly. "Her Royal Highness, God bless her!" cried the Lieutenant heartily.
The crafty pair had planned this early descent with a view to monopoly by right of priority, in case the game proved worth the candle, and they were leaning effectively against the little railing about the musicians' platform when Mr. Carewe entered the room with his daughter on his arm.
His favorite lounging-place was a small drug-store where Carewe Street debouched upon Main; nevertheless, so adhesive is a reputation once fastened, his air of being there upon business deceived everyone except Mr. Gray. Formerly, she had counted upon the gayeties of her home to keep Crailey near her; now, however, he told her tenderly he wished to have her all to himself.
An' if you 'uz a-goin', de good God 'lmighty mus' er kep' you ontel I got hyuh!" "No; I wasn't going." Tom smiled upon her sadly. "I dare say there's a simpler explanation. Don't you suppose that if Nelson was right and Mr. Carewe really did come back, it was because he did not wish his daughter and Mrs. Tanberry to know that that he expected a party of friends, possibly, to join him there later?"
But the bright eyes opened again and fixed themselves upon her with all their old, gay inscrutability. "Not yet," said Crailey. "Miss Carewe, may I tell you that I am sorry I could not have known you sooner? Perhaps you might have liked me for Fanchon's sake I know you care for her." "I do I do!" she faltered. "I love her, and ah! I do like you, Mr.
"He is out of his head!" cried Scharfenstein, rushing up the steps. "God knows what has happened!" He was in time to see Maurice lurch into the arms of Captain von Mitter, who had barred the way to the private apartments. "Carewe!... What has happened? God's name, you are soaked in blood!" Von Mitter held Maurice at arm's length. "A battle?"
"A service to her Royal Highness is a service to me. Amuse yourself; you will find some fine paintings in the west gallery." "I trust her Royal Highness is none the worse for the fright," Maurice replied. Several introductions followed, and he found himself chatting with the British minister. "Carewe?" the Englishman repeated thoughtfully.
Then Tom remembered the figure in the long cloak and the military cap, and, with a sick heart, began to understand. He had read the Journal, and he knew why Crailey might wish to masquerade in a major's uniform that night. If Miss Carewe read it too, and a strange wonder rose in her mind, this and a word would convince her.
The bell had almost ceased to ring when a lady, dressed plainly in black, but graceful and tall, came rapidly out of Carewe Street, turned at the corner by the little drug-store, and went toward the church. The boy was left staring, for Crailey's banter broke off in the middle of a word. He overtook her on the church steps, and they went in together.
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