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Updated: May 7, 2025
A towel soaked with blood had fallen to the floor, and lay there, a ghastly evidence of the "broken vessel" Jenny had spoken of. Mimo, with his tall, military figure shaking with dry sobs, stood on the other side, and Zara murmured in a tender voice of anguish: "My little one! My Mirko!"
Their little girl was away at her grandmother's for the next six weeks, they said, but would be enchanted to have a little boy companion. Everything was arranged satisfactorily. Zara stayed the night, and next day, having wired to Mimo to meet her at the station, she returned to London. They talked in the Waterloo waiting-room; poor Mimo seemed so glad and happy.
So, early after lunch, they started, and would be at Park Lane after five. No telegram had come for Zara Mimo must be away but, in any case, it indicated nothing unusual was happening, unless he had been called to Bournemouth by Mirko himself and had left hurriedly. This idea so tortured her that by the time she got to London she could not bear it, and felt she must go to Neville Street and see.
"Yes, he told us of it, as an inexpensive resting place, until our affairs prospered, and we came straight there and wrote to you at once." "I was greatly surprised to receive the letter. Have you any money at all now, Mimo?" "Indeed, yes!" And Count Sykypri proudly drew forth eight bits of French gold from his pocket. "We had two hundred francs when we arrived.
And her thoughts said, "And Mimo?" but she felt it wiser not to ask anything about him just then. To have Mirko cared for by a really clever doctor, in good air, with some discipline as to bedtime, and not those unwholesome meals, snatched at odd hours at some restaurant, seemed a wonderfully good thing. If the little fellow would only be happy separated from his father; that was the question!
The bargain is about the child; the father is barred from it in every way." Zara did not answer, she had guessed this, but Mirko's welfare was of first importance. With strict economy Mimo could live upon what he possessed, if alone and if he chose to curtail his irresponsible generosities. "Do I understand I have your word of honor about this?" her uncle demanded.
For one frightful moment the thought came that her husband was not really dead and that this was he: but no, her husband's name had been Ladislaus, and this man she had called "Mimo," and if the boy were the child of her marriage there need then have been no secret about his existence.
It was characteristic of her that she never dreamed of defending herself. She still had not the slightest idea that he suspected Mimo of being her lover. Tristram's anger with her was just because he was an Englishman very straight and simple who could brook no deception! that is what she thought.
And Zara forgot her usual dignity as she almost rushed across the hall to the library, to talk: it was Mimo, of course, so her presence of mind came to her and as the butler held the door for her she said, "Call a taxi at once." She took the receiver up, and it was, indeed, Mimo's voice and in terrible distress.
He, Mimo, had been too depressed to work, and the picture of the London fog was not much further advanced, and he feared it would not be ready for her wedding gift. "Oh, never mind!" said Zara. "I know you will think of me kindly, and I shall like that as well as any present." And then she drove to the Waterloo station alone, a gnawing anxiety in her heart.
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