Page:The little blue devil (IA littlebluedevil00mackiala).pdf/184

“He is not dead. He is here, in London. He is Archie’s friend, Mr. St. Croix. Of course he is really Lord Trent.”

“Pamela, what in the world are you talking about? Aunt Sophia had raised herself on one elbow—she was much disturbed. Had the child’s brain given way?

“What was the name of the man Aunt Adelaide married? You have never told me.”

“My dear child, he was not a person any of us cared to mention.”

“But was his name St. Croy?”

“Ste. Croix—he was a Frenchman.”

“Ste. Croix. . . . That would be the same, of course. . . . But he didn't know either.”

“Who has been telling you this—this extraordinary story?”

“He told me himself, to-night. He really is Lord Trent, Aunt Sophia, and I am—nothing at all. It never has been mine.”

“Pamela, I entirely decline to hear another word of this nonsense. One is always afraid of impostors, of course, but this is too ridiculous to be worth discussing for a minute. Do you suppose that this man, who comes here as a friend of Archie’s, would not have set up his claims at once if he had the faintest shadow of right to them? Do you imagine that he would come to you, of all people, to make such a statement?”

“I don’t know why he did. I think he had only just been told himself. I don’t really understand.”

She put both hands up to her eyes, as if to rub away the mist that obscured her vision. Her voice was dull and very tired. Aunt Sophia stared at her blankly for a moment before replying in her most decisive tones.

“No one will understand. There is nothing to understand, except an exceedingly poor joke, made in exceedingly bad taste, by some adventurer whom Archie ob-