Laidlaw asked me a few of the usual questions. Answering in character, I looked slyly out of the corner of my eye, expecting him to exchange surreptitious glances with me occasionally, but he looked straight ahead, sober as a deacon, probably afraid of disconcerting me. Presently he put other questions, and still no betrayal of anything but the apparent situation. Suddenly it dawned upon me that neither he nor James knew me! Then I _was_ set up! This was a triumph I could never have dreamed of--since he had heard the story of the trick played upon Fenton, and knew I intended trying it on James, too! It was incredible, but I soon saw, beyond doubt, that he was as completely taken in (or out) as was James. I had said to myself: “If I can only get James out on the street a way with his bag, it will be all I will ask.” And here I had them both! In the course of the walk I promised them five dollars apiece for their services, if they would bring my daughter safely through. After walking a few blocks, I began to be anxious, as there was now no one at the hospital to attend to emergencies. They, of course, thought I was there. I must bring this to a close speedily. Assuming an hysterical manner, so as to draw their attention more closely to me, and thus bring about the disclosure, I even took off my veil, walking in the glare of the street lamps--all to no purpose; the more I tried to reveal myself, the more I concealed myself; they only tried to hush my noisy grief and to pacify me. Once Laidlaw helped me to adjust my bonnet, which I nearly knocked off, purposely, by my wild jostling against them, but all in vain--the wilder my conduct, the better my disguise. We were now several blocks away from the hospital. I saw I must terminate it some other way. Walking up some steps of a darkened house, I pretended to fumble for my keys, and, waiting till they had followed so close that their faces were on a level with mine, I turned, and in my own voice said, “Haven’t we carried this far enough?” James, to whom my other masquerade was unknown, was dazed, he ran down the steps, leaned against the house, and stood there speechless, his face hid in his hands. Laidlaw--took me in his arms; he could seem to find no other mode of expression. Tired from the walk, and the heat, and weak from laughter, I found it a comfortable position--but was too intent on flying back to the hospital to stay in it long. Dignified and unemotional as Laidlaw was, he let himself go that night; his manner was charming. I basked in his generous praise as I imagine an actor basks in the applause of his audience: “You’re a revelation, you’re an actress, you are wonderful! Why, Little Arnold, is it really you? Oh, James! James! you don’t _know_ what she’s done--you don’t know _half_ of it!”