The lady of the basement flatVaizey, George de Horne, Mrs.
General
The lady of the basement flat
Vaizey, George de Horne, Mrs.
Irish -- England -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
"And will Miss Wastneys keep on the house alone?"
"Nothing is yet decided; but I think--not!"
He looked unperturbed. Showed none of the agitation I had hoped to see.
"Does she intend to join Mrs Fane in America?"
Now I felt hurt! Obviously, oh, quite obviously, he did not like me so
much as he did! It was nothing to him where I lived--nothing to him
where I went! A terrible feeling of loneliness overwhelmed me. Nobody
cared! I pressed my lips together to prevent their trembling; behind my
spectacles I blinked smarting eyes. A big brown hand stretched out and
was laid over mine; a big soft voice asked tenderly:--
"_Evelyn! How long is this tomfoolery to go on_?"
We were standing facing one another across the table. I had darted
behind its shelter in that first moment of shock and dismay. His face
was lit with a mischievous smile; his hands were thrust into his trouser
pockets; his eyes surveyed me with a horrible, twinkling triumph.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! You know!"
"Of course I know!"
"You have known all the time? From the very beginning?"
"Not just at first! I'll give you credit for taking me in for a short
time--a very short time! Then you gave yourself away."
"How? How?"
"When you do a thing at all, you ought to do it thoroughly. Your
disguise was incomplete."
"Incomplete? But I had lessons. I paid to be taught."
"Then your instructor, whoever he may be, omitted one important item.
The moment I noticed it, the whole thing became plain. I knew I was
talking to Evelyn Wastneys, and not to her aunt."
I remembered the sudden flashes of complacency which had mystified me so
completely. This was the explanation! I was devoured with curiosity.
"What was it? You must tell me!"
"Your hands!" He smiled, showing his strong, white teeth. "Your pretty
hands, with the dimples, and the pink nails, and--the sapphire ring!"
"Ah!" I looked down at the big square stone in its setting of diamonds,
and felt inclined to stamp with rage at my own forgetfulness. It was my
mother's engagement ring, and for years I had worn it every day. To my
new friends, of course, it had no associations; but for this man who had
noticed it on Evelyn's finger, who had gazed with a lover's admiration
at Evelyn's hand, the clue was unmistakable! So far as Ralph Maplestone
was concerned, all my care, all my pains, had been rendered useless by
that one stupid little omission!
I stood dumb and discomfited, and the Chippendale mirror on the opposite
wall reflected a round-shouldered figure, a spectacled, disfigured face.
I felt a sudden, overwhelming impatience with my disguise.
"For pity's sake, Evelyn, run away and turn into yourself!" came the
command from the big voice. (It is extraordinary how he follows my
thoughts!) "I can't make love to you in those things."
"I don't want you to make love to me!" I said--and lied!
"But I do, you see, and it's my turn! I've waited long enough."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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