Dorothy Eden Read Free Page B

know.”
    “Naturally.”
    “And then this morning I gave my last sixpence to a beggar. Well, he was blind, and I at least could see.”
    She looked at Jeremy defensively. She expected him to pity her illogical soft-heartedness, but he merely nodded, as if he had known she was going to confess to a thing like that.
    “So then, although I’d come before to this house, and been frightened somehow and gone away—that advertisement was a little odd, after all, and one should be careful of those things—I knew I’d either have to come back here or send for Tom. And I decided at least I could see what happened here. No one was going to eat me, after all.”
    “Not even Mimosa,” said Jeremy. “Why were you frightened?”
    “I don’t know. I had the most curious feeling, as if I were someone else, and something awful would happen to me. I actually ran down the street. But today I came back, and the woman with the glasses said it was too late. And I slipped on the steps as I was leaving, and that’s all I remember.”
    “Do you like bacon and eggs?” Jeremy asked practically. “Of course, I’ll pay you for the sittings, and Arabia will be delighted—why, here she is now!”
    And that was when Cressida had the odd feeling of the net, both fascinating and frightening, closing round her.
    She heard the rich delighted voice behind her.
    “Why, Jeremy, you naughty boy! You’ve got a woman here!”
    “That serves you right for coming in without knocking. Mrs. Bolton, I want you to meet a friend of mine, Miss Cressida Barclay.”
    “Cress—” The deep voice died away in astonished pleasure and disbelief. “But I thought—you mean, she actually came!”
    “She’s here,” Jeremy said briefly.
    Cressida put out a tentative hand. “How do you do, Mrs. Bolton. I’m afraid—” She couldn’t yet take in the overpowering figure before her, and her timid words were immediately interrupted.
    “But it’s unbelievable! It isn’t true! She’s—Jeremy, where did you find her?”
    “At the bottom of your front steps, to be quite accurate. They are a deathtrap, as I’ve always said.”
    “My husband liked them,” Arabia Bolton said. “He said marble steps give one a certain distinction. But this girl Jeremy. She’s exactly—tell me, child, what is your name?”
    It was no use trying to take in the woman in front of her. Her vision was too uncertain. Surely this Mrs. Bolton, whoever she was, was not wearing a sparkling tiara at a slightly tipsy angle!
    “Cressida Barclay,” she replied obediently.
    “What else?” the imperious voice demanded.
    “Cressida Lucy. The same as the advertisement.”
    And then, most astonishing of all, she was wrapped in a suffocating embrace.
    “My dear child! You’re the answer to a prayer. If only you knew!”
    The excited voice went over her head. “Do you know, Jeremy, I’ve had a dozen applicants, impostors all!”
    “How do you know they were impostors?” Jeremy enquired middly.
    “Because they didn’t look the part. Cressida Lucy is young, fair, innocent. She’s this girl. It’s amazing. It’s—oh, dear, I don’t think I can stand it. Poor Lucy! Poor, poor Lucy!”
    The surprising old woman was actually shedding tears. Her large dark, beautiful eyes filled, and presently the drops spilled over and ran down her craggy cheeks. After a moment she wiped them impatiently away. She took out a handkerchief and blew her large prominent nose. Then she was smiling again, a most compelling warmth filling her face so that one no longer saw its age and bony ugliness.
    “Away with the past!” she exclaimed dramatically. “We’re concerned with the present. It’s so full of promise.
    Once I thought I could not live without camels and sand and heat and vultures, but there are other things, many other things. Come, my dear, and I’ll show you the flat.”
    Cressida made a final protest.
    “But I can’t stay here, really. I’ve no job, and I’ve spent my last