Mr. Witt's Widow: A Frivolous Tale

The fat policeman, or to give him his proper name, Sergeant Stubbs, unlike Mr. Jennings, was enjoying himself. A trip to London gratis, with expenses on a liberal scale, and an identification at the end – could the heart of mortal constable desire more? Know the girl? Of course he would, among a thousand! It was his business to know people and he did not mean to fail, especially in the service of so considerate an employer. So he walked in confidently, sat himself down, and received his instructions with professional imperturbability.

The ladies stood and smiled at Stubbs. Stubbs sat and peered at the ladies, and, being a man at heart, thought they were a set of as likely girls as he’d ever seen; so he told Mrs. Stubbs afterwards. But which was Nelly Game?

“It isn’t her in the middle,” said Stubbs, at last.

“Then,” said George, “we needn’t trouble Miss Bourne any longer.”

Isabel went and sat down, with a scornful toss of her head, and Laura Pocklington and Neaera stood side by side.

“I feel as if it were the judgment of Paris,” whispered the latter, audibly, and Mrs. Pocklington and Gerald tittered. Stubbs had once been to Paris on business, but he did not see what it had to do with the present occasion, unless indeed it were something about a previous conviction.

“It isn’t her,” he said, after another pause, pointing a stumpy forefinger at Laura Pocklington.

There was a little shiver of dismay. George rigidly repressed every indication of satisfaction. Neaera stood calm and smiling, bending a look of amused kindliness on Stubbs; but the palm of the white hand on the mantelpiece grew pink as the white fingers pressed against it.

“Would you like to see me a little nearer?” she asked, and, stepping forward to where Stubbs sat, she stood right in front of him.

George felt inclined to cry “Brava!” as if he were at the play.

Stubbs was puzzled. There was a likeness, but there was so much unlikeness too. It really wasn’t fair to dress people up differently. How was a man to know them?

“Might I see the photograph again, sir?” he asked George.

“Certainly not,” exclaimed Gerald, angrily.

George ignored him.

“I had rather,” he said, “you told us what you think without it.”

George had sent Lord Tottlebury the photograph, and everybody had looked at it and declared it was not the least like Neaera.

Stubbs resumed his survey. At last he said, pressing his hand over his eyes,

“I can’t swear to her, sir.”

“Very well,” said George. “That’ll do.”

But Neaera laughed.

“Swear to me, Mr. Stubbs!” said she. “But do you mean you think I’m like this Nelly Games?”

“‘Game,’ not ‘Games,’ Mrs. Witt,” said George, smiling again.

“Well, then, ‘Game.’”

“Yes, miss, you’ve a look of her.”

“Of course she has,” said Mrs. Pocklington, “or Mr. George would never have made the mistake.” Mrs. Pocklington liked George, and wanted to let him down easily.

“That’s all you can say?” asked Lord Tottlebury.

“Yes, sir; I mean, my lord.”

“It comes to nothing,” said Lord Tottlebury, decisively.

“Nothing at all,” said George. “Thank you, Stubbs. I’ll join you and Mr. Jennings in a moment.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Stubbs,” said Neaera. “I’m sure I should have known you if I’d ever seen you before.”

Stubbs withdrew, believing himself to have received a compliment.

“Of course this ends the matter, George,” said Lord Tottlebury.

“I should hope so,” said Gerald.

George looked at Neaera; and as he looked the conviction grew stronger on him that she was Nelly Game.

“Mr. George Neston is not convinced,” said she, mockingly.

“It does not much matter whether I am convinced or not,” said George. “There is no kind of evidence to prove the identity.”

Gerald sprang up in indignation. “Do you mean that you won’t retract?”

“You can state all the facts; I shall say nothing.”

“You shall apologise, or – ”

“Gerald,” said Lord Tottlebury, “this is no use.”

There was a feeling that George was behaving very badly. Everybody thought so, and said so; and all except Neaera either exhorted or besought him to confess himself the victim of an absurd mistake. As the matter had become public, nothing less could be accepted.

George wavered. “I will let you know to-morrow,” he said. “Meanwhile let me return this document to Mrs. Witt.” He took out Mrs. Horne’s letter and laid it on the table. “I have ventured to take a copy,” he said. “As the original is valuable, I thought I had better give it back.”

“Thank you,” said Neaera, and moved forward to take it.

Gerald hastened to fetch it for her. As he took it up, his eye fell on the writing, for George had laid it open on the table.

“Why, Neaera,” said he, “it’s in your handwriting!”

George started, and he thought he saw Neaera start just perceptibly.

“Of course,” she said. “That’s only a copy.”

“My dear, you never told me so,” said Lord Tottlebury; “and I have never seen your handwriting.”

“Gerald and Maud have.”

“But they never saw this.”