The Tigress

"The gentleman says, ma'am, that he saw you at the window, and it's most important."

"Tell him that I shall take care not to let him see me at the window again, or any place else. I am engaged and cannot receive him."

But the maid, returning for a second time, presented a second card, bearing a scribbled line, which Nina was about to cast into the blazing grate when a single word of the penciling caught her eye and interest. The word was "Scripps."

"I must see you," he had written, "regarding Miss Agnes Scripps."

Had it not been for the puzzle of that addressed envelope so strangely discovered at so tragic a moment, yet forgotten in the stress of following events, it is a question whether even the scribbled line would have served its purpose.

As it was, however, Mrs. Darling reversed her decision at once, and the solicitor of the parchment cheeks was promptly admitted.

He found her a funereal-appearing young woman in deepest mourning, guarded by an equally funereal-appearing staghound, which lay between her feet and the fender.

"I trust you will pardon my persistency, Mrs. Darling," he began; "but the truth is that Lord Kneedrock's sudden death, coupled with another event, equally unexpected and unprovided for, has left me in a somewhat serious predicament."

"Another event?" questioned Nina coolly.

"Another death."

"Whose?" she asked bluntly.

"Old David Phipps died yesterday, in Dundee."

"I never heard of him. Who is he?"

Mr. Widdicombe appeared surprised.

"I was under the impression," he began, taking off his glasses and wiping the lenses on his enormous silk handkerchief, "that you were informed. He was – well, an associate of the late viscount's in Melanesia."

"No," she returned, "I was not informed. I fancied at the moment you alluded to Miss Scripps."

At this the solicitor brightened. "Ah, then you are informed concerning Miss Scripps. I am glad of that. I feared that, perhaps, you were not; which would make my mission the more embarrassing."

"I know that Lord Kneedrock visited and corresponded with a young lady of that name in Dundee, and I have always imagined that he was rather seriously attached to her."

And now Mr. Widdicombe looked surprised again.

"Then you don't know all?" he questioned, rubbing his lenses more vigorously.

"All?" she repeated. "Is there any more?"

The solicitor hesitated in apparent indecision.

"There is very much more," he said at length. "You know and I know – though the world doesn't – that the late viscount was, and yet after a fashion was not, a married man."

Nina Darling nodded. She had always supposed that Mr. Widdicombe knew, since he had all the Kneedrocks' secrets; but she had never been quite sure. Then, in spite of herself, she smiled.

"We were like a certain class of suburban villas," she said – "semi-detached."

The old gentleman did not smile. "Quite so," he agreed.

"I think I begin to understand," she continued. "He met Miss Scripps in Tahiti, when he had no thought of ever returning to England. She fancied that he meant to marry her, and when he came away – left her forlorn – she induced old David Phipps to accompany her and follow after. Isn't that it?"

But there was no answering gleam of affirmation in the pale eyes of the legal luminary. "No," he answered, "not exactly. You forget, if you ever have known, that the late viscount while in that far country assumed the name of Scripps himself."

"Oh, of course," she rejoined; "I know that. I've always wondered why he chose such a horrid name."

"He never knew why himself."

"Never knew why?"

"No. You see, when he recovered his memory after the incident at Spion Kop he found himself at Cape Town in a shipping office, and he was known there as Henry Scripps. For reasons best known to himself he retained it."

Nina looked confused. All those questions and conjectural answers that had sprung into her mind on the finding of the letter in the St. James's Square suite came flooding back.

Of a sudden she spoke.

"Shouldn't she be Mrs. Scripps?" she asked pointedly.

"Not at all," was the quick answer. "There was a Mrs. Scripps, you see. Miss Agnes Scripps is in her tenth year. Her mother died when she was four. Her mother was David Phipps's sister."

Nina sank a trifle lower in her chair. It was the very last thing she expected. The weight of the revelation robbed her for the moment of words.

She had married, believing Kneedrock dead. But he had married, knowing her to be living. All her blood seemed rushing to her face. She was never more incensed.

Mr. Widdicombe was quick to note her emotion. "You must not forget, Mrs. Darling, that at this time the viscount believed he had completely buried himself in his island home. He had no intention of ever returning to England."

Her long, tapering fingers, each a psychic index, were playing a tattoo on the arms of her chair.

"If he wished to bury himself," she said warmly, "he should have remained dead. But he took pains to send me word that he was alive."

"That was before he left Africa, however; and he did so after some protest at my advice. It was purely to avoid certain possible legal complications."

Nina continued her nervous tapping. Presently she asked: "What was his wife like?"

Mr. Widdicombe's yellow, seamed cheeks took on a deeper color. They blushed – brownly. He was a bachelor of rigid impeccability, and he was embarrassed.

"There was never any service or ceremony," he said, looking away. "The prefix 'Mrs.' was assumed rather than warranted. In Papeete the moral code is somewhat lightly held."

Oddly enough, Nina appeared much relieved.

"Ah, I see!" she said. "That, of course, makes a difference – a very great difference."

The solicitor's eyes came back to her. "It does indeed," he affirmed. "And it is because of that difference that I am here. The little girl in Dundee, now that her uncle is dead, is without friends and penniless."

Mrs. Darling stood up.

"Lord Kneedrock made no provision for her?"