Her Ladyship's Elephant

"There is sure to be a train this evening, sir."

"It has been a chapter of accidents," he said, explaining it to Mrs. Allingford, "but we had better go to Winchester, I think; it is on the way anyhow."

"Yes," she assented, "and then get on to Basingstoke as fast as we can, and not be discouraged."

"Quite right," he replied, and entered into a description of Southampton docks and the varied cargoes that were received there, in the hope of distracting her mind.

"Oh, look!" she cried, as, once more started on their travels, they came in sight of the shipping, "see what they are loading on that truck! I do believe it is an elephant!"

After what seemed an interminable journey, they at length arrived at Winchester, and as soon as Scarsdale had seen Mrs. Allingford established in the ladies' waiting-room, he hastened to ascertain their chances of getting to Basingstoke that night. On his return he wore a very long face, which his companion was not slow to interpret.

"Are there no trains?" she exclaimed, in evident dismay.

"There is one," he replied, "but we should not reach our destination till very late, almost midnight in fact, and we cannot tell that we should find your husband even then. I think our best course would be to remain here."

"Oh, but that is impossible."

"No, there is a very fair hotel."

"I didn't mean that. But can't you see the position in which I am placed?"

He did see, and he knew that what he proposed seemed to her almost an impossibility; but as they were now situated he considered that circumstances altered cases.

"I am sure, Mrs. Allingford," he said, "that your good sense, which has carried you through so much this afternoon, will show you the necessity of acting as I have suggested. You must not forget that you are now a married woman, and can do things which before were not permissible."

"Still," she contended, "to go to a public hotel with a gentleman who is a comparative stranger, and pass the night there, seems to me not the thing at all; and if we were recognised by anybody – " She paused, hardly knowing how to complete her sentence.

"Then go alone. There are other hotels; I will put up somewhere else," he replied.

"No, no, I couldn't be left alone; I've never been alone before in my life. That would be worse than all else. You see, if you were only related to me it would be so different."

"I am quite willing to pass myself off as any relation you please, for the sake of appearances."

"But that would be deceitful."

"I think the exigencies of the case will excuse that; besides, it is my own affair, not yours. Will you have me as a brother for one night only?" he asked, laughing.

"But I have no brother," she replied.

"Then as your husband's brother," he suggested; "that would be better still, as he is an American and not known here."

"Do you really think it best?"

"To save you annoyance, I think it is a pardonable deception. What is his name?"

"Richard. But I don't know much about him."

"Then we will consider that that is settled," he said cheerfully, and, without giving her time to argue the matter, summoned a fly, which presently deposited them bag and baggage at the hotel door. To make assurance doubly sure, he hastened to sign their names in the visitors' book:

"Mrs. Robert Allingford, Christchurch, England.

"Mr. Richard Allingford, U.S.A."

"Can you give my sister and me good rooms for to-night?" he asked the landlady.

"Yes, sir, two nice rooms just opposite each other."

He said that that would do very well, and they were soon installed.

Once in her apartment, Mrs. Allingford indulged in a good cry, while Scarsdale strolled out before dinner to have a smoke and think it over. He did not see much further use in telegraphing just at that moment. Later it would, perhaps, be well to send a message to Basingstoke, saying that they were detained at Winchester and would come on next morning; for he had quickly learned that Mrs. Scarsdale and Mr. Allingford would be able to leave the train at Salisbury, and justly surmised that they had done so.

Presently, having finished his cigar, he returned to the hotel to find Mrs. Allingford ready for dinner, and much refreshed by her tears and subsequent ablutions. They neither of them ate much, and after the fish they gave up any attempt to make conversation as worse than useless, and finished the repast in silence.

"I'm afraid," she said, as she folded her napkin, "that you've found me very poor company."

"I'm nothing to boast of myself," he replied.

"I hope they are not as miserable as we are," she added, as they rose to leave the table. "I haven't been able to eat a thing."

Scarsdale did not reply; he had a gloomy suspicion that his wife was making a very good meal somewhere. Not that he doubted her love; but he did not believe her devotion included loss of appetite.

"Don't you think they are miserable?" she queried, uneasy at his silence.

"Not so miserable as we are," he said. "They are both Americans, you see, and Americans don't take things seriously as a rule."

"What do you suppose they are doing?" was her next question.

"Seated swinging their feet over the edge of Salisbury platform, finishing my five-pound box of American candy," he said.

She tried to be amused, and even forced a little laugh; but it was a dismal failure, and, realising it, she at once excused herself and retired to her room for the night, leaving Scarsdale to pass the evening as best he could. He approved of her circumspection, but it was beastly dull, and, as he sat smoking in the winter garden which the hotel boasted, he felt that he should soon become insufferably bored.

He presently, therefore, overcame his natural reserve sufficiently to respond to the advances of the only person in the room who seemed inclined to be sociable. The stranger was a florid, shaggy-bearded man of a distinctively American type, a person Scarsdale would naturally have avoided under ordinary circumstances; but to-night he felt the need of human society, no matter whose, and in a few moments they had drifted into conversation. At first the subjects under discussion were harmless enough, relating mainly to Winchester and neighbouring points of interest, concerning which Scarsdale was forced to confess himself ignorant, as it was his first visit to the place. Before long, however, they began to touch on more dangerous ground, and he saw that, even with a casual acquaintance of this sort, he must be guarded if he was to remain consistent in his role of brother to the deserted bride.

"Were you ever in America?" was the first question which startled him.

He replied in the affirmative, as he could honestly do, having been taken by his father to Canada when but a lad. But the stranger was not satisfied, and began, after the manner of his nation, a series of leading questions, which kept Scarsdale busy in trying to assimilate with some regard to truth the character he had chosen. It was at this moment that a waiter came to him and asked in a perfectly audible voice if he was Mr. Richard Allingford. Scarsdale was forced to admit the fact, and to reply to a message sent, as the waiter took unnecessary pains to explain, "By your sister, sir."

"Excuse me," interjected his companion, "but may I ask if your sister's name is Mrs. Robert Allingford?"

The Englishman would have given worlds to deny the fact, but in the presence of the waiter, who still lingered, and in the face of the evidence in the visitors' book, only one course was open to him, and he replied reluctantly in the affirmative.

"Wife of the United States Consul at Christchurch?"

"Yes," said Scarsdale.

Now he could once more tell the truth, he felt happier; but he had a premonition that all was not well, and heartily wished he had never encouraged this American, who might know more than was convenient.

"Why, Dick!" said that personage, leaning across the little table that separated them, and grasping both his hands – "Why, Dick! Don't you know me?"