"We merely happened to meet at the castle. She came there quite
independently of me."
Lord Marshmoreton looked alarmed. "You didn't know her?" he said
anxiously.
"Certainly I knew her. She is an old friend of mine. But if you are
hinting . . ."
"Not at all," rejoined the earl, profoundly relieved. "Not at all.
I ask merely because this young lady, with whom I had some
conversation, was good enough to give me her name and address. She,
too, happened to mistake me for a gardener."
"It's those corduroy trousers," murmured George in extenuation.
"I have unfortunately lost them."
"You can always get another pair."
"Eh?"
"I say you can always get another pair of corduroy trousers."
"I have not lost my trousers. I have lost the young lady's name and
address."
"Oh!"
"I promised to send her some roses. She will be expecting them."
"That's odd. I was just reading a letter from her when you came in.
That must be what she's referring to when she says, 'If you see
dadda, the old dear, tell him not to forget my roses.' I read it
three times and couldn't make any sense out of it. Are you Dadda?"
The earl smirked. "She did address me in the course of our
conversation as dadda."
"Then the message is for you."
"A very quaint and charming girl. What is her name? And where can I
find her?"
"Her name's Billie Dore."
"Billie?"
"Billie."
"Billie!" said Lord Marshmoreton softly. "I had better write it
down. And her address?"
"I don't know her private address. But you could always reach her
at the Regal Theatre."
"Ah! She is on the stage?"
"Yes. She's in my piece, 'Follow the Girl'."
"Indeed! Are you a playwright, Mr. Bevan?"
"Good Lord, no!" said George, shocked. "I'm a composer."
"Very interesting. And you met Miss Dore through her being in this
play of yours?"
"Oh, no. I knew her before she went on the stage. She was a
stenographer in a music-publisher's office when we first met."
"Good gracious! Was she really a stenographer?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Oh--ah--nothing, nothing. Something just happened to come to my
mind."
What happened to come into Lord Marshmoreton's mind was a fleeting
vision of Billie installed in Miss Alice Faraday's place as his
secretary. With such a helper it would be a pleasure to work on
that infernal Family History which was now such a bitter toil. But
the day-dream passed. He knew perfectly well that he had not the
courage to dismiss Alice. In the hands of that calm-eyed girl he
was as putty. She exercised over him the hypnotic spell a
lion-tamer exercises over his little playmates.