The Heath Hover Mystery

thespeaker's mind. If the latter were to go out herself with the object ofsending the telegram, who knew but that she might not find herselfrefused re-admission? In justice it is only fair to say that such anextreme measure would not have been adopted. Still, as the girl hadsaid, she had got to take care of herself.

  "Very well, write your telegram then," she snapped, and rustled out.

  Melian went over to a writing table, found a telegraph form, and havingfilled it in, rang the bell and dispatched it. Then she went up to herroom.

  So she had lost her means of livelihood. It was not a very congenialmeans of livelihood, still it might have been worse--infinitely worse--and this she candidly acknowledged. There was little sympathy betweenherself and her employer. The latter had treated her with a certaincourtesy, but she was a hard, dictatorial, narrow minded type of woman,and utterly intolerant of contradiction in any shape or form. As forthe nominal head of the house he was a mere nonentity, a mere cipher.Outside its limits he was a fairly prosperous stockbroker, and onlyreturned home to dine and sleep, and seldom speak. Her charges were notparticularly interesting or engaging children; empty-headed, selfish,and thoroughly spoilt. Still she managed to get on with them--and whatwas more--to get them on. And now she had to leave; to lose her meansof livelihood for the time being--and Heaven only knew where and how shewas going to obtain another--and all because a silly boy now at theother end of the world had chosen to fall in love with her at this.

  Yet as she caught her three parts length reflection in the glass, MelianMervyn Seward would have been no woman had she not known that upon thataccount the boy was not so silly after all. For it framed a reallyexquisite picture--that of a beautifully proportioned figure, neithertall nor short, in fact exactly the right height for a woman. Thewell-poised head, gleaming gold under the electric light was set upon afull, rounded throat. The blue eyes, beneath their well marked browswere steadfast, and full of character, and even more so if possible theset of the mouth. But the contour of cheeks and chin was perfect, andnow that the reaction after the strife had brought an unusual glow ofcolour to the former the face was absolutely lovely. Here was a girlwho well and tastefully dressed would have created more than a sensationin any big ballroom, and now she stood there realising more and more howutterly helpless and alone in the world she was, with her only means oflivelihood taken from her, and with very precarious chances of findinganother.

  "Little fool!" she muttered with a stamp of the foot against the fenderbar; the exclamation not being directed against herself but against herabsent adorer. "Little fool! I expect he'll feel pretty sick when hehears what he's been the means of doing--if he ever does hear. Still--he couldn't help it, I suppose."

  Looking up, the blue eyes suddenly filled, then overflowed, for they hadencountered a portrait of her dead father. She caught up the frame fromthe mantelpiece, and pressed her red warm lips passionately against thecold glass, murmuring words of love and tenderness. Then she sank intoa low chair and sobbed unrestrainedly--it may be that the reaction ofthe nervous system after her late passage of arms had something to dowith the breakdown. There came a knock at the door. Instantly shesprang to her feet, dashing the tears away. Heavens! they would beattributed to grief and fear over her dismissal. That would not do--nonot for anything. It was difficult, however, to regain her self commandat a brace of seconds' notice, and the maid who now entered with atelegram, subsequently and as a matter of course did set them down tothat very cause.

  The wire was a reply from her friend, a girl who made a living as atypist, and hardly comes within the scope of our story except in so farthat now she wired that she could take Melian into her modest quartersfor a night or two while the latter "looked about her." This was so farsatisfactory. Melian wrote out another telegram in reply, saying shewas coming on in a couple of hours, and gave it to the maid, whichmessage of course supplied that young person with something to talkabout, and conjecture about, below stairs. Then she set to work to packin earnest.

  Mrs Carstairs was not quite happy in her mind, while sitting in hermorning-room waiting for her discharged _employee_ to come and take herleave--and her salary. She was not a bad hearted woman _au fond_, onlythere were times when the "_fond_" took a good deal of getting at. Nowshe had qualms. Miss Seward had not been wrong in saying she had givenher good money's worth. She certainly had done that, and now the womanwas already consumed with misgivings as to how she was going to supplyher place. But as Miss Seward entered, this misgiving merged into afeeling of vague self-gratulation that it had turned out for the best.The girl was looking lovely. Quietly but tastefully dressed, herpatrician blood and bearing was never so manifest. She wore a largeblack hat--large without exaggeration--which framed and set off thebeautiful refined face, and the velvety blue eyes. No, assuredly shewas too dangerously pretty to keep; otherwise there is no telling thatshe would not have climbed down even at the eleventh hour.

  "Here is your cheque, Miss Seward," she said, "and there is the receiptform." Then having seen this duly signed, she added stiffly--"And now,good-bye."

  "Good-bye, Mrs Carstairs. I'll just repeat to you. There was no harmwhatever in that letter. I did not feel justified in showing you--onlyon principle, mind. Good-bye, children."

  For the two girls had just come in. There was, as we said, nothingengaging about them. They were gawky plain girls, sallow faced andinclined to be hook-nosed too, with a skimpy black pigtail hanging downeach of their backs. They showed no more feeling on parting with Melianthan if she were just getting up from an afternoon call. They eachstuck a limp bony paw into her palm, and there was an end of it.

  She went downstairs. Her luggage--by no means the traditional, andfeminine, "mountain of luggage"--was being stowed in and on a cab. Adoor on the ground floor opened into the hall. Within this stood the--nominal--master of the house.

  "I hear you're leaving us, Miss Seward. I'm sorry," he began ratherjerkily. "Will you kindly step in here for a moment?"

  Melian wondered, but complied. Seen in the full light, he was a quietlooking, keen faced man, keen as to the upper part of his face--thatrepresented his moderate success on the Stock Exchange--falling away inthe lower--that represented his subsidiary position as merely nominalmaster in his own house.

  "I'm sorry," he repeated. "You're very young, and I understand, alonein the world. This fuss, whatever it's about, is clean outside mydepartment, but remember, if ever you want a friend--either to speak agood word for you--or what not--remember me. Good-bye, child."

  She flashed a bright smile at him as she took the hand which jerkilyshot forth at her. Then she went out.

  "By gad, she's lovely!" exclaimed Carstairs, staring after her, "and thevery perfection of a lady too. What a fool Adelina is to have got ridof one like that."

  And Adelina, who from the upper landing was privily assistingauricularly at this scene, was for once, inclined to agree with thesubmissive one. Certainly it would not be easy to find an adequatesubstitute.

  "Still--she's too pretty," she told herself with something of a sigh."Too pretty, and--too proud. Yes--far too proud."

  And this reflection seemed to carry something of consolation as her mindwent back to that scene in the forenoon, and how the girl haduncompromisingly declined to capitulate, while she herself had come outof it with far from flying colours.

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  INTERIM--"FLU."

  The Carstairs abode was a large, dull, ugly villa in a large, dull, uglysuburb--one of those depressing suburbs that is neither town nor countrybut has the disadvantages of both and the advantages of neither. But itwas cheerfulness itself compared with the locality through whichMelian's cab was now slowly jogging. The squalor of the greasy streets;the dank, thick atmosphere; the hoarse, scarcely human yells and theincessant rumble and clatter attendant on that sort of locality are toowell known to need any describing.

  Leaning back in the mouldy vehicle, she set her mind to go over theevent
s of the last few hours. Had she been ill advised, hasty--sheasked herself? Their behaviour at the very last had seemed to show theywere not such ill-meaning people. Yet, as she looked back she knew thatrelations between them had been getting more and more strained. Forsome reason or other Mrs Carstairs had been growing more and more shortin her manner towards her, and now she knew that reason. The old womanhad had her suspicions all along, but the discovery of the climaxbrought things to a head. But the whole thing was ludicrous, and allabout a little booby like that--Melian's lip curled as she thus ratherunjustly characterised the distant cause of all the bother.

  The drive was long and the cab slow. She had time to let her thoughtsgo further back from her present troubles--the future was not a welcomesubject, looked at sitting alone there