Chapter 13: Dolly’s Trouble

“BY-THE-BYE—” exclaimed Mervyn.

“Something very important?” asked Margot, as he stopped.

“Well, no! A sudden idea. I came across a young lady in town, not long ago, who seemed immensely interested in all of you—in Dolly especially.”

Dolly’s head came round with an air of languid attention.

“A Miss Tracy,” said Mervyn.

Margot’s eyes wore the look which means recognition of something or somebody, though she only said, “Yes.”

“You know the name?”

“There was a brother-officer of my father’s, years ago, named Tracy.”

“And Miss Tracy said something about a former friend of her father’s, named Erskine.”

“What is Miss Tracy like?”

“About Dolly’s age, I imagine, but she looks older. May be the effect of wearing glasses; and nobody would take Dolly for more than fifteen, —I beg your pardon, Dolly! Miss Tracy’s name is Dorothea.”

The look of recognition came again to Margot’s eyes.

“Ah!” said Mervyn.

“Is she one of a family, —or an only daughter?”

“She has a father, —that is all. No brothers or sisters. He seems to be a cantankerous old fellow. I stumbled upon them in the Park—the Colonel snoring, and his daughter keeping guard over him. We had a little private confab, not a word of which he heard, after which he solemnly avowed that he hadn’t been to sleep. Miss Tracy’s manner of taking the fiction was perfect. He knows nobody and goes nowhere; so the young lady’s round of spring gaieties consisted of one afternoon tea.”

“What is she like? Pretty?”

“Rather hard to say. She is pretty and not pretty. Sometimes the one and sometimes the other. Curiously self-possessed, for a girl who has never been into society; and simplicity itself. With a spice of keenness and oddity. Oh, she is uncommon, and decidedly taking. Improves on acquaintance. You must have heard of her, by-the-bye! She is the heroine who saved old Mrs. Effingham last Christmas from being run over. Edred was on the spot.”

Dolly’s interest, languid hitherto, was wide awake now.

“We never heard,” she said. “Mrs. Effingham?”

“A friend of Edred’s. I know her name,” observed Margot.

“Edred had better give you the facts himself. There he is!”

Mervyn stood up, and after some vigorous signals from him, Edred approached, —not too willingly, it would seem from his manner.

“I say, I want you to describe that little scene last Christmas, when Miss Tracy saved Mrs. Effingham from being run over. Margot and Dolly have never heard of it.”

Edred looked reluctant.

“Yes, I remember,” he said.

“How did it happen?” inquired Margot, while Dolly sat motionless, rigid with the effort not to tremble.

“Mrs. Effingham slipped down on a slide, after leaving the church. A hansom cab would have been upon her, but Miss Tracy pulled her away in time. No one else was within reach.”

A drier statement could hardly have been made, but all who knew Edred knew that any amount of unexpressed admiration might lie below.

“How plucky of her!” exclaimed Margot.

Edred merely said, “Yes.”

“And you were there?”

“I was there—not near enough to act, unhappily.”

“Ah, that is why nobody has heard the story. Men don’t like to be outdone by a girl. But it was not your fault.”

“No.”

“And the old lady was not hurt?”

“No.”

“She was infinitely grateful,” said Mervyn. “Em and I called upon her one day, and found her in a state of gush. Miss Tracy was there also; so we had an opportunity to inspect the heroine.”

“Did she bear her honours meekly?” asked Dolly, in an odd constrained voice.

“She didn’t seem aware of their existence. Em acted the icicle as usual, and Miss Tracy studied her—rather amused, I thought. She has a piquant way of looking at one through her glasses; unlike the rest of the world. Mrs. Effingham was unutterably grateful to me for doing the polite.”