The Black Cabinet Read Online Free

boned waist of the nineties and affected a pince-nez on a thin gold chain which was always getting entangled in the old-fashioned watch-chain that clanked round her neck like a fetter.
    â€œChloe! Dear girl!” she exclaimed, and pecked at Chloe’s cheek. The pince-nez fell off, and had to be retrieved. “Dear girl, I’m always pleased to see you; but this afternoon it just happens—yes, it just happens—now, let me see, did I ask you for this afternoon?”
    â€œYou did,” said Chloe. “But it doesn’t matter a bit—if you were going out or anything of that sort—I can quite easily go home again.”
    â€œThen I did ask you.” Miss Tankerville looked round vaguely, as if she expected some sort of corroborative evidence to fall from the ceiling, “I did ask you then. Dear girl, I begin to remember. I met you in the High Street, and I asked you to come and have tea with me—but surely, surely it was for last Sunday.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter a bit,” Chloe repeated. She would have been quite pleased to go home. She wished very much that Miss Tankerville would stop holding her hand in the limp grasp that was so difficult to get away from.
    â€œLast Sunday surely. I know I was expecting you then, for I know I was just a little bit hurt when you didn’t come. And this afternoon now, this afternoon—”
    â€œIt really doesn’t matter, if you want to go out,” said Chloe for the third time.
    Miss Tankerville pressed the hand which she still held.
    â€œNo, no, I’m not going out, dear girl. It’s just a little—just the least little bit awkward, that’s all. You see, a chauffeur is a chauffeur. And though, of course, he isn’t one really, I’m not even sure whether he’ll come here in plain clothes or not. And I thought that if I were on the look-out for him, I might just let him in myself—on account of Susan, you know. You see, he’d be sure to leave his cap in the hall, wouldn’t he? And I thought that perhaps, without his cap on, Susan would hardly notice anything when she brought in the tea. And if you don’t mind, dear girl, will you just come over to the window so that I can keep my eye on the drive? Maids do gossip so dreadfully—and I can’t explain to Susan that his mother is really Lady Enniston, can I?”
    Chloe got her hand away at last, and said, “No, I suppose not.” Then she sat down on the window seat, looked with dancing eyes at Miss Tankerville’s harassed profile, and made an inward vow not to stir from the spot until she had seen the mysterious visitor who was going to make the tea-party “a little bit awkward.”
    â€œIf you can’t tell Susan, I think you might tell me,” she said. “Who is it that isn’t really a chauffeur?—and why is he coming to tea?—and do you really want me to go away? It all sounds most exciting.”
    Miss Tankerville adjusted her pince-nez and peered into the mist. Chloe was a dear girl, a very dear girl; but of course she was working at Miss Allardyce’s; and would Maud Enniston really like dear Michael to be introduced to a girl as pretty as Chloe who was only a dressmaker’s hand? Then, conversely, Michael, dear Michael, might at any moment arrive in a chauffeur’s uniform and wearing that terrible cap. Chloe Dane was the grand-daughter of old Mr. Dane of Danesborough, such a very proud old man, and a regular patrician—a regular patrician. Now, how could one introduce a chauffeur in uniform to Miss Chloe Dane of Danesborough? Miss Tankerville turned from the window with nervous perplexity large on every feature.
    â€œYou see, dear girl,” she began in her most flustered voice, “your grandfather—perhaps you don’t remember him as I do, but I can never help feeling just a little bit responsible to him. And dear Michael—you see, it’s so