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vourite, as he well deserved to be, and his beautiful wife was regarded with a fervent admiration, which her very aloofness had served to heighten. Other ladies might call round at cottage doors, and talk intimately concerning book clubs, and Dorcas societies, but no one expected such condescension from Mrs Geoffrey Hilliard. She whizzed along in her great green car, or cantered past on her tall brown horse, followed by a groom in livery, vouchsafing a gracious smile in return for bows and curtseys. On Sundays she sat ensconced in the great square pew, a vision of stately beauty. ... The good dames of the village felt it the great privilege of this evening to see the squire's lady without her hat, with diamonds flashing at her throat, smiling, laughing, singing--a goddess descended from her pedestal to make merry on their behalf. And so at last in the midst of this simple happiness came the time for the last item on the programme--that double tableau which every person in the hall was fated to remember, to the last day of his life! CHAPTER THIRTEEN. THE ACCIDENT. The curtain drew up on the first tableau. Joan sang appropriate words in the sweetest tones of her rich contralto voice, her eyes, like those of the audience, riveted on the face of the little invalid as he lay on his truckle bed. White-cheeked, bandaged, reclining, the transformation in the child's appearance was astounding. Considered as a piece of stage-craft, Joan had every reason to congratulate herself on the result, but the mother's heart felt a pang of dismay. The representation was too life-like! Just so would the darling look if the illness were real, not imaginary. In the afternoon he had not looked so ghastly. Was the double excitement too much for his strength? Joan's eyes turned from the stage to the first row of seats, where her husband had his place. Geoffrey looked worried; his brows contracted as he watched his son. Unconsciously Joan quickened the pace of the last verse of her song. She was anxious to get to the second tableau, to see Jack sitting up, smiling, his eyes alert. The curtain fell. A low murmur from the audience swelled into somewhat forced applause. The villagers also, Joan realised, had felt the scene to be almost too realistic. Behind the scenes Honor as nurse and Pixie as mother propped the child's back with cushions, and showered kisses on his white cheeks. "Smile, Jackey, smile!" they cried
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