UMILIATIONS

After all, we did not start on the day after to-morrow. Our luncheon had
been on Tuesday. On Wednesday a note came, sent by hand from Mrs.
Kidder, to say that she could not possibly be ready until Friday, and
that as Friday was an unlucky day to begin any enterprise, we had better
put off starting until Saturday. But I must not "think her changeable,
as she really had a very good reason"; and she was mine "Cordially,
Kathryn Stanley Kidder-Dalmar."

Having first stated that she could not be ready, and then added her
reason was good, I naturally imagined there was more in the delay than
met the eye. My fancy showed me the hand of Prince Dalmar-Kalm, and I
firmly believed that each finger of that hand to say nothing of the
thumb, was busily working against us.

All Thursday and Friday I expected at any moment to receive an
intimation that, owing to unforseen circumstances (which might not be
explained) the Countess and her party were unable to carry out the
arrangement they had entered into with us. But Thursday passed, and
nothing happened. Friday wore on towards evening, and the constant
strain upon my nerves had made me irritable. Terry, who was calmly
getting ready for the start as if there were no cause for uncertainty,
chaffed me on my state of mind, and I rounded upon him viciously, for
was not all my scheming for his sake?

I was in the act of pointing out several of his most prominent defects,
and shedding cigarette ashes into his suit-case as he packed, when
Felicite appeared with a letter.

"It's from her!" I gasped. "And--she's got her coronet. It's on the
envelope, as large as life."

"Which means that she's ready," said the future chauffeur, examining a
suit of overalls.

"Don't be so cocksure," said I, opening the letter. "Hum--ha--well, yes,
it does seem to be all right, if you can ever judge a woman's intentions
by what she says. She wants to know whether the arrangement stands, that
we're to call for them at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, and whether
we're to go rain or shine. I'll scratch off a line in answer, and say
yes--yes--yes, to everything."

I did so with a trembling hand, and then gave myself up to the weakness
of reaction. Upon Felicite fell the task of doing my packing, which
consisted in cramming a suit of flannels, my evening things, and all the
linen it would hold without bursting asunder, into a large, fitted
suit-case. Terry had a suit-case too, five times better