taken in all the time too; that'll make it easier for her."
"And the others—must I tell them too?"
"No necessity at all," said Mr. Tombs.
"Oh, they're beginning to play again; we must go in," said Lucilla, jumping up. "Mr, Tombs, you really are a lamb to have warned me. I'll tell her to-morrow."
This, you would have thought, was enough to complete the evening's happenings. But no. After a most enjoyable fox-trot, the elder Mr. Thornton asked leave to tell Lucilla that Miss Antrobus "had the knife into her," and advised her to own that she, Lucilla, and she only, had been, in truth, Aunt Harriet.
"You acted splendidly," he said. "No one could have spotted you; only we're professionals, you see—and even we didn't catch on for the first day or two. It was Miss Quested's cold, cynical indifference to her aunt that opened my wife's eyes and gave the show away."
"Do you think anyone else guesses?"
"Oh no," said Mr. Thornton eagerly. "Rochester and Dix and Tombs are absolutely deceived. You ought to go on the stage—such acting, by an amateur; so delicate, so sustained—it was absolutely a triumph. If only Miss Quested had acted the good niece a hundredth part as well as you acted the good aunt . . . But she didn't. If you'll allow me to advise you, you'll let the cat out of the bag to Miss Antrobus at the earliest possible moment."
Mr. Rochester found an opportunity to say, "Hilda Antrobus is on the war-path. I should own up if I were you."
And Mr. Dix crowned the evening by saying, "You'll have to tell Miss Antrobus. She thinks your aunt has been unkindly used—and she's so generous and fine: she hates unkindness. You'll have to undeceive her. She won't be hard on you. She's the soul of goodness and gentleness. And so strong and faithful with it. She loathes deception of any kind, that's all. Have it out and get it over. Clear the sky. She'll forgive you."
