THE WOULDBEGOODS
collar-stud and tie and blazer, and his hair tidy, and wrenched the unoffending machine from Oswald's surprised fingers.
Albert's uncle finished pumping up the tire, and then, flinging himself into the saddle, he set off, scorching down the road at a pace not surpassed by any highwayman, however black and high-mettled his steed.
We were left looking at each other.
"He must have recognized her," Dicky said.
"Perhaps," Noël said, "she is the old nurse who alone knows the dark secret of his high-born birth."
"Not old enough, by chalks," Oswald said.
"I shouldn't wonder," said Alice, "if she holds the secret of the will that will make him rolling in long-lost wealth."
"I wonder if he'll catch her," Noël said. "I'm quite certain all his future depends on it. Perhaps she's his long-lost sister, and the estate was left to them equally, only she couldn't be found, so it couldn't be shared up."
"Perhaps he's only in love with her," Dora said; "parted by cruel fate at an early age, he has ranged the wide world ever since trying to find her."
"I hope to goodness he hasn't—anyway, he's not ranged since we knew him—never farther than Hastings," Oswald said. "We don't want any of that rot."
"What rot?" Daisy asked. And Oswald said:
"Getting married, and all that sort of rubbish."
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