bag. She had once more begun trembling violently. And whether this was from joy or fear she was not certain, for two conflicting thoughts had sprung almost simultaneously into her brain. One, “This is some kind of good news!” The other, “Father is seriously ill!” She managed to tear the envelope open, and found a telegram which occupied two pages, and which she had the greatest difficulty in understanding. It ran:
“Rejoice in the lord o ye righteous note of exclamation great news note of exclamation your reputation absolutely reestablished stop mrs semprill fallen into the pit that she hath digged stop action for libel stop no one believes her any longer stop your father wishes you return home immediately stop am coming up to town myself comma will pick you up if you like stop arriving shortly after this stop wait for me stop praise him with the loud cymbals note of exclamation much love stop.”
No need to look at the signature. It was from Mr. Warburton, of course. Dorothy felt weaker and more tremulous than ever. She was dimly aware that the telegraph boy was asking her something.
“Any answer?” he said for the third or fourth time.
“Not to-day, thank you,” said Dorothy vaguely.
The boy remounted his bicycle and rode off, whistling with extra loudness to show Dorothy how much he despised her for not tipping him. But Dorothy was unaware of the telegraph boy’s scorn. The only phrase of the telegram that she had fully understood was “your father wishes you return home immediately,” and the surprise of it had left her in a semi-dazed condition. For some indefinite time she stood on the pavement, in the cold wind, thinking the vaguest thoughts imaginable, until presently a taxi rolled up the street, with Mr. Warburton inside it. He saw Dorothy, stopped the taxi, jumped out and came across to meet her, beaming. He seized her by both hands.
“Hullo!” he cried, and at once threw his arm pseudo-paternally about her and drew her against him, heedless of who might be looking. “How are you? But by Jove, how thin you’ve got! I can feel all your ribs. Where is this school of yours?”
Dorothy, who had not yet managed to get free of his arm, turned partly round and cast a glance towards the dark windows of Ringwood House.
“What! That place? Good God, what a hole! What have you done with your luggage?”
“It’s inside. I’ve left them the money to send it on. I think it’ll be all right.”
“Oh, nonsense! Why pay? We’ll take it with us. It can go on top of the taxi.”
“No, no! Let them send it. I daren’t go back. Mrs. Creevy would be horribly angry.”
“Mrs. Creevy? Who’s Mrs. Creevy?”
“The headmistress—at least, she owns the school.”
“What, a dragon, is she? Leave her to me—I’ll deal with her. Perseus and the gorgon, what? You are Andromeda. Hi!” he called to the taxi-driver.
The two of them went up to the front door and Mr. Warburton knocked. Somehow, Dorothy never believed that they would succeed in getting her box from Mrs. Creevy. In fact, she half expected to see them come out flying for their lives, and Mrs. Creevy after them with her broom. However, in a couple of minutes they reappeared, the taxi-driver carrying the box on his shoulder. Mr. Warburton handed Dorothy into the taxi and, as they sat down, dropped half a crown into her hand.
“What a woman! What a woman!” he said comprehensively as the taxi bore them away. “How the devil have you put up with it all this time?”
“What is this?” said Dorothy, looking at the coin.
“Your half-crown that you left to pay for the luggage. Rather a feat getting it out of the old girl, wasn’t it?”
“But I left five shillings!” said Dorothy.
“What! The woman told me you only left half a crown. By God, what impudence! We’ll go back and have that half-crown out of her. Just to spite her!” He tapped on the glass.
“No, no!” said Dorothy, laying her hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter in the least. Let’s get away from here—right away. I couldn’t bear to go back to that place again—ever!”
It was quite true. She felt that she would sacrifice not merely half a crown, but all the money in her possession, sooner than set eyes on Ringwood House again. So they drove on, leaving Mrs. Creevy victorious. It would be interesting to know whether this was another of the occasions when Mrs. Creevy laughed.
Mr. Warburton insisted on taking the taxi the whole way into London, and talked so voluminously in the quieter patches of the traffic that Dorothy could hardly get a word in edgeways. It was not till they had reached the inner suburbs that she got from him an explanation of the sudden change in her fortunes.
“Tell me,” she said, “what is it that’s happened? I don’t understand. Why is it all right for me to go home all of a sudden? Why don’t people believe Mrs. Semprill any longer? Surely she hasn’t confessed?”
“Confessed? Not she! But her sins have found her out, all the same. It was the kind of thing that you pious people would ascribe to the finger of Providence. Cast thy bread upon the waters, and all that. She got herself into a nasty mess—an action for libel. We’ve talked of nothing else in Knype Hill for the last fortnight. I thought you would have seen something about it in the newspapers.”
“I’ve hardly looked at a paper for ages. Who brought an action for libel? Not my father, surely?”
“Good gracious, no! Clergymen can’t bring actions for libel. It was the bank manager. Do you remember her favourite story about him—how he was keeping a woman on the bank’s money, and so forth?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“A few months ago she was foolish enough to put some of it in writing. Some kind friend—some female friend, I presume—took the letter round to the bank manager. He brought an action—Mrs. Semprill was ordered to pay a hundred and fifty pounds damages. I don’t suppose she paid a halfpenny, but still, that’s the end of her career as a scandalmonger. You can go on blackening people’s reputations for years, and everyone will believe you, more or less, even when it’s perfectly obvious that you’re lying. But once you’ve been proved a liar in open court, you’re disqualified, so to speak. Mrs. Semprill’s done for, so far as Knype Hill goes. She left the town between days—practically did a moonlight flit, in fact. I believe she’s inflicting herself on Bury St. Edmunds at present.”
“But what has all that got to do with the things she said about you and me?”
“Nothing—nothing whatever. But why worry? The point is that you’re reinstated; and all the hags who’ve been smacking their chops over you for months past are saying, ‘Poor, poor Dorothy, how shockingly that dreadful woman has treated her!’ ”
“You mean they think that because Mrs. Semprill was telling lies in one case she must have been telling lies in another?”
“No doubt that’s what they’d say if they were capable of reasoning it out. At any rate, Mrs. Semprill’s in disgrace, and so all the people she’s slandered must be martyrs. Even my reputation is practically spotless for the time being.”
“And do you think that’s really the end of it? Do you think they honestly believe that it was all an accident—that
