A Damsel in Distress

Out on the terrace the night was very still. From a steel-blue sky

the stars looked down as calmly as they had looked on the night of

the ball, when George had waited by the shrubbery listening to the

wailing of the music and thinking long thoughts. From the dark

meadows by the brook came the cry of a corncrake, its harsh note

softened by distance.

"What shall we do?" said Maud. She was sitting on the stone seat

where Reggie Byng had sat and meditated on his love for Alice

Faraday and his unfortunate habit of slicing his approach-shots. To

George, as he stood beside her, she was a white blur in the

darkness. He could not see her face.

"I don't know!" he said frankly.

Nor did he. Like Lady Caroline and Lord Belpher and Keggs, the

butler, he had been completely overwhelmed by Lord Marshmoreton's

dramatic announcement. The situation had come upon him unheralded

by any warning, and had found him unequal to it.

A choking sound suddenly proceeded from the whiteness that was

Maud. In the stillness it sounded like some loud noise. It jarred

on George's disturbed nerves.

"Please!"

"I c-can't help it!"

"There's nothing to cry about, really! If we think long enough, we

shall find some way out all right. Please don't cry."

"I'm not crying!" The choking sound became an unmistakable ripple of

mirth. "It's so absurd! Poor father getting up like that in front

of everyone! Did you see Aunt Caroline's face?"

"It haunts me still," said George. "I shall never forget it. Your

brother didn't seem any too pleased, either."

Maud stopped laughing.

"It's an awful position," she said soberly. "The announcement will

be in the Morning Post the day after tomorrow. And then the letters

of congratulation will begin to pour in. And after that the

presents. And I simply can't see how we can convince them all that

there has been a mistake." Another aspect of the matter struck her.

"It's so hard on you, too."

"Don't think about me," urged George. "Heaven knows I'd give the

whole world if we could just let the thing go on, but there's no

use discussing impossibilities." He lowered his voice. "There's no

use, either, in my pretending that I'm not going to have a pretty

bad time. But we won't discuss that. It was my own fault. I came

butting in on your life of my own free will, and, whatever happens,

it's been worth it to have known you and tried to be of service to

you."

"You're the best friend I've ever had."

"I'm glad you think that."