Grey Mask

“Because you aren’t old enough,” said Archie. “You’re just a blessed baby, and I should be a perfect brute if I asked you to marry me.”

Margot’s bright round eyes filled with angry tears. She pulled her hands away with a jerk.

“Why, I’m eighteen! Lots of people are married by the time they’re eighteen. One of the girls at school had a sister who was engaged six times before she was eighteen.” She began to cry. “I think it’s frightfully horrid of you. And you’ve spoilt my first proposal. And-and-you needn’t think I’d have said ‘yes.’ And you needn’t think I like you the least little bit, because I don’t!”

“Look here, darlin’-”

“I think you’re frightfully horrid!” said Margot with a sob. Then suddenly she caught him by the hand. “You did say you loved me, didn’t you?”

“I oughtn’t to have said it.”

Margot pinched him very hard.

“I hate you when you talk like that. You kissed me, and you did say you loved me-you know you did. And then you go and spoil everything by saying I’m not old enough.” She made a snuggling movement towards him. “Archie- darling-do propose to me properly. I might say ‘yes’ if you ask me frightfully nicely.” Then she looked up and gave a little scream.

Archie turned around.

A man with thick grey hair and rather hard features was leaning on the end of the sofa. His expression was one of amusement.

Archie sprang up. He stared at the man, and his jaw dropped. A dozen different photographs of this man had frowned or smiled in just this sarcastic ma

The man spoke. There was a suspicion of a northern burr in his voice.

“How do you do, Mr. Millar? I must introduce myself. My name is Edward Standing.”

CHAPTER XL

Archie felt a tug at his sleeve. Margot had jumped up, scattering her chocolates. She hung on his arm, laughing and excited.

“Archie, you didn’t guess, did you? Papa, I didn’t tell him. I wanted to frightfully, but I didn’t. So you see I can keep a promise. I didn’t tell him a single word-did I, Archie? Archie, isn’t it frightfully exciting about Papa not being drowned? Papa, may I tell him all about it now? Because we’re very nearly engaged-aren’t we, Archie? Papa, he won’t propose to me because he says I’m not old enough. Archie, if Papa says I’m old enough, will you do it nicely? Papa;-”

Mr. Standing put a hand on her shoulder.

“I want to talk to Mr. Millar. Run away and play.”

Margot pouted, then brightened.

“My hands are a bit sticky. If I go and wash them, will that be long enough?”

Mr. Standing gave her a push toward the door.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

When she had gone, he turned a cool, hard gaze upon Archie.

“So you think Margot’s too young to be engaged?”

The back of Archie’s neck burned.

“I don’t quite know when you came in, sir.”

“Well, I heard you tell her she was too young. I agree with you. We’ll leave it at that. You didn’t, I take it, expect to find me here.”

“I didn’t expect to find Margot. I came because Miss Silver told me to come.”

“Yes, I know all about that. I have met Miss Silver. She tells me I am very considerably indebted both to you and to Mr. Charles Moray. I am very glad to have the opportunity of thanking you and of explaining some of the rather extraordinary things that have been happening. Sit down, Mr. Millar.”

Archie sat down. He was irresistibly reminded of interviews, now happily remote, with his headmaster; there was the same feeling of unpreparedness.

Mr. Standing laughed suddenly. The atmosphere changed.

“We’re being a bit solemn, aren’t we? That’s my fault, I’m afraid. I must have been a bit of a shock to you. Now Margot took me with perfect calm-she merely remarked, ‘Oh, Papa, you’re not drowned! How frightfully nice!’ and at once proceeded to pour out a full account of some very curious adventures. Well, I’m begi

Mr. Standing sat forward in his chair.

“I want to begin by saying something about all this rubbish that has appeared in the papers on the subject of my daughter’s legitimacy. I am sending a statement to the press to-morrow. I married as a young man, and I am now a widower. My marriage did not take place in England. Margot is my legitimate daughter. I had not failed to provide for her future. I made my will fifteen years ago. The document was in the hands of my solicitor, Mr. Hale senior. It was destroyed after his father’s death, and after my supposed death, by Mr. James Hale.”

“He was in it then! Do you know, sir, it was Margot who wouldn’t let us go to him-and a jolly good thing we didn’t. Charles Moray was tellin’ me all about it last night.”

“Yes, James Hale was in it. And so, I regret to say, was my nephew Egbert. Well, that disposes of the will. About a year ago I became aware of the existence of a criminal conspiracy directed by a singularly cu

“Well, I don’t, exactly.”

“I might have called in the police, and I suppose I could have got Pullen and Ward. But I wanted the others. Most particularly, I wanted the man who was ru