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THE CONVERT
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Lists of Macmillan titles from this spot have beenmoved to the end of the text. Following the moved section, the readerwill find a list of corrections made to the text.
THE CONVERT
BY
ELIZABETH ROBINS
AUTHOR OF "A DARK LANTERN,"
"THE MAGNETIC NORTH," ETC.
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1913
All rights reserved
Copyright, 1907,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published October, 1907.
Reprinted March, 1910; March, 1912; August, 1913.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
THE CONVERT
CHAPTER I
The tall young lady who arrived fifteen minutes before theFreddy Tunbridges' dinner-hour, was not taken into the greatempty drawing-room, but, as though she were not to be of the partyexpected that night, straight upstairs she went behind the footman,and then up more stairs behind a maid. The smart, white-cappeddomestic paused, and her floating muslin streamers cutshort their aërial gyrations subsiding against her straight blackback as she knocked at the night-nursery door. It was opened bya middle-aged head nurse of impressive demeanour. She stoodthere an instant eyeing the intruder with the kind of overbearinghauteur that in these days does duty as the peculiar hall-markof the upper servant, being seldom encountered in England amongeven the older generation of the so-called governing class.
'It's too late to see the baby, miss. He's asleep.'
'Yes, I know; but the others are expecting me, aren't they?'
Question hardly necessary, perhaps, with the air full of criesfrom beyond the screen: 'Yes, yes.' 'We're waiting!' 'Mummypromised'—cut short by the nurse saying sharply, 'Not somuch noise, Miss Sara.' But the presiding genius of the Tunbridgenursery opened the door a little wider and stood aside.Handsome compensation for her studied coldness was offered inthe shrill shrieks of joy with which a little girl and a very small boycelebrated the lady's entrance. She, for her part, joined theaustere nurse in saying, 'Sh! sh!' and in simulating consternationat the spectacle behind the screen, Miss Sara jumping up anddown in the middle of her bed with wild brown hair swirling madlyabout a laughing but mutinous face. The visitor, hurrying forward,received the impetuous little girl in her arms, while the nurse[2]described her own sentiments of horror and detestation of suchperformances, and hinted vaguely at Retribution that might withsafety be looked for no later than the morrow. Nobody listened.Miss Levering nodded smiling across Sara's nightgowned figureto the little boy hanging over the side of the neighbouring cot.But he kept remonstrating, 'You always go to her first.'
The lady drew a flat, shiny wooden box out of the inside pocketof her cloak. The