Mimi was pensive.  He felt remorse at having bound her to secrecy.  She was so pensive, and so wistful, and her eyes were so loyal, that he felt he owed her a more complete confidence.

“I’m on my honeymoon, Mimi,” he said.  It gave him pleasure to tell her.

“Yes,” she said simply, “I saw Auntie Olive go by in the omnibus.”

That was all she said.  He was thunderstruck, as much by her calm simplicity as by anything else.  Children were astounding creatures.

“Did Jean see her, or anyone?” he asked.

Mimi shook her head.

Then he told her they were leaving the next morning at six.

“Shall you be in a carriage?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

“Oh!  Do let me come out and see you go past,” she pleaded.  “Nobody else in our house will be up till hours afterwards!...  Do!”

He was about to say “No,” for it would mean revealing the whole affair to his wife at once.  But after an instant he said “Yes.”  He would not refuse that exquisite, appealing gesture.  Besides, why keep anything whatever from Olive, even for a day?

At dinner he told his wife, and was glad to learn that she also thought highly of Mimi and had confidence in her.

V

Mimi lay in bed in the nursery of the hired house on the way to Rottingdean, which, considering that it was not “home,” was a fairly comfortable sort of abode.  The nursery was immense, though an attic.  The white blinds of the two windows were drawn, and a fire burned in the grate, lighting it pleasantly and behaving in a very friendly manner.  At the other end of the room, in the deep shadow, was Jean’s bed.

The door opened quietly and someone came into the room and pushed the door to without quite shutting it.

“Is that you, mamma?” Jean demanded in his shrill voice, from the distance of the bed in the corner.  His age was exactly eight.

“Yes, dear,” said the new stepmother.

The menial Ada had arranged the children for the night, and now the stepmother had come up to kiss them and be kind.  She was a conscientious young woman, full of a desire to do right, and she had determined not to be like the traditional stepmother.

She kissed Jean, who had taken quite a fancy to her, and tickled him agreeably, and tucked him up anew, and then moved silently across the room to Mimi.  Mimi could see her face in the twilight of the fire.  A handsome, good-natured face; yet very determined, and perhaps a little too full of common sense.  It had a responsible, somewhat grave look.  After all, these two young children were a responsibility, especially Mimi with her back; and, moreover, Pierre Emile Vaillac had disappointed both her and her step-children by telegraphing that he could not arrive that night.  Olive One, the bride of three months, had put on fine raiment for nothing.

“Well, Mimi,” she said in her low, vibrating voice, as she stood over the bed, “I do hope you didn’t overtire yourself this afternoon.”  Then she kissed Mimi.