be?"

"I told her Phoebe--only Phoebe. I never said her married name."

"Did you tell her you and your sister were twins?"

"Oh yes--I told her that. And I think she understood. But she did not
say."

"I think, dear Mrs. Picture, I can tell you why she was astonished. It
was because _her_ mother had a twin sister."

The old lady's pathetic look of perplexity remained unchanged. "Was that
enough?" she said. The mere coincidence of the twinship did not seem to
her to have warranted the effect it produced.

"I am not sure that it was not. There are other things. Did she ever
tell you her mother's story? I suppose she told you she is only her
mother by adoption? You know what I mean?"

"Oh yes, perfectly! No--Ruth has not told me that. We have not talked
much of old Mrs. Marrable, but I shall see her before I go back to Sapps
Court. Shall I not? My Davy's other Granny in the country!" It did her
good to think and speak of Dave.

"You shall go back to Davy," said Gwen. "Or Davy shall come to you. You
may like to stay on longer with Mrs. Thrale."

"Oh, indeed I should ... if only ... if only ..."

"If only she hadn't thought you had delusions!--isn't that it?... Well,
let me go on and tell you some more about her mother--or aunt, really.
It is quite true that she was one of twin sisters, and the sister
married and went abroad."

Mrs. Prichard was immensely relieved--almost laughed. "There now!--if
she had told me _that_, instead of running away with ideas! We would
have found it all out, by now."

Gwen felt quite despairing. She had actually lost ground. Was it
conceivable that the whole tale should become known to Mrs. Prichard--or
to both sisters, for that matter--and be discredited on its merits, with
applause for its achievements in coincidence? It looked like it! Despair
bred an idea in her mind; a mad one, perhaps, a stagey one certainly.
How would it be to tell Maisie Phoebe's story, seen from Phoebe's point
of view?

Whenever an exciting time comes back to us in after-life, the incident
most vividly revived is usually one of its lesser ones. Years after,
when Gwen's thoughts went back to this trying hour at Strides Cottage,
this moment would outstep its importance by reminding her how, in spite
of the pressure and complexity of her embarrassment, an absurd memory
_would_ intrude itself of an operatic tenor singing to the soprano the
story of how she was changed at birth, and so forth, the _diva_
liste