That Girl in Black; and, Bronzie

I stepped quietly into the room. She was standing by the window; there was snow outside. I saw her, all but her face, perfectly: I saw _it_-- the hair--and for an instant I felt positively faint. It was _it_--it must be she; the way she wore it was peculiar, though very graceful; the head was pretty, but the small figure, though neat and well proportioned, was by no means what I had pictured Bronzie as a woman. But what did it matter? She was Greatrex's wife.

"I must introduce myself; Mrs Greatrex," I began, and then, as my words caught her ears, she turned, and for the first time I saw the face--the face I had so often pictured as a fit accompaniment to that glorious hair.

Oh, the disappointment--the strange disappointment--and yet the still stranger relief! For she was Greatrex's wife! But she wasn't Bronzie-- my Bronzie had never been. There _was_ no Bronzie!

Yet it was a sweet and a pretty little face, and a good little face too. Now that I know it well I do not hesitate to call it a very dear and charming little face, though the features are _only_ pretty; the eyes nothing particular, except for their pleasant expression; the nose distinctly insignificant.

I exerted myself to be agreeable. When Greatrex came in, a moment or two afterwards, he was evidently quite satisfied as to the terms on which we already stood. Then followed afternoon tea. It seemed to go to my head. I felt curiously excited, reckless, and almost bitter, and yet unable mentally to drop the subject as it were. The absurdity of the whole filled me with a sort of contempt for myself, and still there was a fascination about it. I determined to go through with it, to punish myself well for my own fantastic nonsense, to show my own folly up to myself.

"You may be surprised, Mrs Greatrex," I said, suddenly, "to hear that-- I feel sure I am not mistaken in saying so--that I have seen you before."

She was surprised, but she smiled pleasantly.

"Indeed," she said; while "where? when? Let's hear all about it. Why didn't you tell us before?" exclaimed Greatrex, in his rather clumsy way.

"Can you carry your memory back, let me see, nine, ten years?" I asked. "Do you remember if at that time you spent a winter in London; or was London your home?"

She shook her head. "No, it was not; but I did spend the winter of in London."

"Had you--can you possibly recollect if you wore a large, rather slouching, felt hat, with a long feather--grey, the hat, too, was grey-- that fell over the left side? and a coat of grey, too, some kind of velvet, I think, trimmed with dark fur?"

Greatrex looked extremely astonished.

"Come, now," he ejaculated.

Mrs Bessie smiled.

"Yes," she said, "I remember the whole get-up perfectly."

Greatrex looked triumphant. I did not, for I did not feel so.

"And," I went on listlessly, almost--I felt so sure of it now--"did you not come to church for several Sundays that winter; and on Christmas Day, to Saint Edric's, in ---Square?"

For the first time Mrs Greatrex shook her head.

"No," she said. "I never remember being in Saint Edric's in my life."

Greatrex's face fell; he had been quite excited and delighted, poor fellow.

"Come, now," he said again, in a different tone, "are you sure, Bessie? I think you must be mistaken."

"I think so, too," I added, a little more eager myself now. "You may have forgotten the name. Saint Edric's is--" and I went on to describe the church.

"You came with a lady who looked like a governess," and I concluded with some details as to this person's appearance.

"Yes," Mrs Greatrex said, "that sounds like our governess--Mrs Mills; she was with us several years. But it is not only that I was never at Saint Edric's; I was never at church all those weeks in London at all. I had a bad attack of bronchitis. I remember particularly how vexed I was not to wear my new things, especially as we--" suddenly a curious change of expression came over her face, and just at that instant her husband interrupted her.

"I have it," he began excitedly, but he got no farther. "_Bessie_," he exclaimed, with almost a shriek, "my dearest child, you've scalded me!" and he looked up ruefully from the contents of a cup of tea deposited on his knee.

"No, no," his wife exclaimed, "it was only a little water I was pouring into my cup, and it was not very hot. But come along, I have a cloth in the conservatory, where I was arranging some flowers. I'll rub it dry in an instant."

She almost dragged him off--with unnecessary vehemence, it seemed to me. I could not make her out. "An odd little woman," I thought. "I hope, for Greatrex's sake, she's not given to nerves or hysterics, or that sort of thing."

But they were back in two minutes, Greatrex quite smiling and content, though he has owned to me since that his knee _was_ scalded, all the same.

No more was said on the subject of reminiscences. Indeed, it seemed to me that Bessie rather avoided it, and a new idea struck me--perhaps Greatrex was given to frightful jealousy, though he hid it so well, and his wife had got him off into the conservatory to smooth him down. Yes, his manner _was_ queer. Poor little woman! I forgave her her hair.

We strolled off to the stables, then to have a smoke, and thus idled away the time till the dressing-bell rang.

"We're very punctual people," said Greatrex, as he showed me to my room.

So I made haste, and found myself entering the drawing-room some few minutes before the hands of my watch had reached the dinner-hour.

"_She_ is punctual," I thought, as I caught sight of a white-robed figure standing with its back to me, full in the light of a suspended lamp, whose rays caught the gleam of her radiant hair. "Not--not very wise to be down before him, if he has the uncomfortable peculiarity that I suspect. By Jove! how much taller she looks in evening dress! Strange that it should make such a difference!"

"So your husband is the laggard, in spite of his boasted punctuality, Mrs Greatrex?" I began.

She turned towards me.

"I am not Mrs Greatrex," she said, while she raised her soft brown eyes to my face, and a little colour stole into her cheeks.

The words were unnecessary. I stood silent, motionless, spell-bound.

"I--I am only her sister--Imogen Grey," she went on.

I have asked her since if she thought me mad: she says not; but I feel as if I must have seemed so. For still I could not speak, though certain words seemed dancing like happy fairies across my brain. "Bronzie, my Bronzie! found at last. Bronzie!"

And in another instant good little Bessie Greatrex was in the room, busy introducing me to her sister, "Miss Grey," and explaining that she had not been sure of Imogen's arriving in time for dinner--had I heard the wheels just as we went up to dress?

She was a little confused; but it was not till afterwards that I thought of it. In a sort of dream I went in to dinner; in a sort of dream I went through that wonderful evening. They were as unlike as sisters could well be, except for the hair: unlike, and yet alike; for, if there is one woman in this world as good and true as my Bronzie, it is her sister Bessie.

Yes, she was--she _is_ my Bronzie, though no one knows the name, nor the whole story, but our two happy selves.

And I had it out with Bessie; she suspected the truth while I was questioning her about her recollections, and then she saw it must have been Imogen, and not herself: the dragging off poor Greatrex into the conservatory was to tell him to hold his tongue. She wanted so to "surprise" me! I believe, at the bottom of my heart, that Greatrex and she had planned something of the kind even before they heard my unexpected reminiscences; and if they did, there was no harm in it. But--if she hadn't been my Bronzie, nothing would have been any use; I should have lived and died unmarried.