“It’s no use talking,” she said again and again, and the voice came from an empty-looking space between two pillars; “I never believed anything would happen, and now it has.”
“Well,” said Gerald kindly, “can we do anything for you? Because, if not, I think we ought to be going.”
“Yes,” said Jimmy; “I do want my tea!”
“Tea!” said the unseen Mabel scornfully. “Do you mean to say you’d go off to your teas and leave me after getting me into this mess?”
“Well, of all the unfair Princesses I ever met!” Gerald began. But Kathleen interrupted.
“Oh, don’t rag her,” she said. “Think how horrid it must be to be invisible! ”
“I don’t think,” said the hidden Mabel, “that my aunt likes me very much as it is. She wouldn’t let me go to the fair because I’d forgotten to put back some old trumperyct shoe that Queen Elizabethcu wore—I got it out from the glass case to try it on.”
“Did it fit?” asked Kathleen, with interest.
“Not it—much too small,” said Mabel. “I don’t believe it ever fitted anyone.”
“I do want my tea!” said Jimmy
“I do really think perhaps we ought to go,” said Gerald. “You see, it isn’t as if we could do anything for you.”
“You’ll have to tell your aunt,” said Kathleen kindly.
“No, no, no!” moaned Mabel invisibly; “take me with you. I’ll leave her a note to say I’ve run away to sea.”
“Girls don’t run away to sea.”
“They might,” said the stone floor between the pillars, “as stowaways, if nobody wanted a cabin boy—cabin girl, I mean.”
“I’m sure you oughtn’t,” said Kathleen firmly.
“Well, what am I to do?”
“Really,” said Gerald, “I don’t know what the girl can do. Let her come home with us and have—”
“Tea—oh, yes,” said Jimmy, jumping up.
“And have a good council.”
“After tea,” said Jimmy.
“But her aunt’ll find she’s gone.”
“So she would if I stayed.”
“Oh, come on,” said Jimmy.
“But the aunt’ll think something’s happened to her.”
“So it has.”
“And she’ll tell the police, and they’ll look everywhere for me.”
“They’ll never find you,” said Gerald. “Talk of impenetrable disguises!”
“I’m sure,” said Mabel, “aunt would much rather never see me again than see me like this. She’d never get over it; it might kill her—she has spasms as it is. I’ll write to her, and we’ll put it in the big letter-box at the gate as we go out. Has anyone got a bit of pencil and a scrap of paper?”
Gerald had a note-book, with leaves of the shiny kind which you have to write on, not with a blacklead pencil, but with an ivory thing with a point of real lead. And it won’t write on any other paper except the kind that is in the book, and this is often very annoying when you are in a hurry. Then was seen the strange spectacle of a little ivory stick, with a leaden point, standing up at an odd, impossible-looking slant, and moving along all by itself as ordinary pencils do when you are writing with them.
“May we look over?” asked Kathleen.
There was no answer. The pencil went on writing.
“Mayn’t we look over?” Kathleen said again.
“Of course you may!” said the voice near the paper. “I nodded, didn’t I? Oh, I forgot, my nodding’s invisible too.”
The pencil was forming round, clear letters on the page torn out of the note-book. This is what it wrote:—“Dear Aunt,—“I am afraid you will not see me again for some time. A lady in a motor-car has adopted me, and we are going straight to the coast and then in a ship. It is useless to try to follow me. Farewell, and may you be happy. I hope you enjoyed the fair.”Mabel.”
“But that’s all lies,” said Jimmy bluntly.
“No, it isn’t; it’s fancy,” said Mabel. “If I said I’ve become invisible, she’d think that was a lie, anyhow.”
“Oh, come along,” said Jimmy; “you can quarrel just as well walking.”
Gerald folded up the note as a lady in India had taught him to do years before, and Mabel led them by another and very much nearer way out of the park. And the walk home was a great deal shorter, too, than the walk out had been.
The sky had clouded over while they were in the Temple of Flora, and the first spots of rain fell as they got back to the house, very late indeed for tea.
Mademoiselle was looking out of the window, and came herself to open the door.
“But it is that you are in lateness, in lateness!” she cried. “You have had a misfortune—no? All goes well?”
“We are very sorry indeed,” said Gerald. “It took us longer to get home than we expected. I do hope you haven’t been anxious. I have been thinking about you most of the way home.”
The bread and butter waving about in the air
“Go, then,” said the French lady, smiling; “you shall have them in the same time—the tea and the supper.”
Which they did.
“How could you say you were thinking about her all the time?” said a voice just by Gerald’s ear, when Mademoiselle had left them alone with the bread and butter and milk and baked apples. “It was just as much a lie as me being adopted by a motor lady.”
“No, it wasn’t,” said Gerald, through bread and butter. “I was thinking about whether she’d be in a wax or not. So there!”
There were only three plates, but Jimmy let Mabel have his, and shared with Kathleen. It was rather horrid to see the bread and butter waving about in the air, and bite after bite disappearing from it apparently by no human agency; and the spoon rising with apple in it and returning to the plate empty. Even the tip of the spoon disappeared as long as it was in Mabel’s unseen mouth; so that at times it looked as though its bowl had been broken off.
Everyone was very hungry, and more bread and butter had to be fetched. Cook grumbled when the plate was filled for the third time.
“I tell you what,” said Jimmy; “I did want my tea.”
“I tell you what,” said Gerald; “it’ll be jolly difficult to give Mabel any breakfast. Mademoiselle will be here then. She’d have a fit if she saw bits of forks with bacon on them vanishing, and then the forks coming back out of vanishment, and the bacon lost for ever.”
“We shall have to buy things to eat and feed our poor captive in secret,” said Kathleen.
“Our money won’t last long,” said Jimmy, in gloom. “Have you got any money?”
He turned to where a mug of milk was suspended in the air without visible means of support.
“I’ve not got much money,” was the reply from near the milk, “but I’ve got heaps of ideas.”
“We must talk about everything in the morning,” said Kathleen. “We must just say good night to Mademoiselle, and then you shall sleep in my bed, Mabel. I’ll lend you one of my nightgowns.”
“I’ll get my own tomorrow,” said Mabel cheerfully.
“You’ll go back to get things?”
“Why not? Nobody can see me. I think I begin to see all sorts of amusing things coming along. It’s not half bad being invisible.”
It was extremely odd, Kathleen thought, to see the Princess’s clothes coming out of nothing. First the gauzy veil appeared hanging in the air. Then the sparkling coronet suddenly showed on the top of the chest of drawers. Then a sleeve of the pinky gown showed, then another, and then the whole gown lay on the floor in a glistening ring as the unseen legs of Mabel stepped out of it. For each article of clothing became visible as Mabel took it off. The nightgown, lifted from the bed, disappeared a bit at a time.