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Sir Charles bolted a mouthful or two of breakfast, and then dashed off in a hansom to 119 Gloucester Place. There was a bill in the window, "To be let, furnished. Apply to Parker & Ellis." He knocked at the door. Nobody came. Knocked again. A lugubrious female opened the door. "Lady Bassett?" "Don't live here, sir. House to be let." Sir Charles went to Mr. Boddington and told him. Mr.
"It must be confessed, however, that a careful study of the official colonial records of Connecticut and New Haven leaves no doubt that Goodwife Bassett was convicted and hung at Stratford for witchcraft in 1651, and Goodwife Knapp at Fairfield in 1653.
She now gave her housekeeper minute instructions, settled the board wages of the whole establishment, and sent her home in the carriage, retaining her own boxes and packages at the inn. Richard Bassett soon found out that Lady Bassett had left Huntercombe. He called on Wheeler and told him. Wheeler suggested she had gone to be near her husband. "No," said Bassett, "she has joined her lover.
At the sound of Bassett's voice Sir Charles started, and, at the first taunt, he uttered something between a moan and a roar, as of a wounded lion. "Come away," cried Lady Bassett. "He is doing it on purpose." But the stabs came too fast. Sir Charles shook her off, and looked wildly round for a weapon to strike his insulter with. "Curse him and his brat!" he cried.
He then gave him a little push, and the boy fled like the wind. When he was gone, Richard Bassett became rather uneasy. He had hitherto concealed, even from his own family, the great wealth his humble home contained. His secret was now public. Reginald had no end of low companions. If burglars got scent of this, it might be very awkward. At last he hit upon a defense.
The room, the map, the fact that Morton Bassett of Fraserville had, so to speak, planted a vedette in the heart of the capital, seemed to afford him mild, cynical amusement. He drew his hand across his face, twisted his mustache, and took the cigar from his mouth and examined the end of it with fictitious interest. "Well," he ejaculated, "damn it all, why not?"
The unveiled face of the tall, dark girl called for a second glance; it was an odd place for a pretty young woman to be seeking Morton Bassett. They looked at each other and grinned. A single lamp on a table in the middle of the high-ceilinged room shed a narrow circle of light that deepened the shadows of the walls.
I've been here ten years, and I've never got a word about the Livingstones out of either of them." "I'm a patient man." Bassett grinned. "I suppose you'll admit that one of you drove David Livingstone to the train, and that you had a fair idea then of where he was going?" He looked directly at Jake, but Jake's face was a solid mask. He made no reply whatever.
Lady Bassett thought Ruperta a beautiful and noble girl, that any house might be proud to adopt; and Ruperta was charmed by Lady Bassett's exquisite manners, and touched and interested by her pale yet still beautiful face and eyes. They made friends; but it was not till the third visit, when many kind things had passed between them, that Lady Bassett ventured on the subject she had at heart.
Pettit," observed Bassett dryly, "is a man of the world and likely to break in anywhere." His manner betrayed no surprise; he asked Marian to order dinner, and bowed to a tableful of golfers, where an acquaintance was whispering his name to some guests from out of town. It was the least bit surprising that the Honorable Isaac Pettit should be dining at the Country Club with Mr.
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