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The little Brian was brought back to the house, with Vincenza as his nurse; but Mrs. Luttrell refused to see him. Doctors declared her dislike of the child to be a form of mania; her husband certainly believed it to be so. But the one fact remained. She would not acknowledge the child to be her own, and she would not consent to its being brought up as Edward Luttrell's son.
By that time I was so numb from having shocks that I let her and the Colonel lead me down the street, while Tony went in to keep Lovelace Peyton from fretting for the diphtheria lesson until I could come back. Mrs. Luttrell made me the Methodist speech and Mrs.
"Oh, I know that she will not want to see me; she will never wish to look on my face again, but I must see her and remind her that that she has one son left who loves her still." And then Brian's voice broke and he said no more. Doctor Muir shook his head. He did not believe that Mrs. Luttrell would be much comforted by his reminder. She had never seemed to love her second son.
If I were tired of you, it would all be so easy, so brutally easy." "But you are!" Her voice rose shrill in its violence. "You know you are but you are too much of a coward to say so oh, like all men!" and as Luttrell turned to her a face startled by her outcry and uttered a remonstrant "Hush!", she continued bitterly, "What do I care if they all hear? I am impossible! You know that, don't you?
When Brian Luttrell left England he had no very clear idea of the places that he meant to visit, or the things that he wished to do. He wished only to leave old associations behind him to forget, and, if possible to be forgotten. He was conscious of a curious lack of interest in life; it seemed to him as though the very springs of his being were dried up at their source.
Mario Escobar was of the blackmailing type. Martin's heart was in his mouth. "An invention about us here?" he asked. "About one of us," answered Sir Chichester; and Martin dared ask no more. Harry Luttrell, however, had none of Martin's knowledge to restrain him. "In that case, sir, wouldn't it be wiser to read it now, aloud?" he suggested. "It can't be suppressed now.
She knew now from the explosion of his "No" and the swift alarm upon his face that something threatened her. "You must tell me what has happened," she cried. "You must! Oh, you turn away from me!" From the dark steep garden at their feet rose a clamour of cheers to Luttrell an intervention of Providence. "Listen," he said. Here and there a man or a woman rose at the dinner tables and looked down.
He did not know why, but he always had a presage of disaster when he saw that high-bred, impassive face beside him, or heard the modulation of Vivian's quiet, musical voice. Hugo was superstitious, and he firmly believed that Rupert Vivian's presence brought him ill luck. "Angela wrote to me that Mrs. Luttrell was inviting you to Netherglen. I was going there myself, but I have been prevented.
"My Lord-deputy," Lord Butler, Ormond's son had declared, "is the Earl of Kildare born over again." Luttrell, on the other hand, declared that "Ormond hated Grey worse than he had hated Kildare." All agreed that Lord Leonard was difficult to work with. He seems to have been a well-intentioned man, a hard worker, and a keen soldier, but neither subtle enough nor conciliatory enough for his place.
Hillyard could make neither head nor tail of the strange scene. It was evident that Luttrell was rehearsing a speech, but why? And what had the Sudanese with the mallet to do with it? A sudden and rapid sequence of events brought the truth home to him with a shock. At a point of his speech Luttrell stamped twice, and the Sudanese soldier swung his mallet with all his force.
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