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"I wish I had been." Tyson knitted his brows and looked at her. He had not quite made up his mind. "Do you know, I don't altogether believe in your refreshing näiveté. Stanistreet is not 'good' to pretty women for nothing. I know, and you know, that a woman who has been seen with him as you apparently have been, is not supposed to have a character to lose." She rose to her feet and faced him.
Crane of the United States Secret Service, and a countrywoman of yours, a Miss Cecelia Brooke, whose acquaintance I was fortunate enough to make." Stanistreet nodded heavily, and consulted his watch. "Miss Brooke," he said, "should be here shortly. Blensop made an appointment with her last night, which I confirmed by telephone this morning."
I know he must have had an awful time of it." She turned her face suddenly on Stanistreet. "What do you think he told me the other day? He said he had never known anybody who wasn't either a fool or a sinner. What do you think of that? Must you be one or the other?" Stanistreet shrugged his shoulders. "You may be both. We are all of us sinners, and certainly a great many of us are fools."
He was not at all a pretty baby, but he was very light to hold. Tyson had not the least objection to Stanistreet or Sir Peter and the rest of them, they were welcome to stare at his wife as much as they pleased; but he was insanely jealous of this minute masculine thing that claimed so much of her attention. He began to have a positive dislike to seeing her with the child.
The eyes of the Englishman grew stony. "Miss Brooke!" he repeated testily. "I don't understand." "It was a document I do not seek to know its nature from you, sir of vital importance in this present crisis, with the United States newly entered into the war." Stanistreet affirmed with an inclination of his head.
They were trotting along, Stanistreet driving, by a road that ran side by side with the fields scoured by the hunt, and Tyson could always be seen going recklessly and alone. He could ride, he could ride! His worst enemy never doubted that. "It's very odd," said she, "but the people here don't seem to like Nevill one bit. I suppose they've never seen anything quite like him before."
"No, sir, I don't. But if I haven't got your fingerprints, how am I going to tell them from the thief's?" "Oh, I see," Blensop said with a note of allayed apprehension, and put himself on record. The door opening to admit Colonel Stanistreet, Lanyard rose.
I believe you know more about me than anybody, barring my Maker." Stanistreet looked straight in front of him, terribly detached and stern. "She was not the wrong sort," he said slowly; "but she may have been the wrong woman for you." "Men like you and me, Stanistreet, contrive to get hold of the wrong woman; I don't know why."
And I knew Ekstrom had not succeeded in stealing back what he had sold to Colonel Stanistreet, knew he was guiltless in fact if not in deed." "But how could you know that?" "Because I was there, in the room, when he entered it after it had been shut up for the night." Conscious of her hands that fluttered like wounded things to her bosom, he looked away in misery.
He was warped from his youth, the bitter, premature manhood, so soon corrupt. "That woman was possessed of seven distinct devils, and amongst them they didn't leave much of my immortal soul. And you hear men talk of their 'first love. Good God!" Stanistreet shrugged his shoulders. He had not met these men.