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Updated: June 27, 2025
"But it is too soon to think of getting anxious yet. Vellacott is eminently capable of taking care of himself he is, above all things, a journalist. Things are disturbed in Paris, and it is possible that he has run across there." Mrs. Carew smiled somewhat incredulously. "It was a singular time to start," observed Hilda quietly. Mr. Bodery turned and looked at her.
Carew proposed an adjournment to the garden. She was desirous of getting Mr. Bodery to herself. It fell to Hilda's lot to undertake the Frenchman. They had been great friends once, and she was quite ready to renew the pleasant relationship. She led her guest to the prettiest part of the garden the old overgrown footpath around the moat.
Again and again he found himself wondering how they would all take it, and his conclusions were remarkably near to the truth. He guessed that Mr. Bodery would, sooner or later, be called in to give his opinion, and he sincerely hoped that the course taken would be the waiting tactics which had actually been proposed by the editor of the Beacon.
Bodery nodded his head in a businesslike way, indicative of the fact that he was engaged in assimilating a good deal of useful information. "There is nothing to be done to-night," he said presently, as he made a movement towards the door, "but to go to bed. To-morrow the Beacon will be published, and the result will probably be rather startling. We shall hear something before to-morrow afternoon."
How old it makes one feel!" he exclaimed, turning to Mrs. Carew. The lady laughed. "You are not changed, at all events," she said. "Allow me to introduce Mr. Bodery the Vicomte d'Audierne." The two men bowed. "Much pleasure," said the Frenchman. Mr. Bodery bowed again in an insular manner, which just escaped awkwardness, and said nothing.
Few of them master the labial art, which perhaps accounts for much. Sidney Carew was conscious that his style lacked grace and finish. Mr. Bodery did draw his own inferences, but the countenance into which Sidney glanced at intervals was one of intense stolidity. "Well, I confess I cannot make it out at present," he said; "Vellacott has written to us only on business matters.
Bruno is a harmless old soul," replied Sidney, pulling up to turn into the narrow gateway. There was no time to make further inquiries. Sidney led the way into the drawing-room. The ladies were there. "My mother, Mr. Bodery my sister; my sister Hilda," he blurted out awkwardly. Mrs. Carew shook hands, and the two young ladies bowed. They were all disappointed in Mr. Bodery.
When he reached the point in his narration telling how Vellacott had been attracted into the garden, he became extremely vague and his style notably colloquial. Tell the story how he would, he felt that he could not prevent Mr. Bodery from drawing his own inferences. Young ladies are not in the habit of whistling for youthful members of the opposite sex.
There he found Mr. Bodery smoking with his usual composure. The younger man forbore asking any questions. He poured out for himself some whisky, and opened a bottle of soda-water with deliberate care and noiselessness. "That man," said Mr. Bodery at length, "knows nothing about Vellacott." "You think so?" "I am convinced of it. By the way, who is the old gentleman who came to tea this afternoon?"
He knew that she was engaged to be married to one man while she loved another. In the middle of breakfast a card was handed to Sidney Carew. He glanced at it, nodded his head as a signal to the servant that he need not wait, and slipped the card into his pocket. Mr. Bodery and the Vicomte d'Audierne were watching him. Presently he rose from the table and left the room. Mrs.
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