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Updated: June 27, 2025
It is very nice of her, and all that, of course, but I feel rather as though I were going into prison. The Duchess isn't exactly the modern sort of chaperon." Borrowdean nodded sympathetically. "And consider my anxiety," he remarked. "Your uncle has gone North to consider the true position of the labouring classes. Now Mr.
Borrowdean, if he possessed no conscience, was not altogether free from some kindred eccentricity. He was reminded sharply enough of the fact about one o'clock the next morning, when the door of the little house on Merton Street was suddenly opened before he could touch the bell. Framed in a little slanting gleam of light, Hester, still wearing her plain black gown, stood and looked at him.
I am sorry, but there was always this possibility, wasn't there?" "And this telegram?" she asked. "I know Polden, the editor of the paper, and he referred to me to know if there could be any truth in it." "These are lies!" she declared. "You were the instigator. You set them on the track." "I have nothing more to say," Borrowdean declared, coldly. "I have," she said.
"Lawrence Mannering is not a man of ordinary disposition, you know. He had come to the conclusion that it was right for him to go, and opposition would only have made him the more determined. I cannot see that there is any harm likely to come of it." "I am not so sure of that," Borrowdean answered, seriously. "Mannering is au fond a man of sentiment.
I didn't think I could possibly lose. It worked beautifully at first. I thought that I was going to pay all my bills, and have lots of money to spend. Then I doubled the stakes I wanted to win a lot and everything went wrong!" "How much did you lose?" Berenice asked. Clara shivered. "Don't ask me!" she cried. "Sir Leslie Borrowdean gave his own cheques for all my I.O.U.'s.
I feel rather self-reproachful about Clara Mannering. I meant to have looked after her more. She is rather an uninteresting young woman, though, and I am afraid I have let her drift away." "She will be all right with a little looking after," Borrowdean said. "Forgive me, but it is getting late." "I will go at once," she said.
She passed on her way, and Borrowdean descending, took a cab quietly home. Berenice, with her hand upon the door, hesitated. Hester had purposely sent her up alone. They had waited until they had heard Borrowdean leave the room. And now at the last moment she hesitated. She was a proud woman. She was departing now, for his sake, from the conventions of a lifetime.
"We all think that she is delightful." "Is she a widow?" Borrowdean asked. "I imagine so," she answered. "I have never heard her speak of her husband. She has beautiful dresses and things. I should think she must be very rich. Stand quite still, please. I must take great pains over this stroke."
Borrowdean sank into the chair which Berenice had indicated, with a little sigh of relief. "These all-night sittings," he remarked, "get less of a joke as one advances in years. You read the reports this morning?" She nodded. "And Mannering's speech?" "Every word of it." "Our little conspiracy," he continued, "is bearing fruit. Honestly, Mannering is a surprise, even to me.
"Leslie Borrowdean knows it," she said. "I could have heard it, but I refused to listen. Remember, whatever you may owe to other people you owe me something, too." "It is true," he answered. "Well, listen. I killed her husband!" "You! You killed her husband!" she repeated vaguely. "Yes! She shielded me. There was an inquest, and they found that he had heart disease.
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