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Updated: May 13, 2025
"She went to her room directly after breakfast. I fancy she is rather cut up over Lord Brathland's death," replied the astute Miss Thangue. "Of course; we all are poor Bratty! He was rather a bounder, but it is natural to recall his virtues. Flora, go and tell her I want her to come for a walk. I can't go to her room myself, and I don't care to send a servant." Miss Thangue reflected.
She looked her best in a smart walking-frock of white tweed, and a red toque; for the tailor costume modifies where the elaborate accentuates. Her brilliant eyes melted as Brathland's name was mentioned; naturally at once. "What a dreadful shocking thing!" she cried. "I do not realize it at all. Poor dear, we were such friends and I saw him only a few hours before. Have you heard anything more?"
"Practically the only question was the amount to be paid in blackmail, for every trace of the affair had been removed; even the smell of antiseptics and ether had gone. We finally called the waiters in and offered them four hundred each for their silence, or in the case of Brathland's death the surgeon held out hopes a thousand.
Gwynne had never recognized the contingency of a serious rival in the affections of the woman he had elected to mate, and had he heard of the late Lord Brathland's attentions it would not have occurred to him that Mrs. Kaye could weigh a prospective dukedom against the reflected glories of his own career.
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