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Updated: June 29, 2025
There were two waiters in the room just come in with Apollinaris. Raglin slammed the doors to, and, while Ormond and Hethrington laid Brathland out on a sofa, asked the servants if they would hold their tongues until it was known whether he would die or not. They assented readily enough, knowing how damned well worth their while it was.
"The next afternoon the surgeon probed again, and Brathland died under the ether. The wound after probing looked sufficiently like an ordinary incision to deceive any one. Raglin and Harold Lorcutt who, of course, was told the truth naturally had the body sealed up in lead before taking it north. The old duke and the women of the family are in a fair way to know nothing."
What they thought of me I neither knew nor cared, and it is doubtful if they knew themselves; their one thought was to keep the matter from getting out and dragging the Club into a scandal; and of course Raglin was equally keen on sheltering the family, whether Brathland lived or died. Anyhow, I fancy they would have stood by me, for if we have no other virtue we do stand by each other.
At all events the mess affected me as alcohol never had done in even my salet days, and although my thoughts seemed to be moving in a crystal procession, I became slowly obsessed with the desire to kill Brathland; whose face, chalky white, as it always was when he was drunk and he always got drunk on less than any one else filled me with a fury of disgust and hatred.
But it was too late in her day to be wholly natural, and, indeed, she preferred the weapons the world and her ambitions had given her. As he rose and stared at her doubtingly, she said, without a high or a sharp note, in her clear lisping voice: "I think it wise to put an end to all this by telling you that I was engaged to Lord Brathland when he died.
When her bright, black, often laughing eyes were in play she passed with the casual public, and abroad, as a woman of thirty, but with her lids down the sharpness of the lower part of the face arrested the lover of detail. "Are you sure of that?" she asked, in a moment. "Quite." "I am sorry. It will be a great blow to Jack. I hoped she would come round in time." "She will marry Brathland.
Then he bandaged Brathland, had him carried up to Raglin's room, and sent for a nurse that he could trust. "We all regathered in the smoking-room, shut the waiters in the dining-room, and talked the matter over. By this time I was more hideously sober than I ever had been in my life.
"I killed Brathland," he said. Gwynne moistened his lips. "Poor old Zeal," he muttered. "It must be a horrid sensation " "To be a murderer? I can assure you it is." Gwynne's mind seemed to darken until only one luminous point confronted it, the visible tormented soul of his kinsman.
He would dominate any woman he married. He is such a dear that no woman who lived with him could help loving him. Moreover, she is inordinately ambitious, and Jack's career is the most promising in England." "Jack is far too good for her, and I am glad that he will not get her. I happen to know that she has made up her mind to marry Lord Brathland." "Bratty is a donkey."
She devoutly wished that the American had arrived six months earlier, or that Brathland still lived. But she was a very tactful person and was about to drop the subject, when Isabel slowly turned her eyes. They looked so much like steel that for the moment they seemed to have lost their blue. "I have made up my mind to do something to prevent this marriage," she announced.
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