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Updated: May 6, 2025
She remembered some of those with whom from time to time, she had linked herself her husband, Hadi Bey, Dumeny, Brayfield, Dion Leith. Now she was struggling, and so far in vain, to thrust Dion out of her life. If she succeeded what then? Where was stability in her existence? Her love for Jimmy was the only thing that lasted, and that often made her afraid now.
He gave it to me and made me promise to convey it to her personally, not to put it in the post." "Was Lord Brayfield in the C.I.V.?" asked Rosamund. "Oh no. He was a captain in the 5th Lancers. We were brigaded with them for a bit and under fire at the same time. Brayfield happened to see me. He knew I was an acquaintance of Mrs.
Brayfield was well satisfied with its new doctor, and set itself to be ill for his benefit with a fine perseverance. But, as time went on, the satisfaction of Brayfield became mingled with curiosity. The new doctor was almost too melancholy. It would not be true to say that he never smiled, but his smile was even sadder than his gravity.
Why didn't she think about Brayfield? She turned round and fixed her distressed eyes on him. "Which is best, to be charitable or to be truthful?" she said, without any vibration of excitement. "De Mortuis it's a kindly saying. A true Turk, one of the old Osmanlis, might have said it. If you hadn't brought me that letter and the message I should probably never have mentioned Brayfield to you again.
In the darkness of the pavilion he saw Dumeny's lips smiling faintly, Hadi Bey's vivid, self-possessed eyes, the weak mouth of Brayfield and his own double. Was he a member of an ugly brotherhood, or did he stand alone? He wanted to know, yet he felt that he could not put such a hideous question to his companion. "Tell me exactly what it is," she said. "Don't be afraid.
Yes." "What d'you mean by that? D'you mean Brayfield?" "Yes." "Have there been many others who have cared as Brayfield did?" "Yes." "Hadi Bey was one of them, I suppose?" "Yes." "And Dumeny was another?" "Yes." "Poor fellows!" His lips were smiling, but his eyes looked dreadfully intent and searching. "You made them suffer and gave them no reward. I can see you doing it and enjoying it."
He would not break it by questioning the reason of it. He would accept it blindly, joyfully. Man blots the sunshine out of life by asking "Why?" Time passed on. Brayfield had gossiped, marvelled and sunk into a sort of apathy of unrewarded and quiescent curiosity. The Canon pursued his life at the Rectory. Maurice visited his patients and continued unremittingly his medical researches.
Brayfield wondered what had come to Miss Alston. Maurice wondered too, dating the transformation accurately from the night when he unburdened his soul in search of the help, which, after all, no human being could give to him. It was strange, he thought, that a man's terror, a man's weakness, should endow a weak girl with confidence and with power.
Comfortable and well-to-do persons talked vigorously of the delights of an old-fashioned Christmas. The doctors had many patients. Among them Maurice was very busy. His talent had monopolised Brayfield and his time was incessantly occupied. He scarcely noticed Christmas. For even on that day he was full of work. Several people managed to be very ill among the plum puddings.
"I know how frank and sincere you always are, Dion," she said gently. "I try to be. You remember that party at Mrs. Chetwinde's where you sang? You met Mrs. Clarke that night." "Of course I remember. We had quite an interesting talk." "She's clever. Lord Brayfield was there, too, that night, a fair man. "I saw him. He wasn't introduced to me." "Brayfield was shot in the war. Did you know it?"
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