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Updated: June 27, 2025
"Yes, sir, I did. As a matter of fact, I thought it was somebody else. It was not until the stranger who arrived by the train used that name to distinguish him that I understood I was mistaken." The stationmaster looked into Brett's eyes that which he did not like to say in the presence of the Frazers.
Froude's admirable monograph on Lord Beaconsfield in the series of The Queen's Prime Ministers, and an extremely clear-sighted account of his relations with the Crown in Mr. Reginald Brett's Yoke of Empire. My present purpose is not controversial. I do not intend to estimate the soundness of Lord Beaconsfield's opinions or the permanent value of his political work.
Beyond a sigh of professional admiration at the result of Brett's pertinacity with regard to the omnibuses passing through Whitehall at 10.45, he did not interrupt until the barrister had ended. Even then he was silent, so Brett looked at him in surprise, "Well, Winter, what do you think of it?" he said. "Think! I wish I had half your luck, Mr. Brett," he answered sadly.
After you blast off " Brett's voice dropped to a whisper and Quent's eyes opened with understanding, and then his rugged features broke out into a grin as Brett continued talking. Finally Brett straightened up. "I'm going on out to Titan now to see if things are O.K. You got everything clear?" "Everything's clear," said Quent. "And you know something, Charley?
My dear girl, if it had rested with me, we should both be lying in smithereens at the present moment, on the rocks below. She realised the drop just in the nick of time, and wheeled before we got to it." "What do you mean she realised it? How could she?" For a moment Brett's eyes held a curious gravity. "I can't tell you," he said at last, simply.
What worries me is not that I showed so little self-command and so much insincerity, but the doubt whether Brett's flawless technique was the vehicle for an act of true good feeling or was used simply for the pleasure of using it. Similar doubts abide in all my special memories of him. There was an evening when he seemed to lose control over himself but did he really lose it?
The motive!" laughed Brett, and in pursuance of his invariable practice, he refused to say another word about the crime or its perpetrator during the meal. Mrs. Smith was accustomed to her master's occasional freaks in the matter of dinner. Her husband, aided by long experience, knew whether Brett's "immediately" meant one minute, or five, or even fifteen.
"But certainly," replied the porter, elevating his eyebrows; "what else could it be?" He meditated on this question for five minutes after Brett's departure, and then an idea struck him. "Ah," he cried, slapping his thigh with a grin, "he is a droll dog, that Englishman." Brett, secure in the knowledge that his quarry had been located, drove back to his hostelry.
It is much pleasanter than that horrid old Brett's, that I have had scowling about my bedroom these ever so long years." "Well, Baroness! still at your cribbage?" Go and shake hands with grandaunt, Esmond! and tell her ladyship that your lordship's a good boy!" "My lordship's a good boy," says the child. "And if he is, I guess he don't take after his father," shrieks out Lady Castlewood.
Brett's supremacy was in the sense he gave one that he was, after all, human that he had a heart, in which he had taken the liberty to reserve a corner for any true friend of his master and mistress. I remember well the first time he overstepped sheer formality in relation to myself.
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