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"None, sir!" Mr. Sabin dismissed him impatiently. "After all, I am getting old. He is young and he is strong a worthy antagonist. Come, let us see what this little volume has to say about him." He turned over the pages rapidly and read aloud. "Reginald Cyril Brott, born 18 , son of John Reginald Brott, Esq., of Manchester.
He has not the confidence of the people." "Without me," Brott repeated slowly. "You think then that I should not accept office with Letheringham?" His visitor regarded him steadily for a moment, open-mouthed, obviously taken aback. "Brott, are you in your right senses?" he asked incredulously. "Do you know what you are saying?" Brott laughed a little nervously.
Brott closed the door behind him and confronted Lucille. A brilliant spot of colour flared in her pale cheeks. "But this is a trap!" she exclaimed. "Who sent for you? Why did you come?" He looked at her in surprise. "Lucille!" His eyes were full of passionate remonstrance. She looked nervously from him towards the door. He intercepted her glance. "What have I done?" he asked fiercely.
"I am exceedingly obliged to you," Brott answered hurriedly. "I am afraid, however, that you anticipate matters a good deal. I have not yet been asked to form a Cabinet. It is doubtful whether I ever shall. And, beyond that, it is also doubtful whether even if I am asked I shall accept." "I must confess," the Prince said, "that you puzzle me.
Sabin subdued an insane desire to struggle with him and discover, by force, if necessary, who was the sender of those few brief lines. For Mr. Brott was a changed man. "I am afraid," he said, turning to his guest, "that this has been a very dull evening for you. To tell you the truth, this club is not exactly the haunt of pleasure-seekers. It generally oppresses me for the first hour or so.
"I hope," Lucille said, "that you have never for a moment imagined that I find any pleasure in what I am called upon to do." "Why not? It must be interesting. You can have had no sympathy with Brott a hopeless plebeian, a very paragon of Anglo-Saxon stupidity?" Lucille laughed scornfully. "Reginald Brott is a man, at any rate, and an honest one," she answered.
Lucille swept around. "What do you mean?" Lady Carey shrugged her shoulders. "You are in a curious mood, my dear Lucille. What I mean is obvious enough. Brott is a strong man and a determined man. I do not think that he will enjoy being made a fool of." Lucille was indifferent. "At any rate," she said, "I shall not see him. I have quite made up my mind about that."
"But you must remember that suspicion is of itself a grievous embarrassment. No man likes to feel that he is being suspected of murder. By the bye, is it known whom the unfortunate person was?" "The servant of a French nobleman who is staying in the hotel," Mr. Brott remarked. "I heard as much as that." Mr. Sabin smiled. Lady Carey glanced at him meaningly.
Now that she has come back I am very anxious to persuade her to marry me." A single lightning-like flash in Mr. Sabin's eyes for a moment disconcerted his host. But, after all, it was gone with such amazing suddenness that it left behind it a sense of unreality. Mr. Brott decided that after all it must have been fancy. "May I ask," Mr.
Not so much for us perhaps as for our children, and our children's children. We didn't expect a huge social upheaval in a week, or even a decade of years. But we did expect to see the first blow struck. Oh, yes, we expected that." "I have disappointed you, I know, you and many others," Brott said bitterly. "I wish I could explain. But I can't!" "Oh, it doesn't matter," the man answered.
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