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Belle's beautiful face turned a shade paler, if that was possible, and her eyes hardened. "Do you wonder why I ask you this?" she said. "I will tell you, though probably when I have done so you will never speak to me again. I am Edward Cossey's discarded mistress," and she laughed bitterly enough.
That being so, I wish to tell you privately what I shall probably take some opportunity of telling you in public, namely, that a man who does these things is a cur, and worse than a cur, he is a /blackguard/, and /you/ are such a man, Mr. Cossey." Edward Cossey's face turned perfectly livid with fury, and he drew himself up as though to spring at his adversary's throat.
In the first place the miserly old banker, Edward Cossey's father, had died, his death being accelerated by the shock of his son's accident.
Nor was this wonderful, for the letter was a copy of one of Belle's most passionate epistles to himself. He had never been able to restrain her from writing these compromising letters. Indeed, this one was the very same that some little time before Mr. Quest had abstracted from the pocket of Mr. Cossey's lounging coat in the room in London.
When the breakfast things had been removed he took a chair, and placing it on the further side of the table in such a position that the light, which was to his back, struck full upon Edward Cossey's face, began to deliberately untie and sort his bundle of papers. Presently he came to the one he wanted a letter. It was not an original letter, but a copy. "Will you kindly read this, Mr.
Then he looked at himself in the glass in the mantelpiece the room was full of mirrors and laughed bitterly at the incongruity of his gentlemanlike, respectable, and even refined appearance, in that vulgar, gaudy, vicious-looking room. Suddenly he bethought him of the letter in his wife's handwriting which he had stolen from the pocket of Edward Cossey's coat.
But I thought it would come and I got Cossey's clear of them," and he sniffed with satisfaction and looked as though he would have rubbed his hands if he had not been physically incapacitated from so doing. Mr. Quest came forward to where the invalid lay. He was a gaunt old man with white hair and a pallid face, which looked almost ghastly in contrast to his black velvet skull cap. So far as Mr.
They were still more interested, however, when the tumbrel drew up at the door of the bank not Cossey's, but the opposition bank where, although it was Boxing Day, the manager and the clerk were apparently waiting for its arrival.
"Yes, yes, I know, a matter of four thousand more or less, but where is it to come from, that's the question? Cossey's do not like land now, any more than other banks do. However, I'll see my principal about it. But, George, I can't possibly get up to the Castle at eleven. I have got a churchwardens' meeting at a quarter to, about that west pinnacle, you know.
Quest to himself, "he will put Cossey's back up and spoil the game." "Well," said Edward aloud and colouring almost to his eyes. "That old gentleman knows how to be insolent." "You must not mind him, Mr. Cossey," answered Quest hastily.
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