United States or Mexico ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
In fact, she looked back to the Blanche Farrow of those days, as we are sometimes apt to look back at our younger selves, with amazement and disapproval, rather than sympathy. But there was a streak of valiant honesty in her nature.
It was caressing, deferential, half-humorously protecting. She liked to shock and soothe them by turns; and they generally yielded themselves gladly, after a little struggle, both to the shocking and to the soothing. Miss Farrow and Helen Brabazon sat down at the further end of the delightful, gladsome-looking room.
"Who is that little lot?" Clearly, he meant the big man and his diminutive companion. Farrow coughed importantly. "That's Scotland Yard," he said. "Who?" "Detectives from the Yard. Mr. Hilton telephoned for 'em. An' wot's more, they're signalin' to us." "They want us to go back," said Bates. "Mebbe." "There can't be any doubt about it."
Bubbles knew a good deal about her Aunt Blanche, and it certainly would not have been very pleasant had the child made use of her knowledge even to a slight degree.... Miss Farrow went up to the table on which now stood a large lacquer tray, and poured herself out a glass of cold water. She was an abstemious woman. "I think some of us ought to go up to bed now" she said, turning round.
He was walking up Fleet Street when he ran into a man he knew a man whom Jimmy knew also; he stopped and caught him by his buttonhole. "I say, have you heard awful thing, isn't it?" Sangster stared. "Heard! Heard what?" "About Cynthia Farrow. Had a frightful accident in Mortlake's car." Sangster's eyes woke to interest. "Badly hurt?" he asked briefly. "Dead!" "My God!"
Perhaps Cynthia Farrow had not realised what she was doing perhaps she judged all women by her own standard; but surely even she would have been more than satisfied with the results could she have seen Christine's face as she sat there in the big, silent room, with the afternoon sunshine streaming around her.
To tell the truth, Miss Farrow had not forgotten Bubbles when she had assented to Lionel Varick's suggestion that rich, if dull-witted, James Tapster should be included in the party. In what was called the moat garden of Wyndfell Hall, twilight was deepening into night.
A great deal of her material comfort almost, she might have truly said, much of her happiness in life depended on Jane Pegler. In a sense Blanche Farrow had but two close friends in the world her host, Lionel Varick, the new owner of Wyndfell Hall; and the plain, spare, elderly woman standing now before her.
Five minutes later they were in the open park, where their assistant scouts awaited them. None of the others had found any indication of a stranger's presence, and Farrow led them to the house in Indian file, by a path. "Scotland Yard is on the job," he announced. "Now we'll be told just wot we reelly ought to have done!"
Blanche Farrow, even in those early days, was too much a woman of the world to feel as surprised as some people would have been. All the same, she had felt disconcerted and a little pained, that the man who was fond of telling her that she was his only real friend in the world had concealed from her so important a fact as that of his marriage.
Word Of The Day