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Updated: June 28, 2025
Letterblair must have told her of his coming; but the irrelevance of her next remark made him change his mind. "You know painters, then? You live in their milieu?" she asked, her eyes full of interest. "Oh, not exactly. I don't know that the arts have a milieu here, any of them; they're more like a very thinly settled outskirt." "But you care for such things?" "Immensely.
And there's the whole Dallas connection: poor Mrs. Beaufort is related to every one of you. Her only chance would be to leave her husband yet how can any one tell her so? Her duty is at his side; and luckily she seems always to have been blind to his private weaknesses." There was a knock, and Mr. Letterblair turned his head sharply. "What is it? I can't be disturbed."
Letterblair looked at him from under enquiring eyebrows, and the young man, aware of the uselessness of trying to explain what was in his mind, bowed acquiescently while his senior continued: "Divorce is always unpleasant." "You agree with me?" Mr. Letterblair resumed, after a waiting silence. "Naturally," said Archer.
After all, there were plenty of Mingott men for such jobs, and as yet he was not even a Mingott by marriage. He waited for the senior partner to continue. Mr. Letterblair unlocked a drawer and drew out a packet. "If you will run your eye over these papers " Archer frowned. "I beg your pardon, sir; but just because of the prospective relationship, I should prefer your consulting Mr.
Letterblair had summed up, after mumbling over a summary of the settlement. "In fact I'm bound to say she's been treated pretty handsomely all round." "All round?" Archer echoed with a touch of derision. "Do you refer to her husband's proposal to give her back her own money?" Mr. Letterblair's bushy eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch.
They were both silent again, and Archer felt the spectre of Count Olenski's letter grimacing hideously between them. The letter filled only half a page, and was just what he had described it to be in speaking of it to Mr. Letterblair: the vague charge of an angry blackguard. But how much truth was behind it? Only Count Olenski's wife could tell. "I've looked through the papers you gave to Mr.
Letterblair, or the embarrassed gaze of her family. He immediately took it upon himself to assure them both that she had given up her idea of seeking a divorce, basing her decision on the fact that she had understood the uselessness of the proceeding; and with infinite relief they had all turned their eyes from the "unpleasantness" she had spared them. "I was sure Newland would manage it," Mrs.
He had formed his own opinion from the papers entrusted to him, and did not especially want to go into the matter with his senior partner. Mr. Letterblair was a widower, and they dined alone, copiously and slowly, in a dark shabby room hung with yellowing prints of "The Death of Chatham" and "The Coronation of Napoleon."
Letterblair, the day after Madame Olenska's departure, had sent for him to go over the details of the trust which Mrs. Manson Mingott wished to create for her granddaughter.
He waited a moment and cleared his throat. "I know. Mr. Letterblair has told me." "Ah?" "That's the reason I've come. He asked me to you see I'm in the firm." She looked slightly surprised, and then her eyes brightened. "You mean you can manage it for me? I can talk to you instead of Mr. Letterblair? Oh, that will be so much easier!"
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