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Updated: June 23, 2025
We suspect that he is not the rightful owner that, in short, he is no more the real Marston Greyle than you are. We think that he's an impostor posing as Marston Greyle. Other people Mrs. Valentine Greyle, for example evidently think so, too. Am I right?" "Quite!" responded Petherton. "That's our position exactly." "Then in that case, what I want to get at is this," continued Sir Cresswell.
"Well, you really haven't any natural 'cheek' not like SOME of them. You're in yourself as uneasy, if anything's said and every one giggles or makes some face, as Mr. Longdon, and if Lord Petherton hadn't once told me that a man hates almost as much to be called modest as a woman does, I'd say that very often in London now you must pass some bad moments."
She's quite by herself. When one sees her one feels her to be the real thing." Mrs. Brook, without harshness, wondered. "What do you mean by the real thing?" Even Nanda, however, had to think a moment. "Well, the real young one. That's what Lord Petherton calls her," she mildly joked "'the young 'un'" Her mother's echo was not for the joke, but for something else. "I know what you mean.
Petherton will tell you I wonder he hasn't told you before why Mrs. Grendon, though not perhaps herself quite the rose, is decidedly in these days too near it." "Oh Petherton never tells me anything!" Mitchy's answer was brisk and impatient, but evidently quite as sincere as if the person alluded to had not been there.
Montacute, still farther south and on the road from South Petherton to Yeovil, should be visited if possible. Here is a beautiful Elizabethan house, the seat of the Phelipses. Its east front is decorated with an imposing row of heroic statues; its west front is almost as magnificent. Taken altogether it is perhaps the grandest Tudor house in the county.
Sir Cresswell Oliver, only realizing that a pretty woman, had entered the room, made haste to place a chair for her. But before Addie could respond to his old-fashioned bow, Mr. Petherton was on his legs. "Er! I take it that this is the young wom the Miss Chatfield of whom we have had occasion to speak a good deal today," he said very stiffly. "I think, Sir Cresswell eh?"
We must go at once and wire for Sir Cresswell and old Petherton," replied Gilling. "It's now four-thirty. If they catch an evening express at King's Cross they'll get here early in the morning. If they like to motor from Norcaster they can get here in the small hours. But they must be here for that inquest." Greyle was talking to Chatfield at the foot of the Keep when they got down.
"Oh too awful!" "Well, of course," the girl appeared assentingly to muse, "she couldn't after all have dreamed !" But she took herself up. "The great thing is to be helpful." "And in what way ?" Mitchy asked with his wonderful air of inviting competitive suggestions. "Toward Aggie's finding herself. Do you think," she immediately continued, "that Lord Petherton really is?"
"The Duchess and Lord Petherton are like you and me." "Is it a conundrum?" He was serious indeed. "They're one of the couples who are invited together." But his face reflected so little success for her levity that it was in another tone she presently added: "Mitchy really oughtn't."
In the meantime, we 'll call one or two witnesses, Daniel Ewbank! to begin with." There was a brief and evidently anxious consultation between Greyle's solicitor and the coroner; there were dark looks at Petherton and his companions. Then the foreman of the jury spoke, sullenly. "We don't want to hear no Ewbanks!" he said. "We're quite satisfied, us as sits here. Our verdict is "
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