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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Who's the wizened-up little insect, with a snarl on his face?" he inquired of me earnestly. My slight impulse of irritation at such a description applied to one of my wedding guests passed when I looked up and saw the person to whom Mr. Bundercombe had directed my attention. I recognized the adequacy of the wording." "That," I replied, "is the Earl of Porthoning." "Kind of connection, isn't he?"
Bundercombe once more winked at me solemnly over the head of my stricken connection. "I quite agree with you, Paul," he said. "Under the circumstances we will let nothing happen to disturb the festivities and harmony of the day. Lord Porthoning certainly will not object if we just satisfy ourselves that the brooch was the only instance of momentary aberration; shall we call it?"
"He's a pleasant old gentleman, that connection of yours!" "Glad you think so," I answered. "I don't call myself a bad-natured fellow, and to-day I feel inclined to be friends with every one; but I tell you frankly I can't bear the sight of Lord Porthoning. He has to be asked, but he's like a wet blanket wherever he goes." Mr. Bundercombe glanced round a moment. Then he leaned toward me.
It was within a few minutes of the time fixed for our departure. Mr. Bundercombe nodded to me. "Very well," I agreed. "It shall be as you say." "I'll wait here," Lord Porthoning said in a trembling tone. "Mr. Bundercombe can come back for me after he has seen you off. He can go home with me in the motor. Take take care of those things." Mr. Bundercombe covered them over with an antimacassar.
But I suppose you're like all other young fools on their wedding day you think the sun's shining only for you!" "I am afraid," I retorted, a little nettled, "that I had not noticed the absence of your good wishes. I wish to speak to you on another matter." Lord Porthoning turned quickly and looked at me. There was a change in his expression that puzzled me. "Well, out with it!" he snapped.
Mr. Bundercombe inquired. I nodded. "His son married my sister." Mr. Bundercombe regarded him with a certain wistfulness which I did not at that moment understand. Just then Lord Porthoning made his way toward us. As I watched him approach I realized more than ever the justice of Mr. Bundercombe's description.
I pointed to the door across the hall. "I want you to step this way," I said firmly. I expected an irritable outburst, but to my surprise he turned and preceded me toward the door. We entered the room and found Mr. Bundercombe there alone. Lord Porthoning looked from one to the other of us. His heavy gray eyebrows were drawn together; his face was the embodiment of a snarl.
Very well; we will assume, for the sake of the family, that it found its way into your pocket by accident." Lord Porthoning felt his forehead. There were big drops of sweat standing out there. There was something in his extreme agitation that was, in a way, incomprehensible. He edged toward the door. "I didn't take it!" he muttered. "Let me go! Let me get away!" Mr. Bundercombe stood on one side.
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