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Updated: May 26, 2025
When he came to the words, "Knowing myself to be incapable of the feeling women call love," he compared it with the other letter, "There would have been far more excuse for me if I had been simply incapable of the feeling." The two statements did not exactly tally; but what else could he say? And it was too late to mend it now. He laid down the sheets and opened Stanistreet's letter.
And for the moment Stanistreet's vision was obscured by a painful memory. Three years ago a woman had come to his rooms and asked for Tyson. She sat in that chair opposite where Tyson was sitting now. She said unspeakable things that were by no means pleasant for Stanistreet to hear. It had required all his tact to break the news of Tyson's marriage and take her home in a cab.
I wish I hadn't let you in for this. I'm not in the least nervous myself, you know. She's all right. Thompson says so. I'm awfully sorry for the poor little soul, but if you come to think of it, it's the most natural and ordinary thing in the world." But Stanistreet's thoughts were back in yesterday.
He had caught sight of an enormous bunch of hothouse flowers in a vase on the floor by the writing-table. Stanistreet's card was in the midst of the bunch, and a note from Stanistreet lay open on the writing-table. There was an ominous pause while Tyson read it. It was curt enough; only an offer of flowers and a ticket for the "Lyceum."
She had never taken him seriously. "Ever since he found out that I liked them, I suppose." "Did it not occur to you that the things you like are rather expensive luxuries, some of them?" "No. Perhaps that's why I hardly ever get them." "My dear girl, I know the precise amount of Stanistreet's income. Money can't be any object to him.
"I take it nobody's been pawing over this since the late, as you might say, unpleasantness?" "Not a soul has touched it. By Colonel Stanistreet's order it was covered as soon as we found it had been tampered with." "Um-m," Mr. Stone acknowledged, bending close to his work. Partially, perhaps, by way of administering an urbane rebuke to Lanyard for his readiness to dispense with his society, Mr.
During a brief silence he found opportunity to observe that Mr. Blensop was working with hands that trembled singularly. "Incredible!" Stanistreet commented. "Yet here is proof," Lanyard asserted, indicating the papers beneath Stanistreet's hand. "My dear sir, I didn't mean " "Pardon!" Lanyard smiled, with a lifted hand. "I never thought you did, Colonel Stanistreet.
"It is the King's," said Lanyard bluntly. The secretary went so far as to betray well-bred surprise. "You are an Englishman, Mr. Ember?" "Yes." And for all he knew to the contrary, so Lanyard was. "I am Colonel Stanistreet's secretary," the young man again suggested hopefully. "That is precisely why I ask you to make an appointment for me with your employer," Lanyard retorted politely.
A month ago he would not have thought so lightly of the matter. One evening, not long after their stormy interview, he turned up at Stanistreet's rooms in Chelsea, much as he had turned up at Ridgmount Gardens after his year's absence. Stanistreet was lying back in a low chair, smoking and thinking. The change in Louis's appearance was still more striking than when they had last met.
On the other hand, he could not conceive how, after living more than half a year with Tyson, she had preserved her formidable naïveté. At dinner that evening she still further obscured the question by boasting that she had saved Captain Stanistreet's life. Stanistreet protested. "Nonsense," said she; "you know perfectly well that you'd have upset the whole show if you'd been left to yourself."
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