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Updated: May 31, 2025
There had been no sound, yet something warned him. He looked up. The door was closing. "Lady Dawn," he called. In his voice there was the tremor of anxiety. On the point of vanishing, she glanced back across her shoulder. "What is it, Lord Taborley?" The calmness of her austerity made emotion seem shallow. There was a touch of scorn in her repose. "Won't you help?" She smiled faintly. "I was.
How is it, Taborley, that on that evening when you dined here as his fellow-guest, you never once hinted by look or word that he wasn't the part he was playing? I can't consider that very honorable of you. As an old friend, quite apart from any new relationship, I had the right to expect that my interests were nearer to your heart. It upsets me to find I was mistaken.
"Just to show that there's no ill-feeling, I'll accept one of your gaspers, if you'll allow me. There's nothing for me to explain. My name is Lord Taborley and I'm a friend of Mrs. Lockwood. There's nothing else." The stranger leaned forward. His humor left him, revealing his premature haggardness. He laid a hand on Tabs' arm and asked a question. "You're fond of her?"
The idea took hold of him with force. It fascinated him. He turned his car about. In passing through Mayfair he made a detour to glance at Taborley House. The American Hospital had vacated it. It looked ruined and forlorn. He tried to picture it as it might appear if Maisie were its mistress. Twenty minutes later he drew up before the retiring little villa with its marigold-tinted curtains.
As a last humanizing touch, there was a hint of cavalier devilment about him, of the gambler who was also a sportsman. The puff of smoke had faded. The General's eyes came back with a twinkle to his guest. "You're right. Between us this 'Your Lordship and General' business would grow tiresome. I never thought the day would come when I'd call you Taborley, however.
As he turned out of Mulberry Tree Court, he had thought he had heard a voice calling after him. "Lord Taborley! Lord Taborley!" He had looked back across the imitation village-green, where the white posts showed dimly like smudges of chalk. The door of Maisie's house had been opened wide, making a lozenge of gold against the blackness.
I can only do it if you'll tell Lord Taborley to help me." At a nod from Terry he left the table. In the hall he found an odd sight waiting for him. He had to look twice to make certain that this was the Adair Easterday whom he had known, and not a strayed and beflustered wedding-guest. The man before him was worried to distraction.
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