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Updated: May 31, 2025
Previously, on the arrival of his two men, he had sent one of them off with hurried instructions of some kind. The other man stood by the gate like a statue. Mark Ventmore, growing restless at last, turned to Field and asked a question. The inspector was wiping his damp hands upon his handkerchief as if he himself was a thief waiting for arrest.
It came quite unexpectedly. At the same moment Mark Ventmore was coming from his room. He took in the situation at a glance. With one bound he was by Richford's side, and he had wrenched his hands away. With a snarl Richford turned upon the man whom he knew to be his successful rival, and aimed a blow at him.
My future husband will see my father through after I become his wife. Even now there are private detectives watching my father. It is a dreadful business altogether, Mark. And yet if you had come a week ago, I should have risked it all for your sake." Ventmore pressed the trembling figure to his heart passionately. Under his breath he swore that this hideous sacrifice should never be.
Ventmore would not oppose the marriage, and that her love for him would not tend to keep Mark a poor man. "So perhaps you had better let me have all those papers that Sartoris was so anxious to get hold of," Mark concluded. "Could you let me have them now?" "Of course I can," Beatrice said. "I'll go and get them for you from my room.
Mark Ventmore moved his shoulders a little impatiently. "So Sir Charles says," he replied. "Sir Charles was always very good at those insinuations. He has played upon your feelings, of course, sweetheart." "Not this time, Mark. He has mixed himself up in some disgraceful City business. A prosecution hangs in the air. And I am to be the price of his freedom.
And yet all this time I knew that sooner or later the blow would fall. Mr. Ventmore, how old do you take me to be?" Mark could not say. It was rather an awkward question. "I see by your silence that you would rather not reply," Mary said. "It means that you would have a delicacy in calling me an old woman. And yet I am barely thirty.
It was the grey lady that Beatrice had seen on that fateful evening, the woman who had sat by the side of Mark Ventmore in the Paris theatre. She wrung her hands in silent grief. "Oh, if only there was somebody to help me," she said. "If God would only give to me and send to me a friend at this moment, I would pray " Berrington stepped out into the light of the hall.
Berrington and Ventmore stood talking quietly together whilst Beatrice performed her sad task. Mark listened to all that Berrington had to tell. "And yet all this bother might have been saved," he said. "My father knew all about those concessions, and he has a pretty good idea of the value of them. Only yesterday he was talking to me about it.
My heart is dead and buried " "That's the way to talk," Sir Charles said cheerfully. "Feeling better, eh? I once fancied that that confounded foolishness between Mark Ventmore and yourself, eh, what?" A wave of crimson passed over Beatrice's pale face. Her little hands trembled. "It was no foolishness," she said. "I never cared for anyone but Mark, I never shall care for anybody else.
"Oh, yes, you are the sister of that I mean Carl Sartoris is your brother. But surely you are altogether innocent of the the strange things that " "I am innocent of everything," said Mary passionately. "I have wasted my life clinging to a man in the faint hope of bringing him back to truth and honour again. I am beginning to see now that I am having my trouble for my pains, Mr. Ventmore.
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