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Updated: June 8, 2025
The Knoll stood out grandly above all other dwellings the beds full of chrysanthemums, and a bank of big scarlet geraniums on each side of the hall door. It seemed strange to be driven swiftly past the familiar carriage-drive, and round into the lane leading to Miss Wendover's cottage.
Yes, she had heard of Aunt Betsy a maiden aunt, who lived in her own house a little way from The Knoll. A lady who had plenty of money and decidedly masculine tastes, which she indulged freely; a very lovable person withal, if Bessie might be believed. Ida wondered if she too would be able to like Aunt Betsy. Miss Wendover's appearance was not repulsive.
"My name is Colwyn; my friend is Detective Caldew, of Scotland Yard," said Colwyn, in response to Mr. Wendover's glance of interrogation. "We are in search of a little information, which we trust you will give us." "That depends upon what ye want to know."
His supply of mental food consisted of a half a dozen shilling magazines, the two last numbers of Punch, and three or four sporting papers. Ida turned from them with bitter disappointment. She seemed to take the measure of Brian Wendover's mind in that frivolous collection, and she was deeply pained at the idea of his shallowness.
He turned into the passage, and mounted the stairs. Caldew followed him. On the landing of the first floor another and smaller board gave the names of those tenants whose offices were at the back of the building. Mr. Wendover's was amongst them, and a pointing hand opposite it revealed that he conducted his business at the end of a long passage with a bend in the middle.
It was only an accommodation lane or a back-out lane, as the boys called it, since no two carriages could pass each other in that narrow channel and in bad weather the approach to the Homestead was far from agreeable. A carriage and horses had been known to stick there, with wheels hopelessly embedded in the clay, while Miss Wendover's guests picked their footsteps through the mud.
Go, lovely rose' to Ida 'and make yourself still lovelier in order to captivate Dr. Rylance. The dinner was over. It had passed without a hitch, and the gentlemen were now enjoying their claret and conversation in a comfortable semicircle in front of Miss Wendover's roomy hearth. The conversation was for the most part strictly local, Colonel Wendover and Mr.
He wished no evil to the young baronet, he bore no grudge against him for Ida's idiotic fondness; but the fact remained that the boy's death would make Brian Walford Wendover's wife a rich woman. It is not in the nature of a man living among sharp-witted lawyers and men about town to ignore a fact of this kind.
Wendover's tea, since it was his custom to drop in at his aunt's very often at this hour, when the day had not been given up to excursionising; but it was new for her to be alone with him at this social meal, and she found herself longing ardently for Aunt Betsy's return. She who could have found so much to talk about had her mind been at ease, was curiously silent as she handed Mr.
She stood with the autumn wind blowing about her the fallen chestnut leaves drifting to her feet pondering that question. Was she or was she not Brian Wendover's affianced wife? How far was she to trust in him, to lean upon him, in this crucial hour of her life?
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