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Updated: June 12, 2025
I have nothing to avenge." Hetty drew back, completely mystified. "Who are you?" she murmured, still staring. "I am Challis Wrandall's wife." The next day but one, in the huge old-fashioned mansion of the Wrandalls in lower Fifth Avenue, in the drawing-room directly beneath the chamber in which Challis was born, the impressive but grimly conventional funeral services were held.
"You don't mean to say you would have me marry Challis Wrandall's brother?" she said, in a sort of stupefaction. Sara shook her head. "I mean this: you would be justified in permitting Leslie to glorify that which his brother desecrated; your womanhood, my dear." "My God, Sara!" again fell in a hoarse whisper from the girl's lips. "I simply voice my point of view," explained Sara calmly.
Rowe-Martin, but she did not attempt to unsay the words. She meant them to sink in when she uttered them. It was commonly predicted in society that Challis Wrandall's wife would further elevate herself by wedding the most dependable nobleman who came along, and without any appreciable consideration for the feelings of her late husband's family.
Wrandall's sitting-room at the top of the broad stairway, sat the family, that is to say, the IMMEDIATE family, a solemn-faced footman in front of the door that stood fully ajar so that the occupants might hear the words of the minister as they ascended, sonorous and precise, from the hall below. A minister was he who knew the buttered side of his bread. His discourse was to be a beautiful one.
Wrandall's while to have the case permanently closed, rather than allow these nasty conclusions to get abroad. They would spread like wildfire. Do you see what I mean?" "It is abominable!" cried Hetty, standing before them with flashing eyes. "I KNOW she did not " "Hetty, my dear!" cried Sara sharply.
I have not said anything, Brandon, to lead you to believe that I was in love with Challis Wrandall, have I?" His eyes softened. "No, you haven't. I I hope you will forget what I said. You see, I knew Wrandall's reputation. He had no sense of honour. He " "Well, I HAVE!" she said levelly. He flushed. "I am a beast! I'll put it in this way, then: Was he in love with you?" "You are still unfair.
"I am surprised," he observed to the driver, as a "feeler," "that you haven't changed bodies." "Mr. Wrandall ordered the limousine, sir," said the chauffeur. "Oh, I see. Keeps it on hand for rainy days, I suppose." "It's Mrs. Wrandall's idea," explained the man. "Women are fussy about their hair. We always have a limousine handy." "It is a handy thing to have about," said Mr.
The grateful warmth of the room, the abrupt transition from gloom and cheerlessness to comfortable obscurity, had a more pronounced effect on the stranger than on her hostess. "It is good to feel warm once more," she said, an odd timidness in her manner. "You are very good to me." They were in Mrs. Wrandall's bed-chamber, just off the little sitting-room.
"Take these bags upstairs, Pat," said he on their arrival at the cottage, "and then come down and drive me over to Mrs. Wrandall's." "Will ye be after stayin' for lunch with her, Mr. Brandon?" inquired Pat, climbing over the wheel. "I can't answer that question now." "Hiven help both av us if Mary's good luncheon goes to waste," said Pat ominously. "That's all I have to say.
She came forward with a strange, even abashed, smile, after closing the door behind her. "I don't agree with you, dearest, when you say that the world should know, but I have come to the conclusion that you should be tried and acquitted by a jury made up of Challis Wrandall's own flesh and blood. The Wrandalls must know the truth." The Wrandalls sat waiting and wondering.
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