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Waring that would give it, to me, a certain personal value." He paused a moment; then he added, in a little explanatory undertone, "I'm lord of the manor, you know, at Chetwood; and I shoot the forest." "Cyril would be delighted to let you see the piece when it's finished," Guy answered lightly. "If you're ever up in town our way we've rooms in Staple Inn.
From other dioceses: The Rt. Rev. Bishop Niles, New Hampshire; the Rt. Rev. Bishop Paddock, Massachusetts; the Rev. Messrs. G. F. Flichtner, Thomas Gallaudet, D.D., Joshua Kimber, G. S. Mallory, D.D., New York City; W. M. Chapin, Barrington, R. I.; F. B. Chetwood, Elizabeth, N. J.; G. B. Cooke, Petersburg, Va.; E. M. Gushee, Cambridge, Mass.; W. A, Holbrooke, L. I.; R. M. Kirby, Potsdam, N. Y.
I have never given much thought to this so-called reincarnation; but somewhere in the past ages I knew you; only . . ." "Only what?" "Only, you weren't going home to marry the other fellow." She stopped at the rail. "Who knows?" she replied ruminatingly. "Perhaps I am not going to marry him." "Don't you love him? . . . I beg your pardon, Miss Chetwood!" "You're excused."
He felt that his punishment was indeed too heavy for him. At Tilgate and Chetwood next morning, two distinguished households were thrown into confusion by the news in the papers. To Colonel Kelmscott and to Elma Clifford alike that news came with crushing force and horror. A murder, said the Times, had been committed in Devonshire, in a romantic dell, on the skirts of Dartmoor.
One glance at the map, however, set his mind at rest. "I thought so," he said quietly. "Cyril wouldn't be there. It's beyond his beat. Lavington's the fourth station this way on the up-line from Chetwood. Cyril's stopping at Tilgate town, you know I heard from him on Saturday and the bit he's now working at's in Chetwood Forest.
Chetwood William Rufus Chetwood who had, in the eighteenth century, a bookseller's shop in Covent Garden, and was, for twenty years, prompter for Drury Lane, a writer of four plays, and a volume of sketches of the actors whom he had met, says: "A tumbler at the Haymarket beat the breath out of his body by an accident, and which raised such vociferous applause that lasted the poor man's life, for he never breathed more.
At the Holkers' at Chetwood, one evening some days later, Cyril Waring met Elma Clifford once more, the first time for months, and had twenty minutes' talk in the tea-room alone with her.
From which entirely foolish conversation it may be gathered that between our Fortunate Youth and the Princess some genial sun had melted the icy barriers of formality. He had known her for eighteen months, ever since she had bought Chetwood Park and settled down as the great personage of the countryside.
One morning, however, a few weeks later, Elma had strolled off by herself into Chetwood Forest, without any intention of going anywhere in particular, save for a solitary walk, when suddenly, a turn round the corner of a devious path brought her face to face all at once with a piece of white canvas, stretched opposite her on an easel; at the other side of which, to her profound dismay, an artist in a grey tweed suit was busily working.
It seems she learned through the consul-general at Singapore that you had worked with us. She's like her father, a mighty keen judge of human nature. Frankly, this offer comes through her advices. To satisfy yourself, you can give us a surety-bond for fifty thousand. It's not obligatory, however." Elsa Chetwood. She had her father's eyes, and it was this which had drawn his gaze to the portrait.
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