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Morewood came back, sat down, and poured out a glass of wine. "Yes, I see what it says," he observed. His mood of malice was gone, he looked troubled and rather remorseful. "Well, I only repeated what Maturin said. I'd no idea there was anything about him in the prospectus." The two reasonable views were suggested again by Dick and Marchmont.
Gorham brought with her a breath from the outside world for which they longed. She entertained them with stories of her travels, of her daughter's experiences at boarding-school and her son Tom's escapades at college. She praised Claribel's embroidery and Wilma's little water-colour sketches, and she left without discovering all the ravages time had wrought in beautiful old Marchmont.
There were five more sons of the family, all at various stages of education two at college, three at Eton. It behooved the only girl of the family to put her shoulder to the wheel if the machine were to be kept going on its uphill course. Lord Marchmont had speculated desperately and with disastrous results during the past five years. His wife was hopelessly extravagant.
Marchmont?" The solicitor took the note, and I looked over his shoulder. It was certainly a curious production. Written in red ink, on the commonest notepaper, and in the same sprawling hand as the address, was the following message: "You are given six days to do what is just. By the sign above, know what to expect if you fail."
I attributed this flattering distinction to the respect ensured by the extreme reténue and propriety of her manners, but I have had reason since to ascribe the reserve of the courtiers to a less commendable motive. On occasion of a masqued festival given by Her Majesty on her birth-day at Kew, the king, in distributing the characters, allotted to Miss Marchmont that of Diana.
"Do none of these objects that I have described and shown you, seem to have any significance for us?" he asked, in a tone of some surprise. "They convey nothing to me," said Mr. Marchmont, glancing at his partner, who shook his head like a restive horse. "Nor to you, Mr. Stephen?" "No," replied Stephen. "Under the existing circumstances they convey no reasonable suggestion to me."
"Don't say such things, Selina. How could you fancy it possible, after all the horrid things Lord Marchmont said of him!" "What is impossible, my dear? That he should think you very handsome?" "Don't, Selina, pray don't! That any body good for any thing should ever marry him!" "Any body good for any thing!" repeated Selina.
"I am not so sure about that," said Marchmont. "It is all exceedingly mysterious. Your suggestion is, of course, that the woman who came to New Inn in the cab was Mrs. Schallibaum!" "Not at all," replied Thorndyke. "My suggestion is that the woman was Jeffrey Blackmore." There was deathly silence for a few moments.
A shade of displeasure had crept over the immobile features of Miss Berber. She opened her eyes and regarded the lank Marchmont with distaste. Her finger pressed a button on the divan. Slowly she raised herself to her elbow, while he watched, his pale eyes fixed on her with the expression of a ratting dog waiting its master's thanks after a catch.
Quisanté came back, sat down, and took up a newspaper. May sat in her usual chair, doing nothing. Presently he asked, "Did I say anything wrong?" "No. But I'd rather you didn't talk about the Alethea when Mr. Marchmont is with us." He looked up in, surprise. "It embarrasses me and him too." "Embarrasses you? Why should it?" "There's no use in my telling you."
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