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'Have you a headache, Robert? asked Emily, a few evenings before Whit-Sunday, 'you have not spoken three words this evening. 'Not at all, thank you, said Mr. Devereux, smiling, 'you need not think to make me your victim, now you have no Claude to nurse. 'Then if it is not bodily, it is mental, said Lily. 'I am in a difficulty about the christening of Mrs. Naylor's child.
The envious years had refused to Major-General Punnit, C.B. he was a distant cousin of Mrs. Naylor's the privilege of serving his country in the Great War. His career had lain mainly in India and was mostly behind him even at the date of the South African War, in which, however, he had done valuable work in one of the supply services.
This in itself was a good "story," but it was not until a second rumor reached Naylor's ears that his newspaper soul was stirred to its yellowest depths. For there was in Boston an association known as the American Society for the Investigation of Ancient Beliefs, which was a rival of the Royal Society in its good work of laying bare with pick and spade the buried mysteries along the Nile.
'Ada, run and fetch your pattern. Emily and Ada were much obliged by Jane's disinterested offer, and in a quarter of an hour Ada's thoughts and hands were busy in Mrs. Appleton's drawer of many-coloured cotton. 'What a pity this is about Mrs. Naylor's baby, began Jane. 'It is a sad story indeed, Miss Jane, I am sure it must be grievous to Mr. Devereux, said Mrs. Appleton.
Master Naylor's mouth was full of cheesecake, but he nodded to show his consent. "All right; I'll explain," continued Guy. "It's going to be just like 'I spy, only it's played with bicycle lamps that is, there will be two to seek, and the rest will hide, and the seekers will have a lamp each, so that they can find people in the dark.
"Harz is my name we were just talking" "About my sketch. Oh, Greta, you do tickle! Will you come and have breakfast with us to-day, Herr Harz? It's our turn, you know." Harz, glancing at his dusty clothes, excused himself. But Greta in a pleading voice said: "Oh! do come! Scruff likes you. It is so dull when there is nobody for breakfast but ourselves." Miss Naylor's mouth began to twist.
This had been Alec Naylor's first remark when the Rector of Sprotsfield pointed him out, as a possible fourth, at the golf club, and the rough justice of the description could not be denied. He, like Alec, bore his scars; the little finger of his right hand was amputated down to the knuckle.
"Of course there is an aspect of the case " she admitted smiling. "That's enough for me! You've lost the bet. Let's see what were the stakes, Mary?" "Come, let's walk on." She put her arm through his. "What about this berth that Mr. Naylor's offering you? At Bogota, isn't it?" He looked puzzled for a moment; then his mind worked quickly back to Cynthia's almost forgotten tragedy.
Morel, as master of the house, sat in his armchair, with his back to the hot fire. The two butties had cooler seats. None of them counted the money. "What did we say Simpson's was?" asked Morel; and the butties cavilled for a minute over the dayman's earnings. Then the amount was put aside. "An' Bill Naylor's?" This money also was taken from the pack.
They look up the road, and see no one; run a couple of hundred yards, where they catch a sight of the next turn, clear in the moonlight. There is no one on the road. "Run to the bridge, Wynd," whispers Naylor. "He may have thrown himself over." "Tally ho!" whispers Wynd in return, laying his hand on Naylor's arm, and pointing to the left of the road.
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