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I didn't have the heart to tell her that their grievance undoubtedly would be shifted from Hetty to her, and that they wouldn't be likely to forgive her for the stand she'd taken. She doesn't seem to care, however, what the Wrandalls think of her. By the way, have you any influence over Hetty Castleton?" "I wish I were sure that I had," said Booth.
Two miles and a half away, in the heart of a scattered colony of purse-proud New Yorkers, was the country home of the Wrandalls, an imposing place and older by far than Southlook. It had descended from well-worn and time-stained ancestors to Redmond Wrandall, and, with others of its kind, looked with no little scorn upon the modern, mushroom structures that sprouted from the seeds of trade.
As Hetty arose, Mrs. Wrandall senior lowered her eyes and not once did she look up during the recital that followed. Her hands were lying limply in her lap, and she breathed heavily, almost stertoriously. The younger Wrandalls leaned forward with their clear, unwavering gaze fixed on the earnest face of the young Englishwoman who had slain their brother.
"Disagreeable as the devil at times, though," said he, biting his lip. After the Wrandalls had departed, Sara took Hetty off to her room. The girl knew what was coming. "Hetty," said the older woman, facing her after she had closed the door of her boudoir, "what is going on between you and Brandon Booth? I must have the truth. Are you doing anything foolish?" "Foolish? Heaven help me, no!
Hetty sat a little apart from the others, a rather forlorn, detached member of the conclave. Brandon Booth, pale-faced and alert, drew up a chair alongside Carroll, facing Sara who alone remained standing, directly opposite the four Wrandalls. Not one of the Wrandalls knew why they, as a family, were there. They had not the slightest premonition of what was to come.
Like all the Wrandalls, he had the habit of thinking too well of himself. He possessed a clearly-defined sense of humour, but it did not begin to include self-sacrifice among its endowments. He had never been able to laugh at himself for the excellent reason that some things were truly sacred to him. She realised this, and promptly laughed at him. He stiffened. "Don't snicker, Sara," he growled.
She even consented that it might be the first deliberate falsehood this honourable, discriminating gentleman had told in all his life. At the moment, he may have been actuated by a motive that deceived him, but even unknown to him the Wrandall self-interest was at work. He was not lying for her, but for the Wrandalls!
"You know the way into my sitting-room, Leslie," she said, with singular directness. Then she arose and drew her figure to its full height. "Please remember that it is I who am to be judged. Judge me as I have judged you. I am not asking for mercy." Hetty impulsively threw her arms about the rigid figure, and swept a pleading look from one to the other of the four stony-faced Wrandalls.
The Wrandalls were too deeply submerged in horror to speak. They merely stared at her as if stupefied; as breathless, as motionless as stones. "There came a day when I observed that Leslie was attracted by the guest in my house. On that day the plan took root in my brain. "Good God!" fell from Leslie's lips. "You you had THAT in mind?" "It became a fixed, inflexible purpose, Leslie.
"I I think we would better have Leslie in, Sara. This is most unexpected. I don't quite feel up to " "Have Leslie in by all means," she said, resuming her seat. He hesitated a moment, opened his lips as if to speak, and then abruptly left the room. Sara smiled. Many minutes passed before the two Wrandalls put in an appearance. She understood the delay.
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