"Please use your authority, Bobby," she said. "And when
you've got him safely under canvas, come back to me. It's
years since we've had a talk." She nodded and smiled, then
instantly turned to Bramfell with some trivial remark.
For a second Loder waited, then with a movement of resignation
he laid his hand on Blessington's arm. "Very well!" he said.
"But if my fate is black, witness it was my wife who sent me
to it." His faint pause on the word wife, the mention of the
word itself in the presence of these people, had a savor of
recklessness. The small discomfiture of his earlier slip
vanished before it; he experienced a strong reaction of
confidence in his luck. With a cool head, a steady step, and
a friendly pressure of the fingers on Blessington's arm, he
allowed himself to be drawn across the reception-rooms,
through the long corridors, and down the broad flight of steps
that led to the conservatory.
The conservatory was a feature of the Bramfell townhouse, and
to Loder it came as something wonderful and unlooked-for--with
its clustering green branches, its slight, unoppressive scents,
its temperately pleasant atmosphere.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204