Chinese -- England -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Murder -- Investigation -- Fiction
Rupert flushed, seeing he had made a slip. He did not want to tell the
old man that he was married, as he was fearful lest the news should come
to Miss Wharf's ears and render his wife's position with that lady
unbearable. "I might get married you know," he said in an evasive way.
"Lord, sir," cried Petley in terror, "whatever you do, don't cumber
yourself with a wife, till you put things straight."
"Heaven only knows how I am to put them straight," sighed Rupert. "I
say, John, send me in some tea. I'm quite weary. Thorp is coming to see
me next week and we'll have a talk."
"With Dr. Forge I hope," said old John, as he withdrew.
Ainsleigh frowned, when the door closed. Petley certainly seemed
possessed by the idea that Forge was an enemy of the Ainsleighs, yet
Rupert could think of no reason why he should be. He had been an
excellent guardian to the boy, and if he had not told him the full
extent of the ruin till it was too late to prevent it, he might have
done so out of pity, so that the lad's young years might be unclouded.
"Still it would have been better had he been less tender of my feelings
and more considerate for my position," thought Rupert as he paced the
long room.
While he was sadly looking out of the window and thinking of the wrench
it would be to leave the old place, he saw a tall woman walking up the
avenue. The eyes of love are keen, and Rupert with a thrill of joy
recognised the stately gait of Olivia. With an ejaculation of delight,
he ran out, nearly upsetting Mrs. Petley who was coming into the Library
with a dainty tea. Disregarding her exclamation of astonishment, Rupert
sprang out of the door and down the steps. He met Olivia half way near
the ruins of the Abbey. "My dearest," he said stretching out both hands,
"how good of you to come!" Olivia, who looked pale, allowed him to take
her hands passively. "I want to speak to you," she said quickly, "come
into the Abbey," and she drew him towards the ruins.
"No! No," said her husband, "enter your own house and have a cup of tea.
It is just ready and will do you good."
"Not just now, Rupert," she replied, laying a detaining hand on his arm.
"I can wait only for a quarter of an hour. I must get back."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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