Miss Milton seemed to find it hard to begin. She gulped in her throat and
rubbed her silk gloves nervously against one another.
"I daresay I've done wrong in this matter," she began--"many would think
so. But I haven't come here to excuse myself. If I've done wrong, there
are others who have done more wrong--yes, indeed."
"Please come to the point," said Ronder impatiently.
"I will, sir. That is my desire. Well, you must know, sir, that after my
most unjust dismissal from the Library I took a couple of rooms with Mrs.
Bassett who lets rooms, as perhaps you know, sir, just opposite St. James'
Rectory, Mr. Morris's."
"Well?" said Ronder.
"Well, sir, I had not been there very long before Mrs. Bassett herself,
who is the least interfering and muddling of women, drew my attention to a
curious fact, a most curious fact."
Miss Milton paused, looking down at her lap and at a little shabby black
bag that lay upon it.
"Well?" said Ronder again.
"This fact was that Mrs. Brandon, the wife of Archdeacon Brandon, was in
the habit of coming every day to see Mr.
Pages:
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465