Jeanne Of The Marshes
Andrew came face to face with his brother in the village street on the next
morning. He looked at him for a moment in surprise.
"What have you been doing?" he asked, drily. "Sitting up all night?"
Cecil nodded dejectedly.
"Pretty well," he admitted. "We played bridge till nearly five o'clock."
"You lost, I suppose?" Andrew asked.
"Yes, I lost!" Cecil admitted.
"Your party," Andrew said, "does not seem to me to be an unqualified success."
"It is not," Cecil admitted. "Miss Le Mesurier has been quite unapproachable the
last few days. She's just civil to me and no more. She isn't even half as decent as
she was in town. I wish I hadn't asked them here. It's cost a lot more money than
we can afford, and done no good that I can see."
Andrew looked away seaward for a moment. Was it his fancy, or was there
indeed a slim white figure coming across the marshes from the Hall?
"Cecil," he said, "are you quite sure that your guests are worth the trouble you
have taken to entertain them? I refer more particularly to the two men."
"They go everywhere," Cecil answered. "Lord Ronald is a bit of a wastrel, of
course, and I am not very keen on Forrest, but we were all together when I gave
the invitation, and I couldn't leave them out."
"Well," he said, "I should be careful how I played cards with Forrest if I were you."