learly his mode of life: the motor had to go sixty miles an hour; he might be one of those who bathed in the Serpentine in mid-winter; he would clearly dance all night, and ride all day, and go on till he dropped in the pursuit of what he cared for. Mr. Taynton, looking at him as he stood smiling there, in his splendid health and vigour felt all this. He felt, too, that if Morris intended to be married to-morrow morning, matrimony would probably take place.
But Morris's pause, after he pushed his chair back and stood up, was only momentary.
"Good God, yes; I'm in love," he said. "And she probably thinks me a stupid barbarian, who likes only to drive golfballs and motorcars. She--oh, it's hopeless. She would have let me come over to see them to-morrow otherwise."
He paused again.
"And now I've given the whole show away," he said.
Mr. Taynton made a comfortable sort of noise. It was compounded of laughter, sympathy, and comprehension.
"You gave it away long ago, my dear
Very short and most enjoyable. Not at all funny in the way that the "Lucia" books are, but urbane and elegantly written. The sketches of 1900s Brighton are great.
Two crooked solicitors, engaged in embezzling an estate in their trust, resort to slandering its beneficiary as a means of keeping him from reviewing their accounts. The partners have a falling out; the slander is discovered, with great ire, by its victim; and one of the lawyers turns up dead.
Told with all the urbanity of Benson's "Queen Lucia" series, but not the humor, this mystery moves a bit too slowly, with too much happening offstage, to be truly satisfying.