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I
entered and found Lola Brandt in front of the fire holding my glove in
her hand. She started in some confusion.
"Is this yours?" she asked.
Now whose could it have been but mine? The ridiculous question worried
me, off and on, all the evening.

CHAPTER VII
The murder is out. A paragraph has appeared in the newspapers to the
effect that the marriage arranged between Mr. Simon de Gex and Miss
Eleanor Faversham will not take place. It has also become common
knowledge that I am resigning my seat in Parliament on account of
ill-health. That is the reason rightly assigned by my acquaintances for
the rupture of my engagement. I am being rapidly killed by the doleful
kindness of my friends. They are so dismally sympathetic. Everywhere I
go there are long faces and solemn hand-shakes. In order to cheer myself
I gave a little dinner-party at the club, and the function might have
been a depressed wake with my corpse in a coffin on the table. My
sisters, dear, kind souls, follow me with anxious eyes as if I were one
of their children sickening for chicken-pox.


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