Read Online The Bungalow Mystery by Annie Haynes - Free Book Online Page B

kindly-faced man, considerably past middle age. His reputation as a philanthropist, a scholar and a scientist, was worldwide; but as a politician, a character in which of late it had been his ambition to shine, he was scarcely looked upon as a success, even by his own party.
    In person he was tall and spare, with bright, eager-looking eyes, a clean-shaven face, save for the scanty mutton-chop whiskers which he had a habit of reflectively drawing through his fingers while he tried to think out some knotty problem.
    He buttonholed Roger at once.
    â€œI have been looking forward to meeting you immensely, Dr. Lavington. My attention has been directed to an article of yours in the current number of the Lancet , which seems to bear to a certain extent upon my work in the East End. I allude to your remarks upon the frequency of transmission of disease by second-hand clothing. Now do you mean to tell me that—”
    Roger saw that, for the present at any rate, it was hopeless to think of escaping and, resigning himself as best he could to the inevitable, listened with admirable patience to Lord Luxmore’s theories with regard to certain contagious diseases, and to his schemes for the regeneration of the poor.
    Meanwhile, the tea was finished, the children were being got in order by their teachers. Look as he would, Roger could discover no sign of the girl in grey.
    Presently Lord Luxmore turned.
    â€œWhy, bless me, I don’t see Elizabeth! She was to give away the prizes too. Oh, I suppose we must go over there,” nodding in the direction of the Rectory.
    A table covered with books and prizes stood on the grass; a group of people had gathered round it. Roger distinguished Mrs. Melville’s white gown in close proximity to the rector’s long black coat. Miss Marchand was talking to a girl in a blue linen frock.
    â€œWell, I suppose we ought to join them,” Lord Luxmore said, moving nearer.
    But Roger hesitated.
    â€œI think I should prefer to stay in the background; I am quite a stranger here.”
    Lord Luxmore halted a few steps in advance.
    â€œWell, I don’t know but you are right,” he remarked genially. “Elizabeth can manage quite well by herself, and old Marchand, though he is a worthy old chap, is a bit of a bore, while his daughter—dare say she is a good sort too, but the fact is”—with a burst of confidence—“I never can stand Constance Marchand myself.”
    Roger made some inaudible reply; he was leaning forward, his eyes riveted on the girl to whom Miss Marchand was speaking. It seemed to him that there was something strangely familiar about the tall, svelte form, about the very turn of the head and the free, graceful carriage.
    Lord Luxmore’s flow of conversation fell on deaf ears.
    â€œYou must come up to the Hall one of these days, and we will talk over the matter further,” he was saying, with the air of bonhomie which made him a favourite with all classes of society. “I spend a good deal of my time down here, as you may have heard. Not that I am particularly fond of the place myself, and the house is little better than a shooting-box, but my daughters prefer it to Luxmore Towers, poor Daphne; I am hoping great things from your residence at Oakthorpe. Dr. Lavington, I am really! I think it is the best thing possible for poor Courtenay.”
    â€œYou are very kind,” Roger said absently. His eyes were still following every movement of the girl who was bending over the books. At last she turned and smiled at the rows of eager little faces upturned to her.
    With a stifled exclamation Roger stepped forward. For one moment he fancied that he was back at the theatricals at Freshfield; that he was once more watching the Zoe of a day in her geisha dress. Then the mist before his eyes cleared a little; he saw that the tall girl to whom the rector was now speaking was strangely like and yet unlike that other girl who had been in his