"Sorry, Langholm, but I find I misled you about the bicycle. They had
taken it to the stables. I have told them to bring it round to the
front."
"Thank you."
"Sure you won't wait till the rain is over?"
"No, thank you."
"Well, won't you come through this way?"
"No, thank you."
"Oh, all right! Good-by, Langholm; remember my advice."
It was an inglorious exit that Langholm made; but he was thinking to
himself, was there ever so inglorious a triumph? He knew not what he had
said; there was only one thing that he did know. But was the law itself
capable of coping with such a man?
CHAPTER XXVII
THE WHOLE TRUTH
"Have the ladies gone?"
Langholm had ridden a long way round, through the rain, in order to
avoid them; nor was there any sign of the phaeton in the lane; yet these
were his first whispered words across the wicket, and he would not
venture to set foot upon the noisy wet gravel without Mrs. Brunton's
assurance that the ladies had been gone some time.
"And they've left him a different man," she added. "But what have you
been doing to get wet like that? Dear, dear, dear! I do call it foolish
of yer! Well, sir, get out o' them nasty wet things, or I shall have you
to nurse an' all!"
The kind, blunt soul bustled to bring him a large can of scalding water,
and Langholm bathed and changed before going near the invalid.
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