Briggs
surveyed her with much complacency.
"You are a talented woman, Mamzelle," he said, "very talented! I admire
your ways--I really do!"
Mamzelle smiled with a gratified air, and Briggs settled his wig, eyeing
her anew with fresh interest.
"_Wot_ a witness you would be in a divorce case!" he continued
enthusiastically. "You'd be in your helement!"
"I should--I should indeed!" exclaimed Mamzelle, with sudden
excitement,--then as suddenly growing calm, she made a rapid gesture
with her hands--"But there will be no divorce. Milord Winsleigh is a
fool!"
Briggs appeared doubtful about this, and meditated for a long time over
his third glass of port with the profound gravity of a philosopher.
"No, Mamzelle," he said at last, when he rose from the table to return
to his duties upstairs--"No! there I must differ from you. I am a close
observer. Wotever Winsleigh's faults,--and I do not deny that they are
many,--he is a gentleman-that I _must_ admit--and with _hevery_ respect
for you, Mamzelle--I can assure you he's no fool!"
And with these words Briggs betook himself to the library to arrange the
reading-lamp and put the room in order for his master's return, and as
he did so, he paused to look at a fine photograph of Lady Winsleigh that
stood on the oak escritoire, opposite her husband's arm-chair.
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