"It must be Major Thorp," suggested Mrs. Jelf.
I shook my head.
"It was not Major Thorp," I replied. "It was a near relation of your
own, Mrs. Jelf."
"Then I am more puzzled than ever," replied my hostess. "Pray tell me
who it was."
"It was no less a person than your cousin, Mr. John Dwerrihouse."
Jonathan Jelf laid down his knife and fork. Mrs. Jelf looked at me in
a strange, startled way, and said never a word.
"And he desired me to tell you, my dear madam, that you need not take
the trouble to burn the hall down in his honor this time; but only to
have the chimney of the blue room swept before his arrival."
Before I had reached the end of my sentence, I became aware of something
ominous in the faces of the guests. I felt I had said something which
I had better have left unsaid, and that for some unexplained reason
my words had evoked a general consternation. I sat confounded, not
daring to utter another syllable, and for at least two whole minutes
there was dead silence round the table.
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