That was me, sir. My name is Leslie Rankin; and your
brother and I were always Miles and Leslie to one another.
SIR HOWARD (pluming himself a little). Ah! that explains it. I
can trust my memory still, Mr. Rankin; though some people do
complain that I am growing old.
RANKIN. And where may Miles be now, Sir Howard?
SIR HOWARD (abruptly). Don't you know that he is dead?
RANKIN (much shocked). Never haird of it. Dear, dear: I shall
never see him again; and I can scarcely bring his face to mind
after all these years. (With moistening eyes, which at once touch
Lady Cicely's sympathy) I'm right sorry--right sorry.
SIR HOWARD (decorously subduing his voice). Yes: he did not live
long: indeed, he never came back to England. It must be nearly
thirty years ago now that he died in the West Indies on his
property there.
RANKIN (surprised). His proaperty! Miles with a proaperty!
SIR HOWARD. Yes: he became a planter, and did well out there, Mr.
Rankin. The history of that property is a very curious and
interesting one--at least it is so to a lawyer like myself.
RANKIN. I should be glad to hear it for Miles's sake, though I am
no lawyer, Sir Howrrd.
LADY CICELY. I never knew you had a brother, Howard.
SIR HOWARD (not pleased by this remark). Perhaps because you
never asked me. (Turning more blandly to Rankin) I will tell you
the story, Mr. Rankin. When Miles died, he left an estate in one
of the West Indian islands.
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