Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Still, he was puzzled because McClintock had not spoken. It was an easy one to smell early on, Sebastian had taught her: anything reproductive. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words. "And so, you really suspected me?" murmured Mrs. "I am expected, I find," observed Jack, glancing at the well-covered board.
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