But,” and he faced them both with a still expressionless glance, “this is not the end!” Anna recovered her spirits with marvellous facility. If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your railway station. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. But he knew. Gentlemen, I am proud to say that I originated—that I directed those measures. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses.
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