” Annabel looked intently into her glass. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. 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. I should like to have had you forgive me. I have Remenham House which is my right. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. “How has the world taken it?” he asked.
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