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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. Loving was better than that. The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. “Excellent!” he exclaimed. ’ She dropped to her knees before her old nurse and hugged the workroughened hand with both her own, looking up into Martha’s face where slow tears were tracing down her cheek. ’ The lady looked unexpectedly smug. She is the wife now of another man. ” “Why do you think so?” she asked. If you knew your aunt were alive, if she expected you, that would be different. Lad, I admire you even in your folly. That's the job.
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