It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. I was in Lancashire, at our family seat, at the time you mention. “Shhh. ‘Charvill?’ uttered Roding frowningly. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good.
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