‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. ‘This is not love, Marthe. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. Well aware that the doors in this passage were much stronger than those in the entry he had just quitted he was neither surprised nor dismayed to find it fastened by a lock of unusual size. Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture.
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