It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. And next morning she attired herself with especial care and neatness, found his address in the Directory at a post-office, and went to him. And as for not knowing me, you abominable little liar, you’re perfectly aware that we met at Remenham House. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. They are their mother’s sons. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint.
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