“Think of the mockery!” she said. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. Gianfrancesco found himself to be his family’s sole remaining male heir. He had brought her here to this place—where her freedom was curtailed even more than at the convent so that a cavalier was very much needed—and only on Monday came again. Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty.
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