She felt she must get him talking upon some impersonal theme at any cost. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. If Miss Charvill should take it into her head to dash off on some foolish errand, go with her by all means. “I will wait for you on the pavement, if you like,” he said, “but I am going to the ‘Unusual’ with you. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed.
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