Yet you can look Cheveney in the face and declare that you do not know him. “After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees. She veiled her emotion by taking off his overcoat.
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