I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. Do I, Bess, eh?" "Nobody whatever, love," replied Edgeworth Bess; "nobody but me, dear. " Romance! The Seven Seas are hers. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. You may go back, Marthe. I haven’t, anyhow.
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