“Listen to me. I’m a man, and I know what I mean. Her breath came fast in little sobbing pants. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. “Never—but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape,” Ennison exclaimed. And all the third act is love-sick music. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. I suppose I believe in God. 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.
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