’ Mrs Sindlesham’s mouth dropped open. “Michelle, I think that you are the victim of an extremely overactive imagination. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. Why am I here—thirty years of loneliness? Because I know women, the good and the bad; and because I could not have the good, I would not take the bad. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. “Indeed!” Anna answered indifferently. . ‘To where has he gone off?’ ‘No use asking me,’ shrugged the captain.
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