’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. 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. ‘They cannot help it. "Nothing—nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form.
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