"So the wheelman told you? I've always spoken it, though I can neither read nor write it. 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. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. “Her husband was a county councillor, and she has a niece who comes to see her in a carriage. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. It is good sometimes to walk with a man who can look God squarely in the face, as you can. It was a mad half-hour. If the boy was legging it alone….
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