Surely it was a dream. It was as if he could smell it on her. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. ‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly. I didn’t know he had Italian relatives. ‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped.
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