It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. You have spoken her name, I think, Marthe. He never felt any need to explain himself. Was there ever such madness?” “I am afraid that I don’t understand,” Ennison answered. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. Ennison’s manner was certainly not one of a willing host. On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. “That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe away the excess. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate.
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