“Annabel!” she exclaimed. Melusine’s eyes shifted. 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. Her brother Roddy, who was in the motor line, came to expostulate; her sister Alice wrote. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. For a time she promenaded the room. Anna stared back at every one with undaunted composure. “I am sure that you are. ” He said. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested.
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