‘You will not, pig,’ cried Melusine. She was quite tired of the stream of visitors and heard with relief the words of her newfound great-aunt, addressed to her son’s butler. “You are a thousand times more beautiful,” he said, “than anything else could be. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. They got on wonderfully well together. How many nuns were there in England who might have occasion to spy on Lady Bicknacre’s ballroom? The presence of the French refugees took on greater significance. ‘Not in the open street. It is quite a descent from the clouds, isn’t it?” “I will accept that,” Anna said, “as accounting for the surprise. I hid because there was no other way of seeing you.
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