On his way he made a slight divergence from the direct route and paused for a moment outside the flat where Anna was now living. 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. But she did not speak. ‘Certainly those are names of the most undistinguished, and I would scorn to have them. Drive away the cat; throw that measure of gin through the window; and tell me why you've not so much as touched the packing-case for Lady Trafford, which I particularly desired you to complete against my return. ‘Very well, never mind.
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