“I wonder!” said Miss Stanley. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. 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. She was going through with that, anyhow. Of course she had often heard sailors hammering out their ditties. Gerald was instantly on the alert. But, egad! I believe he will. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it.
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