You are not my husband. The door closed softly upon her. ‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. . But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. What a fool I was to separate the two in my mind. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. Do not disquiet yourself.
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