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. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. "Ah!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish.
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