I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. Meanwhile, Mr. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. ” She lingered over her tea, and glancing around, a sudden reflection on the change in her surroundings from the scene of her last night’s supper brought a faint, humorous smile to her lips.
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