‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. Nigel Ennison was he. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. "We went through your belongings. It is useless to contend with him, even with right on your side. Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. ‘Certainly I can prove it.
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