She had just this moment past told him that Monsieur Valade came to her after the tragedy, to the convent, from where he married her and brought her to England. ‘It is all the fault of that lantern. ‘Unheard of, ain’t it? To tell the truth, I half expected him to leave everything to one of his doxies. It was perfectly legitimate. ’ ‘She once more,’ came in disgust from the girl on the bed. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him. YOU did.
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