One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. ‘What’s more,’ went on Martha, ‘I knew something Mr Charvill didn’t, or he wouldn’t so readily have left it behind him. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. He remembered that he had heard stories about the wonderful likeness between these two sisters, one of whom was an artist and a recluse, whilst the other had attached herself to a very gay and a very brilliant little coterie of pleasure-seekers. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me. Melusine came in, picked up the lantern, and heard the library door bang open just as the panel clicked closed behind her. What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. "What's the matter?" he cried.
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