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. Happily they had no one else to wait for, and it heartened her mightily to think that she had ordered the promptest possible service of the dinner. Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. And the woollen-draper departed. "Slip on the handcuffs," cried the thief-taker.
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