‘You don’t believe her?’ ‘My dear Major Alderley, I do not know her,’ Mrs Sindlesham pointed out. Earles glanced at it, and his eyes flashed with anger. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. A fortnight passed, then a month. Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible. John stared palely. His own heart was too full of melancholy foreboding.
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