Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. Imbecile. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. She had the dowry she needed for the lawyers were working to give her Remenham House. I have said that I am but a nun now.
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