"You poor child!" said Prudence. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. ‘But I have told you. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. 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. Get all ready for his reception. “I do mean that,” she declared.
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