“I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau. Before or after?” Lucy paled. The Mother Abbess, while thankful, could not be brought to consent to allow the girl out of her charge alone with unknown servants, and Martha was delegated to accompany her erstwhile nurseling to the homeland she had thought never to see again. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. The house was invisible from the road, and yet enormous once within view. The lad looked alarmed. Better check on Remenham House, I suppose. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already. ” Her mind diverged to other aspects, and another type of womanhood.
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