“Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. ” She raised her eyebrows. It was not possible. They sat down at the dining room table which seemed empty and 259 huge in the stark, white-walled room.
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