He was painfully in earnest, too. You can trust me, Anna. I’ll mention it. He wondered if these abnormal mental activities presaged illness. ‘My dear boy, your loyalty is misplaced. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. This species of madness cannot properly be attributed to his illness, though its accent might be. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. “Of course!” he said. Had he not said as much at Remenham House? She allowed him to march her through the chapel without resistance. What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds.
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