Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. There was a hint of tears in her voice. “After all,” she said, “if this person will not be reasonable, I am afraid——” It was enough. That’s my advice to you. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol.
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