And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. ‘I do not know of whom you speak. Anna comes to London. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. ’ ‘She’s as clothheaded as you,’ Roding retorted, but he slipped an arm about the lady’s waist and gave her a quick squeeze. “It really is not necessary. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside.
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