I somehow understood. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. " "You'd better send him," jeered the turnkey. The carpenter did not hesitate a moment. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. They were very nice about it, in memory of your father. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. He might have been a complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother to find out.
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