It had, as it were, blown up at the concussion of his first step. 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. She was surprised at his modesty. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. The weather harmonized with their feelings. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque.
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