“It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. Stanley changed his key. Two persons possessing a more comfortable stock of assurance could not be readily found. In the flagged entrance hallway at the bottom, where extra light came in from a window above the double doors, it was easy enough to distinguish a family group, and a landscape which clearly included Remenham House in the distance.
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