” “It was Cheveney!” he said slowly. ” “Oh. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. ’ ‘Oh, yes I do,’ Martha said, getting up off the bed. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. Do I, Bess, eh?" "Nobody whatever, love," replied Edgeworth Bess; "nobody but me, dear.
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