He talked very little and rather absently. The theme was a masquerade. I spent this afternoon in detention. “I know you very well by sight, Sir John. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. He opened the door of still another room, in one corner of which was a grand piano. All her life Martha had been there. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought.
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