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“What is the good of pretending?” she said. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. A maidservant held the front door open. She tugged at my coat and said, ‘I know of the blue-eyed maid. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. Behind every one of these myriad fronts she passed there must be a career or careers. Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden.
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