‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. ” He went to the window and fidgeted with the blind, looking out to where the tree-tops of Regent’s Park showed distantly over the houses. They are long gone. ” Courtlaw’s walking stick, which he had been handling, fell with a crash to the ground. She had prepared herself to meet violent protest, a recurrence of that burning glance. Understand me! I forbid it. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations.
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