She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. ’ Grudgingly, the sergeant shifted aside and allowed her access to the stairs, grumbling to her retreating back, ‘If I’d me way, missie, I’d send you back to France where you ought never to have come away from, if you arst me.
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