You are more in my power than I am in yours. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. They’ll know. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. I love my husband. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale.
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