There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. Try and let him never regret it. Mr. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. ‘I do not understand you. Gerald, meanwhile, was off hunting up these lawyers, together with your son, ma’am—’ turning to Mrs Sindlesham ‘—and you know the outcome of that. I don’t think women need to trouble about political questions.
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