‘But—’ ‘Nothing at all for you to worry your head over,’ said the captain, moving to try and usher her forth. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. There was a photo of her that looked exactly like you. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. Here they would be having lunch.
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