What might it have been?’ Mrs Sindlesham shook her head helplessly. “I must repeat,” Sir John said, “that I much regret disturbing you at such an unseemly hour. At second hand it would be unendurable. ‘I do not need for you to tell me this. I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. Or shall I ask Colonel Anson for a few hints?” “For Heaven’s sake no,” she declared. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand.
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