” She pressed her ear to the door. For she knew that men married to get something. I have never spoken of these things to any human being. It was shameful, but again, her mother had prepared her for it. I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I should never meet again. Ruth's emotion was a primitive joy: she was essential in this man's life, and she would always be happy because he would always be needing her. She had slept badly at first in a long chair next to the fire waiting for him to return, but caught on after that. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. I love you still, Anna, but life holds other things than the love of man for woman. It's always hard work for a rich man's son to stand alone.
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