For thirty years I have lived alone; but once upon a time I lived among men. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. The farmer had become obsessed with her and asked her to marry. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. You’re tired, of course. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. She meditated long and carefully upon her letter to her father before she wrote it, and gravely and deliberately again before she despatched it.
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