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‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. “Never mind. If Thames is murdered, you are his assassin. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. ’ ‘How exciting. How I wish I might meet this delightful mystery lady of yours.
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