She knew Martha would not ask anything that she did not wish to know. ‘It’s a pretty name. Still no sound. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. I had that coming. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. ‘Besides, I don’t want the men blundering in here and frightening off our spy. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue.
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