” She gasped. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. She complained of the crowded cities, dismayed that the people were repopulating them like rabbits. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. ‘He prayeth best who loveth best—all things both great and small.
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