. . ’ About to hurry from the little parlour, Melusine remembered Mrs Ibstock. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. He reached out a hand gropingly, sagged, and toppled out of the chair to the floor, where he lay very still. And this utter stranger … loved him! He had no reason to doubt McClintock's statement; the Scot had solved the riddle why Ruth Enschede had married Howard Spurlock. He fended these things off from him with the rump of his fourth piece of cake. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is.
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