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’ She dropped to her knees before her old nurse and hugged the workroughened hand with both her own, looking up into Martha’s face where slow tears were tracing down her cheek. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. He just seemed to have no interest, consumed with the hunt or his newfound friend, Sebastianus, who supposedly would enable him to expand his political ties to Rome. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis.
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