"But you make it sound so terribly unromantic!"
H.M. considered this. "H'm, yes. Maybe I did make it a bit on the dry and legal side, at that"
Aunt Cicely leaned her head sideways against a wing of the chair. The dim lamp-light, in that corner dark red, made her blonde good-looks seem those of thirty instead of over fifty. One frail-looking hand trailed down over the arm of the chair.
"I've always half-believed in reincarnation," Aunt Cicely murmured. " 'His tragic marriage to Lucy Baimbridge, and the duel that followed,' she quoted softly, from H.M.'s slip of paper. "Was she beautiful?"
"Uh-hun. Absolute stunner. I got her portrait at Cranleigh Court"
"My own marriage," continued Aunt Cicely in the same faraway tone, "was very happy. The world didn't understand George. He was dominant; I love dominance. Of course, with George, there was always the terrible responsibility of…"
"Aunt Cicely, seeming to wake up, paused. Only now did you notice that she wore rather heavy make-up, because of the pallor underneath. A bright arch animation swept round her an aura of charm; and she almost bounced in the chair, hands clasped, to pour eager questions at H.M.
"You were saying, ma'am?" asked H.M., in a sharply different tone of voice.
It was here that Aunt Cicely caught sight of Martin in the doorway. She sprang up in consternation and solicitude; and, as he advanced in what seemed to him a steady manner, she extended both hands with their flowing sleeves.
"Mr. Drake!" she exclaimed. "You shouldn't have got up!"