“Who is the woman?”
“Her name is Annette. Annette Folyat.”
“I might have known it. . . Will you ask your father to come here?”
“Father’s out.” Bennett felt that his cause was lost. Only in the most desperate cases was his father’s presence over requested in the drawing-room.
“Tibby then.” She went to the door and with extraordinary power of the lungs shouted for the old servant.
Tibby came shuffling. She was dressed to go out, in bonnet and shawl, and had an envelope in her hand.
“I’m in haste,” she said.
“Tibby, what’s to be done? Bennett has married one of the daughters of that High Church popery priest. What am I to do?”
“What can you do?”