“Yes.”

“Niece of Lady Griselda?”

“Yes.”

“Lived with her, didn’t you? Sort of adopted child?”

“Yes.”

“All your life?”

“Yes.”

“But of course you had parents?—”

“No—”

The “no” was devilment pure and simple, and gave Mrs Fotheringham what is technically described as a “sensation.” She jerked, stared, and finally forced a wooden laugh.