What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood. The Widgetts talked with a remarkable absence of external coverings; the Palsworthys found all the meanings of life on its surfaces.
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