Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. “Feel better.
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