“I find it very hard to write this letter. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. “May I tell Nigel to come and see you again? I am not here to do his love-making for him, you know. There it is. Now, I know you can restore him to his rights, if you choose. All the same, I don’t admit it. The knife is at my breast.
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